Chapter 106: Strip Poker

The cards felt cool against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating warmth that always seemed to hover in the air whenever Reid was less than three feet away.

​But before I split the deck, I held up a hand, forcing my best ’Captain’ voice through the lingering grogginess in my throat. "We need to set the rules first, McCoy. I’m not letting you make things up as we go."

​Reid leaned back against the sectional, a lazy, thoroughly amused grin spreading across his face. "Fine. Lay ’em out, Cap."

​"One piece of clothing per lost round. No exceptions," I said, eyeing him strictly. "And since you’re already sitting there without socks because of your ankle while I’m wearing socks, we need to balance the starting line."

​I gestured to our current clothing. Because we’d been cooped up inside all weekend, neither of us was wearing much. Reid was just in a loose t-shirt and a pair of dark gray sweatpants—no socks or underwear underneath. I, on the other hand, was in a t-shirt, a pair of heavy sweatpants, and a pair of thick athletic socks I’d slid on earlier to keep the chill off my feet.

​"You’ve got two items on, I’ve got three," I noted. "If I lose a round, socks count first. Fair?"

​"Perfectly fair," Reid purred, his grey eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, predatory sharp focus. He reached over, tapping the wooden block-stacking tower sitting next to the deck of cards. "Cards first to warm up. Then the tower. Deal ’em."

​I dealt the cards out with practiced precision—five to him, five to me—keeping my eyes lowered to avoid the smug satisfaction radiating off him. I picked up my hand. A pair of sevens, a king, a four, and a nine. Absolute trash.

​"Three cards," I muttered, sliding three across the mahogany table and drawing three new ones. But still nothing. Not even a matching suit.

​Reid didn’t even bother looking at his new cards for more than a second before tossing his hand face-up onto the table. A flush. Five pristine clubs staring right back at me.

​"Looks like luck’s on the rookie’s side tonight, Cap," Reid rumbled, leaning his elbows on his knees, his broad shoulders hunching forward as he stared at me through his lashes. "Socks first."

​I bit the inside of my cheek, tossing my useless cards down. I reached down, slowly pulling off the thick athletic socks and setting them aside.

The cool air of the penthouse hit my bare feet, but the intense heat radiating from Reid’s stare instantly neutralized the chill. His eyes dragged over my bare feet, his scent flaring with a sudden, heavy burst of satisfaction.

​The next two rounds went by in a blur of escalating, high-wired adrenaline. I managed to win the second hand with a full house, forcing Reid to lazily pull his t-shirt over his head and toss it onto the floor, exposing the broad, powerful expanse of his bare chest and shoulders.

But by the fourth round, my luck dried up completely. He trapped me on a brutal bluff, leaning back with a victorious smirk as I was forced to shed my own sweatpants, leaving me sitting in nothing but my boxer briefs and a thin white t-shirt.

​"You’re cheating," I hissed, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

​"I don’t cheat, Cap. I just read people well," Reid said, his eyes practically burning holes through the thin fabric of my shirt.

He shoved the card deck aside, pulling the classic wooden block-stacking tower into the center of the table instead.

The column of wood loomed between us, fragile and entirely too symbolic of my current mental state. "Cards are too fast. Let’s see how steady your hands are now."

​"My hands are fine," I lied, my throat dry.

​"Then prove it. You go first."

​I leaned forward, my bare thighs brushing against the edge of the coffee table. Carefully, using just my thumb and index finger, I tapped a loose block from the middle row and thankfully, It slid out smoothly.

I placed it on the very top, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. "Your turn."

​Reid didn’t even hesitate. He leaned in close, his frozen pine scent enveloping the space between us like a physical cloud, making my head swim.

His hand, entirely too big for the delicate wooden blocks, wrapped around the side of the tower. With a casual, terrifyingly steady flick of his finger, he knocked a block loose from the lower third and set it on top.

​The tower wobbled, swaying slightly before settling.

​"Your turn, Cap," he whispered, his face barely inches from mine across the narrow table. I could see the faint silver flecks in his grey eyes, the razor-sharp focus of an Alpha who knew exactly what he wanted.

​My hand was trembling before I even touched the wood. The proximity, the bare skin, the lingering ache between my thighs from this morning—it was all compounding into a dizzying weight. I tapped a block near the top. It was stuck. I tried another one lower down. It gave a fraction of an inch, then resisted.

​"Don’t rush," Reid murmured, his voice a smooth, distracting purr. "Take your time. I’m not going anywhere."

Fuck off!

​I shifted my grip, trying to pull the middle block free but my finger slipped and the wooden tower disintegrated, a dozen blocks clattering loudly across the mahogany table and scattering onto the hardwood floor.

In the sudden, echoing silence of the penthouse, the sound felt like a gunshot.

​I froze, my hand still hovering in the air, my heart hammering so hard I was convinced he could hear it.

​Slowly, Reid’s smirk returned, wider and infinitely more predatory than before. He didn’t look at the fallen blocks. He looked directly at me, his eyes locking onto the hem of my white t-shirt.

​"Game over, Cap," he rasped, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy heat that made my entire stomach drop. "Take it off."