Game Night

The first field goal had him straightening in his chair.

“Three points. Over my lap.”

Her head whipped around. “No way. Touchdowns only. That was the deal.”

He shook his head slowly, savoring it. “You never said only. A score’s a score.”

“That’s cheating.”

“That’s collecting,” he corrected, pulling her across his lap before she could scramble away. His palm came down sharp and deliberate. Once. Twice. Three times.

She yelped, kicking, but his hand lingered afterward, smoothing over the sting. Fingers drifted lower, teasing at the edge of her shorts until she gasped.

“That’s not part of it,” she hissed, squirming.

“Implied,” he countered, giving her hip a squeeze. “Three points, three swats…and maybe something oughta come off.” He started tugging at her pajama bottoms.

She grabbed onto them. “Touchdowns for clothing. That was the bargain.”

He paused, grin widening. “I think field goals deserve a clothing price, too.”

“Clothes stay.”

After a beat, he gave a reluctant nod, delivering one last stinging slap before letting her up.

“Fine,” he drawled. “But next time, you’re not getting off so easy.”

When the Steelers finally managed a touchdown, he pointed at her pajama shorts with a victorious tilt of his head.

“Off.”

“You hate it. You take it off.”

“Nope,” he said, settling back like a king on his throne. “You put it on, you take it off. Terms are terms.”

She grumbled. “Why am I the only one who has to follow terms?” But she peeled them off herself, tossing it at him.

He caught it, let it slide to the floor. “Another crime against humanity dealt with,” he muttered. “I should toss it right into the fire.”

Before she could crawl back under the blanket, he hauled her across his lap again.

“Seven points, seven swats.”

“Seven?!” she squeaked.

“Every last one,” he confirmed. But when he pulled her over his lap, he laughed and said, “Good Lord, the panties too?”

She giggled. “Aren’t they sexy?”

His hand cracked down, steady, deliberate. “That alone deserves its own separate spanking.”

She twisted on his lap. “What? No! That’s not fair! You are cheating so much!”

He let his hand answer for him, but between each slap his fingers lingered longer, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties, brushing heat, stroking just enough to make her arch and rock against him. By the time he reached seven, she was gasping more from his wandering fingers than the sting.

He gave her one last good swat. “One extra for those abomination of panties.” Then he let her up.

“You’re making up rules as you go,” she complained, hiding back under the blanket.

“Am not,” he denied, but the glint in his eye gave him away.

By halftime, she was down to just her panties beneath the blanket, glaring at the screen, and at him. He, meanwhile, was pleased with himself and fully clothed, stretching like a man enjoying the show.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said, glancing at the clock. “Plenty of time for our own halftime show.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re clothed. I’m not. That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” he said smoothly, tugging at the blanket again. “And I told you, this was gonna be costly.”

“You’re already getting plenty out of this.”

He leaned close, lips brushing her cheek. “Not nearly enough.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, the flush on her cheeks betraying her. “You’re enjoying yourself way too much.”

“For my suffering,” he said, deadpan, as though watching the Steelers was an actual punishment. “Cover my costs.”

She groaned, muttering curses under her breath, but the blanket slipped aside as she shifted to her knees.

He stayed exactly where he was, maddeningly calm, one hand guiding her down, the other still clutching the edge of that hated blanket like it might yet end in the fire.

The roar of the stadium filled the background, but in that chair their own halftime show played out, her lips and tongue working to cover his “suffering,” his satisfaction mounting with every teasing stroke. He groaned low, one hand stroking her jaw, controlling her pace with infuriating patience.

Then, just when she thought he might let her finish what she’d started, he stopped her with a firm tug.

“Not now,” he murmured, pulling her up and into his lap.

She landed against his chest with a startled breath, legs tangling across his thighs. His arms closed around her, cradling her like she belonged there, one hand steady at her back while the other slid lower, fingers skirting underneath her panties, teasing between her thighs.

All the pent up tension from the first half, the swats, the lingering fingers, the constant denial, broke through at once. It didn’t take much. She clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as he worked her, coaxing her higher until she shattered against his hand, muffling her cries in his shirt.

He held her steady through it, kissing her head as she rocked in his arms.

“Just one,” he whispered, lips still on her forehead. “Because I’m not cruel. And the rest will come later, regardless of how your team performs.”

Her breathing was ragged, her body still shaking as she clutched at him. Without a word, he reached for the blanket he’d mocked all night and pulled it over her shoulders, tucking it around her bare skin. For once, the blanket wasn’t an enemy, it was warmth, a shield, a quiet way of showing that her comfort mattered more to him than proving his point. He kissed her softly, thoroughly, grounding her as her breathing steadied.

She stayed curled against him while the broadcast rolled back in, recovering, his hands aimlessly playing with her body under the blanket.

The second half turned merciless. The Steelers stumbled, tripping over their own plays. She groaned into the blanket, still curled up against him, pulling it up to her chin.

When the other team nailed a field goal, he shifted beneath her, his hand already sliding lower again.

“Three points,” he reminded, satisfaction in his voice. “And you know what that means.”

She jerked upright. “No! That’s their score.”

“Exactly,” he said smoothly, grinning. “Your team stopped holding up their end. Somebody’s gotta pay for their failings.”

“That’s not the rule,” she shot back, clutching the blanket tighter.

“It is now,” he said, already turning her over across his lap, pushing the blanket aside. “Second half adjustment.”

She sputtered, indignant. “That’s….you can’t just....”

The first swat cut her off, sharp and certain. She squealed into the blanket, kicking, but he only tightened his hold and delivered the second and third with deliberate rhythm.

“They let you down, so I collect,” he declared. His hand lingered afterward, fingers tracing between her thighs, stroking until her protest melted into a gasp.

He pulled her panties the rest of the way off and tossed them onto the floor with her pajamas.

“No fair!” she protested.

“Your team’s incompetent,” he told her. “Don’t blame me for poor performance.”

When the opposing team scored again,a touchdown this time, she didn’t even have time to argue.

“Seven,” he proclaimed, dragging her across his lap like she weighed nothing.

“Not fair!” she cried again.

“Talk to your boys on the field,” he replied with amusement, punctuating every word with a firm slap.  By the fifth, his fingers slowed, drawing soft circles until she writhed. By the seventh, her protests dissolved into moans, her face pressed into her arms as his fingers worked relentlessly.

He let her up at last, very pleased with himself. “See? At least somebody’s putting points on the board. And it’s not your garbage team.”

“You’re unbearable,” she breathed, still catching her breath as she pulled the blanket close.

“And you’re lucky I don’t count interceptions,” he joked, hand gently caressing her cheek. “Though maybe I should…”

By the fourth quarter, she was half laughing, half protesting, stripped down to nothing beneath the blanket she clutched like a lifeline.

And when the Steelers finally lost, he stretched like a man who had known all along how this would end.

“Well,” he said, smiling. “Looks like I win. Naked. Bed. Now.”

He led her, still wrapped in her team blanket, back to the bedroom.

She scowled. “You ignored terms all night.”

His grin was self satisfied as ever as he removed his own clothes and climbed into the bed. “You’re the one who wanted something from me. You wanted the game, you wanted me sitting there. I merely collected payment, my dear.”

She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re such a cheater.”

His grin gave him away. “You enjoyed yourself. And now…” He reached and pulled the offensive blanket away from her, threw it across the room, and patted the bed. “Final payment. In the bed. Naked. All night.”

She gave a long sigh and climbed underneath the blankets to shield herself from her vulnerability. 

“That’s the cost,” he said simply, pulling her close to him. “But don’t worry. I’ll still give you more than their score would’ve allowed. Because no matter what the scoreboard says…” His hand slid up her thigh and opened her up. “I’ll always come through for you.”

She inhaled sharply at his touch, and breathlessly whispered, “You better.”

“Oh, I will,” he murmured, pulling her closer still, sliding his fingers into her gently with teasing patience as her breathing deepened. “Steelers might’ve let you down…” He kissed her shoulder softly, then her collarbone. “…but I won’t.”

Her breath broke apart as his fingers explored deeper, moving with steady rhythm until she was moaning and arching into his touch.

“More than the scoreboard would’ve allowed,” he promised against her skin, his voice low and certain.

She let herself melt into him, knowing that in this, he’d keep his word.