The Strip Ch. 14

To Harrington's left were Sam Farha and Gavin Smith, engaged in joyful conversation as if this was just another day, just another game. Both sat on around thirteen million chips and were rated hard to beat.

Farha was the man who'd nearly stopped Moneymaker on his march to the victory that had changed the face of poker. Had he called that bluff when they were head to head, as he nearly did, history would be completely different. Hell, Daniel probably wouldn't even be in Vegas.

Smith, on the other hand, was an amiable, tubby Canadian who was an absolute delight. It seemed the happy-go-lucky man took nothing seriously, though you underestimated him at your peril. Despite his wisecracking style, he knew only too well everything that was going on at the table.

Holly sat to his left, then the crowd favourite, Humberto Brenes. The Costa Rican was adjusting one of the loud, colourful scarves around his neck. It was impossible not to like the gum chewing grizzly looking man. His beaming demeanour was always positive, always happy, and always full of joy. How else could he get away with his irritating antics with his shark card protector?

Allen Cunningham was the final player. The Allen Cunningham. The quiet American was widely regarded as the best player never to have won the Main Event, a real compliment when you considered the other worthy contenders. In many ways, he was the antithesis of Brenes, always quiet, cool and seemingly emotionless. In second chip position with just over twenty four million chips, he'd never have a better opportunity to win the title he coveted.

The Englishman's gaze returned to Holly. For a brief moment, she raised her sunglasses above her brown eyes and winked at Daniel. They dropped back into place as the dealer fanned the cards…

***

"Don't know why I can't fly down with you," Jimmy grumbled.

"Because Kay doesn't want any distractions," Rachal huffed, glancing over her shoulder at her boyfriend. Palms flat against the wall as his cock sliced into her from behind, the last thing on her mind was conversation. She loved being taken this way—legs spread, thong around her ankles, ass high.

Time was running out before she left for Kay's, but she always had time for this. Jeans around his thighs, one hand working her clit while the other gripped her left breast, Jimmy was in that wild mood she so loved.

"Oh, yeah," she murmured, synchronising her backward movements to with his forward thrusts. "Pull my nipples, babe…"

The male model obediently complied, pulling and twisting the hard buds as he took out his immediate frustrations on her sweating body. He didn't want her to go without him, and the hard, almost violent fuck was one way of telling her that. He began to thrust faster, grunting each time he bottomed out.

"Yeah, babe," Rachal gasped, sweat running down her back and mingling with that on Jimmy's hairy chest. The harder the better. "C'mon, fuck me good…"

He grunted again, easing his knees inside his girlfriend's legs and using them to push her legs wider apart. His hands left their stimulation and gripped her hips, giving him better purchase to increase the pace.

It still wasn't hard enough for the exotic looking beauty.

"C'mon…" she groaned, feeling the orgasmic tide rising. Her face pushed into the wall, turning at an angle to watch their reflections in the floor to ceiling mirror to her right. The way his hard, muscular buttocks pumped piston-like against her ass was incredibly erotic. "C'mon, Jimmy… c'mon, babe… C'MON…"

He pummelled her harder. Frantic. Desperate. His head flopped down onto her shoulder, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto her soft, mocha coloured skin. Bending his knees for a better angle, he began to move with the speed of an express train, ramming inside her in shorter, faster strokes.

Rach's eyes closed as he brutalised her body. Her face pressed tighter to the wall, her breathing fast and erratic. When she came, she lost herself completely, wailing like a wounded dog as the fucking machine behind her went into overdrive…

The sudden reverberations running through his sweating body and against hers, prepared her for the eruption. Head thrown back, teeth clenched, Jimmy grunted as if attempting to stave off the inevitable. When Rachal squeezed her internal walls around his throbbing girth, both knew it was a lost cause.

He began to fire, groaning with each burst of fiery cum. The RPG inside her pulsating sex sent one grenade of sticky juice after another, splashing her imagination as well as her insides…

"So good," she throatily gasped, savouring every fresh burst of creamy manjuice. Her body sucked out every last drop. It had to last her for some time… well… until she experienced one of the hunks waiting for her on the movie set. God, just that thought sent another small tremor through her.

***

Dan Harrington's advantage was his reputation for tight play. Stealing crucial pots to keep him alive had allowed him to stay in the championship. Whether it was sufficient to overcome the difficulty of his position as the small stack was open to question. He had to push, and push quickly. Unless he quickly tripled up, he was dead—the escalating blinds would see to that.

Twice, without any sort of hand, he got away with it—everyone folded. The third time, with Ace-Queen, Josh Arieh and Allen Cunningham called. The two pros were happy to check it down and despite a much-needed Ace on the flop, the Nine on the turn and Eight on the river gave the brash Arieh two pairs.

"That's the way you're all going to go," Arieh triumphantly told the table as he pulled the 1995 world champion's chips towards him. That one hand had pushed him up to around thirteen million chips, roughly level with Farha and Gavin Smith. Still vulnerable, but much healthier than before.

"I'm here to play, guys. You'd better all keep out of my way," he added.

The brash American was as good as his word, playing any two cards, as was his reputation. Within an hour of the start, he'd doubled his chip stack and he was within a few chips of Daniel. That made their confrontation the next hand all the more meaningful.

One wrong move, and the loser would go out in eighth.

The winner would have the chip lead.

With pocket fives, the Englishman called Arieh's one million raise. He'd normally have re-raised, but with Arieh so aggressive, it was impossible to put the American on a hand. But hit a five on the flop and he'd clean him out.

The flop came Eight-Three-Four. Damn!

When Arieh checked, Daniel knew his opponent had hit something. He'd have made a continuation bet otherwise. The problem was that it could be anything—a set, two pair. Daniel's fives looked marginal at best.

The Englishman raised another million, a little more than half the pot. Let's find out where he was.

"What're you doing," the brash American sneered. "That flop didn't help you. But it did me. How the hell did you get to the final table, playing like that, man?"

Daniel didn't respond, but made a point of meeting Arieh's cold stare.

The brown-eyed American aggressively leaned forward in his seat, his lips curling at the edges. "A million? What sort of bet is that?"

Daniel sensed this was more than trash talk. If Arieh had an overpair, or had hit an eight, he'd have already made his move. That meant a smaller pair—fours or treys. Or maybe even a straight draw. He decided to go with his read, he was pretty sure Arieh wanted to see another card.

The American eased himself up on his chair, staring Daniel down as he did so. "All in," he announced, turning away and heading across to his cheering section along the rails.

It wasn't what the stunned Daniel had expected. This was power poker at its best. Maybe that was what put these pros in a different league?

His mind whirled. Why would Arieh do that? The more he thought, the more he became convinced. The American wanted to take him off the hand now because he knew Daniel was ahead. The question in his mind changed. Now it was a matter of whether he was willing to put his whole tournament on the line in a race.

Even with two million in the pot, the sensible action was to fold. Stay out of trouble. Even if he were ahead, the American could still get lucky.

Arieh came back to the table as Daniel was on the verge of throwing his cards in. "C'mon, kid. Stop showboating. Fold them and we all move on."

It was the sneer in his voice more than anything. That arrogant superiority. When Daniel picked up his fossil and stroked along the smooth side, both Holly and Rosie picked up on his intentions. Both women shivered.

"Call," he said, attempting to keep his voice calm. Was that his heart trying to explode?

Arieh threw his head back, reluctantly flipping over Jack-Three. Bottom pair! When he saw Daniel's hand across the table, his dark eyes spat venom. "He called with a pair of fives," he shouted to his supporters behind the rail. "What a joke! A pair of fives! That's so sick!"

"That's either the best or the worst call you've ever made," Holly gasped.

"I guess we'll find out in a moment," Daniel sighed, with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. What was it he'd said to Chad about avoiding bad luck? It was in the hands of the poker gods. A three or a Jack would end his tournament.

The turn was a Queen. One card to survive. Somehow the entire room was silent, except for the sound of some laughter at the back of the large hall.

Don't do it… Daniel silently prayed. Don't do it…

The gods were listening.

"Ridiculous," spat Arieh, as he saw the King. The angry man snatched his leather jacket from the back of his chair and made his way over to his wife and supporters at the rail. "Won't last another half hour," he sneered, glancing back over his shoulder at the Englishman.

"That'll be half an hour longer than you, then, Josh," Holly murmured, grinning across at the crinkly haired Englishman.

***

Jimmy pulled the Chrysler Sebring convertible into the heavier than normal traffic. Kay's call asking Rachal to go over earlier than they'd arranged had taken her by surprise. If she didn't know better…

Jimmy insisted on running her over to Kay's house, though a taxi wouldn't have been any trouble. She knew why. He was still feeling very nervous about the whole thing. Her previous blue movie performances had been small parts, and each scene had been with Jimmy. Now it would be other men, and her boyfriend wouldn't even be there to keep tabs on her.

He'd always had a jealous side, she pondered as he gunned through the traffic. It was a quality she quite liked in him, made her feel special.

Still, sometimes it needed to be checked. "For God's sake, stop being so jealous," she told him, settling back in the light tan leather seat. Maybe she could tease him a little? "We have an open lifestyle, don't we? You didn't mind Terrelle fucking me at the party. What's the difference?"

"You know why," he complained, sending her one of those glances. "Because we're always together when we're with other people…"

Rachal's loud laugh didn't help his mood. "We're always together when we're with other people?" she jokingly mocked, reaching over and flipping on the radio button, searching for and finding a classic rock station.

"You know what I mean," he grunted.

The exotic looking model reached out and stroked the back of his head. He was so cute when he was jealous. "Listen, Jimmy, you know I'll be thinking of you throughout…"

"Yeah, right," he grumbled, taking a right onto the main intersection.

"It's true," she teased. "When I'm on my back with some big porn star cock fucking my brains out, it'll be you I'll be thinking about…"

He revved the engine in disgust. "Very fucking funny!"

Rach dropped her hand onto his leg, stroking along his inner thigh. "Want me to give you something to remember me by?"

"No," he petulantly answered.

"Apart from letting you fuck me against the wall," she grinned. "That was nice, babe."

His grunt was the best response she was going to elicit.

"So…" she continued, "let me put a little icing on the cake."

Jimmy didn't answer, but the swell in his pants told her she was getting through.

"Better keep your eyes on the road," she grinned, stroking her fingers along the bulge in his black jeans.

"Don't," he said, but his unconvincing voice was as soft as a whisper.

"That's not quite what you mean, babe, is it?" she asked, unbuckling her seatbelt. She ran her hand up his trousers, slowly unbuckling his belt. Let's make a show of it, she thought. Only the soft clink of its clasp and the low purr of the engine filled the silence between them.

"Umph," Jimmy gasped as she pulled down his zip and roughly yanked out his cock. He was already ready for action.

"Has anyone ever blown you while you were driving?" she seductively murmured as she lowered her head. For a few seconds, his eyes locked on hers as her mouth licked around his head. "Watch the road," she snapped, pausing until he dragged his gaze back to the road.

Satisfied, her long fingers wrapped themselves around his girth and she lowered her wet mouth. The thought of what she was doing excited her as much as him. Her dark eyes stared upwards, partly to ensure he was concentrating on the road, but also monitoring his excitement.

She slowly bobbed her head, swallowing more and more of his veiny flesh with each dip. When he pulled the car to a halt at some traffic lights, her head shot upwards. Before he could react, her tongue was sliding between his lips at the same time as her hand pushed his trousers further down his legs.

"Good, babe?" she purred into his mouth, her hand caressing his balls.

The sound of the horn from the car behind told them the lights had changed. With a delicious giggle, she gave the driver the finger as Jimmy drove off. Adjusting her position, the African princess with her almond-shaped eyes instantly went back to work, taking him as deep into her mouth as she could in the cramped space.

"Rach," he gasped, feeling his balls begin to boil.

He lowered one of his hands from the steering wheel and ran the fingers through her long waves, scraping along her scalp.

She choked a little as he pushed upwards, shoving himself deep into her throat. Her hands went to his hips to steady herself as she felt him try to hold back his climax. "Stop the car," she told him.

"I.. I can't. It's a highway…"

"Stop the fucking car," she growled, clamping her teeth around the head of his cock, as if she was about to bite it off.

The tyres screeched as he suddenly pulled to a stop.

"Rach," he gasped, half turning in the seat as she deep throated him. "Rach…"

Her name stuck in his throat as he felt the surge, a second before he began to blast cum into her heavily sucking mouth.

Rach felt a series of little tremors run through her. She'd be doing this on camera soon, with well-established porn stars. The thought enhanced the wonderful feeling of the creamy offering invading her mouth.

Even when he slumped back, sated, her working mouth continued to lick him clean, eager to ensure that not a single drop escaped.

"There, babe" she eventually smiled, those dark, teasing eyes staring up into his. "Think of that until you can fly down to see me. Okay?"

***

Being chip leader had changed Daniel's demeanour. He had to use those extra chips, be the table bully, the aggressor. Samuel Smith had been the one playing that part, and with twenty six million in chips in front of him, he was still only around five million behind Daniel.

This was big stack poker at its finest.

The two of them began to push, staying out of each other's way while giving the others at the table no room to breathe. But even though they were running all over the table, progress was slow. The professionals were wily enough not to enter any damaging hands. After all, these two amateurs would run out of steam eventually. Wouldn't they?

It happened in a way that none of them expected. Direct confrontation.

With Ace-Three of spades, Daniel made what was becoming a standard opening raise. With so many chips on the table, a million was neither here nor there. Predictably enough everyone folded. That had been the pattern so far.

Except Samuel Smith.

His flat call wasn't surprising. Why raise when you were against the chip leader? Not unless you had a monster. See the flop and take it from there.

The flop was perfect. King-Queen-Three of spades.

Daniel had the nuts!

His instinct said to check, but he immediately dismissed the thought. Smith would be expecting a continuation bet. He raised two million, praying for a re-raise. The African American simply flat called again. That was okay.

Either his opponent was chasing or maybe he'd hit a pair. Good!

The Englishman couldn't decide if the Ace of clubs on the turn was a good card for him. If Smith had a pair, the Ace could put him off and kill any action. On the other hand, if his opponent already had an Ace, he'd believe he was ahead. Let's find out. He bet four million.

Smith called again, his face impassive. The thickset man prided himself on not needing to wear sunglasses. He had the original poker face. Right then, Daniel wished he could get some sort of tell on what his opponent was thinking. He wasn't going to lose the hand.

The question was how to extract maximum value.

The three on the river gave Daniel a hint of unease. He'd learned from experience to be careful with paired boards. The way the hand had played out, however, suggested it was extremely unlikely that Samuel Smith had hit a full house. It was much more likely it had given his opponent two pairs. If so, it might well be the card that brought Samuel Smith's downfall…

If the African American had an Ace, the chances were he'd believe he was ahead.

Six million felt the right amount to bet. Just under half the pot. If Smith had any sort of hand, he'd have to make the call. As the thickset man studied Daniel's bet, it suddenly occurred to the Englishman that he had almost forty per cent of his stack in the middle. How did that happen?

Smith surprised him. He didn't call. He pushed all in.

Power poker, but the African American was taking a big risk. With any sort of marginal hand, Daniel would have to fold. But with a monster, the club owner was committing suicide. He'd misread Daniel completely.

The Englishman called instantly, flipping over his hole cards to show his flush. At almost sixty million chips, the title was all but his. This game wasn't supposed to be as simple as this, was it? There were supposed to be twists and turns…

The smile on Samuel Smith's face told him he'd miscalculated. Big time.

"Not good enough, junior," the African American drawled, flipping over an Ace, and then a three.

Full house!

Daniel was stunned. The whooping and hollering all around him hardly resonated with him. It was quiet in his mind, matching the numb feeling in his body. He was down to less than five million and all but out. Smith had doubled his stack to over fifty million.

Oh shit…

***

"You're Rosie?"

The redhead turned towards the voice. She recognised Daniel's ex-girlfriend instantly, though she couldn't remember where she'd seen her face. "Yes, hello Grace."

"You know me?" The singer seemed genuinely surprised.

"Difficult not to," Rosie answered, trying to contain the sudden nervousness inside her stomach. What the hell was she doing here? Unfinished business? No, stop it, she told herself. Having made a mountain out of a molehill with Holly, she wasn't going to make the same mistake with the brunette.