A Chance at Passion

Dark and guarded laughter followed Preach's words. Brett glanced around his table, noting a few challenging looks. He ignored them casually.

"This tournament consists of three rounds," Preach continued. "Only the winner of each table will go on to tomorrow's round, and only the top six will meet for the final round on Friday. This is a test of skill and luck, from which only the best will emerge."

"Which will be me," declared a hefty, bearded man who sat across from Brett. "So the rest of you might as well fold now."

Brett responded only with an amused look. He'll be the first to go, he thought.

"Dealers!" Preach called with a grin. "Man your stations!"

At each table, a dealer approached, setting a bank and a card shooter upon the table. They took their seats and nodded professionally to the players they were to serve.

"Let the tournament begin!"

Indeed, thought Brett as he straightened in his chair and faced the dealer across him. Let's get this show on the road.

* * * *

The first hand was kind to Brett, and he triumphed with a pair of jacks. The bearded man, to Brett's surprise, was not the first to go; it was one of the women, who backed out with an unfinished straight. She set a fifty-dollar chip on the table to cover the next round of drinks, and walked away with a defeated smile.

Brett barely touched his bourbon throughout the first hand, but took a sip before the second. The bearded man, he noticed, ordered a second drink.

The second round saw the bearded man coming out on top with three nines, to beat out Brett's trio of sevens. A man clad in a gold paisley shirt was excused.

By the third round, it was obvious that Brett and the bearded man -- known more formally as Walter -- were the two main contenders. It also became obvious that Walter was becoming progressively drunk. He was yet to allow that to compromise his playing, but Brett figured it was only a matter of time.

"Come on, kid, let's make this real," Walter said at the start of the fourth round. It was only he, Brett, and the other woman, a rather pretty fake blonde who had remained conspicuously quiet throughout the previous hour. But Brett had already discovered one of her tells; she sucked in her bottom lip when she had a bad hand.

Brett leveled his gaze on the more inebriated man. "How real do you want to make it?"

The man grinned through his beard, showing nicotine-stained teeth. "Next ante's a thousand," he declared.

Brett shrugged recklessly. "Sure." He glanced to the woman; she was already sucking her bottom lip.

The cards were dealt, three down, two up. Brett's face remained impassive as he looked upon the five and seven of hearts. He tossed in his ante, and so did Walter.

The woman made a flustering sound. "I'm out," she announced, setting her cards down and pushing back. "Have fun, guys."

Brett smiled from the corner of his mouth and stared at Walter. "I already am," he said.

The dealer turned over the cards, and Brett noticed the eight of hearts right away. He slid the other two aside, feeling his heart palpitate. If I pull this off . . . .

"Cards, gentlemen," the dealer prompted.

Brett kept his calm gaze on Walter. "Two."

The corner of Walter's left eye twitched. "Two."

Brett smiled knowingly. He had discovered Walter's tell. He took up the cards given him, hiding the elation as he saw the seven of hearts. He pretended to frown, then covered that by straightening and clearing his throat. "Uh, raise five hundred," he said, dropping the chips onto the pile in the table. There was already a good three thousand there.

Walter gulped down the rest of his drink, then laughed. "Stupid punks," he muttered, picking up and dropping the required five hundred worth of chips onto the table. He then picked up another short stack while giving Brett a look. "This is how it's done, kid."

Brett matched the bet without hesitation. "Call, old man," he said.

Walter bristled slightly, beard twitching. "Call," he grumbled, laying down his cards. A pair of tens.

Brett sucked in a breath and effected a disappointed look. "Oh, well," he said, then laid out his cards. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

Both Walter and the dealer stared at the straight before the younger man. The dealer smirked; Walter cursed. Brett grinned rakishly. "Oh. I guess I already did."

"What gave me away?" Walter barked as he leaned across the table.

Brett chuckled and scratched the corner of his mouth. "Might wanna shave your beard for next time," he said, then leaned in to gather the chips.

The dealer offered his hand across the table as Walter stomped away in disgust. "Good game."

Brett shook the man's hand, grinning genuinely now. "Thanks."

* * * *

His companion back to the motel was a dark blue bank bag containing more than eight thousand dollars. Not a bad amount of change, Brett figured, for two and a half hours' work. He'd had the option of placing the money in a casino safe, but decided instead to hang onto it until the the following day, so that he could take it to a local branch of his bank.

Hell of a night, Brett, he thought as the crisp dark wind rolled over him in the roadster. Had some damn good sex, then played some damn good poker. Maybe Ino's your new good luck charm?

He grinned at the thought. Well, if she is, you'll just have to see her again tomorrow . . . .

* * * *

Ino awakened before her husband; she always did. He snored in drunken slumber as his body yet processed the alcohol he had consumed. He would not be up until ten o'clock, at least.

Guilt momentarily gripped her as she sat on the edge of the bed. She could not help but recall the incredible sensations she had enjoyed the evening before. No coupling with her husband had ever come close to such frenetic, orgasmic ecstasy. Given his increased propensity for drinking on a nightly basis, Ino doubted her husband would ever be capable of the sort of fucking she had enjoyed with Brett.

Brett. Just the thought of his name made her smile. She wanted to see him again; she needed to see him again. She could not wait for the following six hours to pass, so that she could be at the diner, waiting for him to show. Not knowing for certain if he actually would was maddening. She wanted a guarantee. She wanted to know she could enjoy his carnal skills at least once more.

"Hrm mrmm mumm muhn . . . ."

Ino looked back with disgust upon her husband as he rolled on his side toward her, expelling a breath pungent with the stench of alcohol. She wrinkled her nose in disdain. How could I have ever said "I do" to you?

* * * *

The time on his phone glowed 3:17 when Brett stepped into the diner. A middle-aged woman whose name tag read "Mona," and looked like she belonged on an old episode of Cheers lead him to a table in a section of the restaurant otherwise devoid of patrons. She set the menu before him after he sat down, winked, and strutted away.

He waited patiently, peripherally hearing Mona call out toward the back: "Ino! Got a customer, honey!"

"Be right there!"

Brett smiled at the sound of her voice, shrill and impatient as it was. He relished the sense of anticipation as he waited. He was not sure if the hours away from him would have given Ino the time to regret her actions. Maybe she would feel guilty about cheating on her husband. Maybe he had found out. There were so many options, so many possibilities, but that was what made the entire scenario as enticing as it was.

She came through the set of swing doors from the diner's kitchen, still tying her apron as she walked. Her eyes were cast to the floor, and she did not see Brett until she was perhaps five or six paces away.

When she did, she stopped cold. Her freckled face became blank. Her lips parted slowly. Beneath the fabric of her unflattering shirt, breasts rose and fell amid a deep breath. Dark eyes quivered. She shifted on her feet.

Though they had shared but a single hour of incredible sex, Brett could tell Ino was aroused. But there was something else, something reticent about the way she looked at him. Perhaps she was just nervous, or scared.

"Uh . . . hi," she said at last, coming up to the edge of the table. Her cheeks were flushed already.

He smiled back. "Hi, yourself."

She glanced around furtively. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth turned upward. "I'm hungry."

Ino blinked. "Right," she said, then expelled an anxious breath. "You're just a regular guy coming to a diner for something to eat, like any other guy in the world."

Brett nodded, his smile fading. "Hey, if you want me to go--"

"No!" she snapped in response, looking skittish. Her eyes darted away as she made the effort to control her behavior. They drifted back to Brett's as she spoke again. "No," she repeated, more softly, and with more meaning.

Brett gladdened. "Good. 'Cause I've heard this place has the best cherry apple pie in all of Texas, and I'd hate to go anywhere else for it."

Ino nibbled her lip. "So, uh, you liked my pie, huh?"

Brett breathed in, feeling his slacks tightening. "Very much so," he answered. "And I'm pretty sure I'd like some more."

Blush colored her cheeks. "Well, uh, I'll be more than happy to give it up . . . uh, I mean, get it for you," she said, coquettish look decorating her beautiful face.

"My mouth is already watering," Brett said.

Ino gave him a flirtatious wink, then glanced around briefly before suddenly bending over and bringing her face close to his. "I so wanna fuck you right now," she whispered heatedly, then spun about and pranced away.

Brett breathed in deeply, quelling the almost overpowering arousal that spiked through his chest.

* * * *

It seemed strange to Brett that so simple a thing as a slice of pie could assuage not only the real, but also the sexual, hunger. But it really was that good; every bite had him savoring every little nuance of flavor, from the slightly bitter to the poignantly sweet. He took his time eating, cleaning away the crumbs of the latest bite before slicing in for another.

If only everything in life could be this good, this simple, he thought as he licked the tines of his fork following the last bite.

Ino approached him as he finished, having watched the way he had slowly and deliberately devoured the pie. "I swear, if pie could have an orgasm, then that piece you just ate would have," she commented as she took the plate away.

Brett chuckled, easing back in his chair. His eyes roamed over her body. "I sure wouldn't mind another one right now," he said meaningfully.

Ino bit her lip. "Later," she said softly.

He grinned rakishly. "Why not now?"

Her eyes bulged. "I'm working."

He cocked his head. "So?"

Ino huffed. "Don't torture me," she pleaded.

He backed off with a sullen nod. "Sorry."

But an idea blossomed suddenly in Ino's mind. She looked about her section of the diner. The time of day, the day of the week . . . it was pretty slow for the Double J. Not even the early bird crowd of cheapskate senior citizens would be in for about another half hour.

She looked back to Brett, the naughty thought she harbored already generating a twitch between her thighs. "Anyway," she said, taking out a check presenter from her apron and setting it on the table. "You should probably go wash up in the men's room. Don't wanna have sticky fingers for the rest of the day, right?" She accentuated her words with a wink, then stepped away.

A knowing smile dawned upon Brett's face, even as his erection began to return.

* * * *

The bathroom was small, with only a pair of urinals and a single large cubicle at the end, housing a toilet and large enough to accommodate the handicapped. There was a middle-aged man washing his hands at the single sink when Brett stepped in, but he left moments later as Brett pretended to use one of the urinals.

Quickly, he headed to the stall and stepped within. It was clean enough, with an almost pristine toilet and no rancorous odors. Brett waited, standing over the toilet.

He heard the door creak open loudly.

"Brett?"

"Yeah."

A pattering of rapid footfalls echoed in the bathroom before Ino pushed open the stall door. She grinned upon seeing Brett, then all but tackled him, pressing her lips to his in a needy, demanding kiss. Her hands fumbled at his belt.

"We gotta be quick," she whispered heatedly, tugging on his slacks.

Brett kissed her back. "What do you want, baby?"

She grinned devilishly. "I want you to try to keep quiet while I suck your cock," she declared, then dropped to her knees upon the tiled floor.

Brett's head spun, even as he helped Ino loosen his slacks. His belt flung open, the zipper came down, and in a matter of moments his slacks were at his feet and Ino was hungrily, yearningly, mouthing his shaved balls, inhaling his scent. His cock jutted out over her forehead, already at full mast.

With a heated breath, Ino left Brett's balls slick and shimmering with her saliva and reared back, reaching up to grasp and stroke the impressive shaft. She stared at it wantonly, pumping it back and forth. A glistening bead of clear fluid oozed to the tip of Brett's dick; she swiped it away with her tongue, leaving the tip shiny and wet.

"Don't hold it, baby," Ino whispered hotly, her mouth poised over the head of Brett's cock. "I wanna make you come. I wanna taste it."

He groaned, lost to passionate need. "Do it," he grunted, then held back a deep, heartfelt groan of pleasure as Ino engulfed his cock, wrapping it within warm sucking, massaging flesh. She emitted a muffled moan of her own, as if tasting his cock, and feeling the stiff, throbbing tube of flesh in her mouth, was all that she desired.

Brett fell against the wall behind him, settling his hands to Ino's soft dark hair as she serviced him. He loved feeling her head bobbing back and forth at such an insistent, urgent pace. She stroked the shaft while sucking him, bringing up her other hand to cradle and fondle his balls. Now and then, a rush of air between her lips and his penis would make an abrupt sucking sound, but that only reinforced to Brett how eager his lover was to get him off.

Only a few minutes into the exquisite blowjob, Brett was already beginning to feel the teasing beginnings of his orgasm. But the door to the bathroom suddenly crashed inward, preceding a pair of boisterous male voices.

". . . gonna be a damn good fight," insisted one of the voices. "Jimenez ain't lost one yet."

"Maybe, but Storyweather's had twice as many fights. He's more seasoned."

As the two men discussed their assessment of an upcoming boxing match, Brett looked down at Ino, who was frozen on her knees, lips wrapped around the head of his cock. She looked up at him, blushing, smiling with anxious arousal. As the two men outside continued to chatter, she once more began pushing and pulling with her mouth, albeit not quite as energetic as before.

The scene was strangely arousing. All that stood between their illicit coupling and discovery was a thin wall. Indeed, if either of the men had reason to stoop down and look beneath the stall edge, he would see pretty young Ino on her knees. It would not take much to guess what was going on.

The two men washed up and left, cluelessly continuing their discussion. As soon as the door closed and silence once again filled the bathroom, Ino resumed her voracious oral attack, pumping her mouth back and forth along Brett's shaft. Though his orgasm had been kept in check for the previous minute, it quickly began to well again. He began bucking his hips, and Ino stopped moving, allowing her mouth to be used for his pleasure.

Only a few more thrusts of his cock, and Brett was fighting down the urge to groan as he erupted. Ino let out a slight, muffled moan as her mouth was suddenly filled with warm, bittersweet fluid. Her brow furrowed as she contemplated the flavor. She kept her mouth locked around Brett's shaft, feeling every pulse and spasm through the man's cock as he emptied his seed between her lips.

He finally stopped moving, nearly doubling over and clutching Ino's head in his arms. He breathed out heavily. "Holy shit, that was incredible," he muttered.

Ino giggled, letting his penis slip from her mouth, lips pursed around the thick fluid within. She pushed back and looked up at him as Brett straightened. He gave her an almost worshiping look. Her freckled face glowed and her eyes shone with her accomplishment. A single dribble of thick white cum dangled from her lower lip.

Keeping her eyes on his, Ino made a slow, deliberate showing of swallowing the liquid gift Brett had given her, licking her lips afterward for effect. She wiped up the strand of cum from her lip and sucked it clean. Brett watched with dutiful amazement all the while.

"I gotta get back to work," she whispered hurriedly, pushing herself to her feet. She kissed him quickly, then opened the stall door and stepped out. Brett remained where he was, blissfully numb, as Ino left the bathroom.

I think that was the best damn blowjob I've ever had . . . .

* * * *

Panic gripped Ino as she scurried back to the dining room, trying to be as casual as possible. She was aware of the fragrance of Brett's semen on her breath, but had no mints or gum to counter it. She hoped it would not be noticeable.

It was not only because of her naughty behavior in the bathroom with Brett that had Ino's heart pounding with anxiety. It was the fact that she recognized one of the voices of the men who had nearly discovered them.

The voice of her husband.

Indeed, there he sat with his friend Joe, at the table beside Brett's. The two men looked somewhat perturbed as Ino approached, looking sheepish.

"Hey, babe, where you been? We're hungry," her husband said, casually reaching out to smack the side of her ass.

"I was doing some cleaning up in the back," she explained. "Slow part of the day, you know."

"Just so you ain't messing around with the dishwasher or nothing," he chided. His remark made his friend chuckle.

No, I just sucked off a guy who fucks me like you never could, Ino thought in a flash of anger. But she maintained a practiced smile. "So, uh, iced tea?" she asked, then gave her husband an accusing look. "Or beer?"

He frowned. "I'm working, babe," he scoffed. "Yeah, tea. You want tea, Joe? Yeah, two teas." He tugged on his wife's apron. "Hey babe, you're off tomorrow night, right?"

Ino rolled her eyes. "First Friday night off in a month," she said.

"Good. The guys are coming over for the fight. You're gonna take care of us. Gonna need to get some more beer and snacks and shit."

Ino balked. "What? I spend six days a week serving people, and you want me to spend my Friday night handing out drinks to your fucking buddies?"

Her husband glared hard. "Yeah, that's what I want. You're my wife, remember? And don't you ever use foul language with me. And, don't forget I give you a home to live in. Or do you wanna go back to living with your crack-whore mother?"

Ino seethed, but she held it in. There were so many things she wanted to say at that moment, especially considering she was aware that Brett had quietly returned to his table and had been privy to most of the conversation. But she bit her tongue, as she so often did.

"Anyway, get the drinks," her husband said dismissively. "And don't waste any time. We're thirsty."

Ino stepped back, briefly glancing to Brett. She thought -- and hoped -- that the expression on his face was one of sympathy, and that made her feel a tiny bit better about herself as she made her way back to the ktichen.

Now I know what kind of asshole she's married to, Brett thought. Sitting surreptitiously at his table, he was able to observe the two men. Ino's husband faced him past his friend. The man was hefty, probably around Brett's age but already going bald. He had round, boyish features that told of Mexican and caucasian heritage. His words, his gestures, the clothes he wore bespoke a simple, hardworking life. Brett would normally admire that in a man.