Cue-less

Debora watches the table, still waiting for the balls. Zenza steps in close behind her and leans over the felt with her. His arm brushes hers, then his hand slides down to the cue she is not holding. She feels the first touch at the inside of her knee, warm fingers moving up until they cup the heat between her legs. The contact is firm and slow. Her body answers before her mind does, a soft rush of wet heat soaking the thin cotton. Zenza pulls the fabric aside with two fingers and finds her already slick. He traces the split, spreads her, and presses two knuckles against her clit. The cue stays untouched. The only strokes happening now are the slow, rhythmic ones his hand makes inside her shorts. Debora braces both palms on the table and widens her stance without thinking. Zenza keeps working her, knuckles gliding through the wet until the fabric clings to every fold. Every pass of his hand drags another small sound out of her. He frees his cock with his free hand and lays it along the crease of her ass, thick and hot. No cue touches the table. The only balls in play are the heavy ones resting against her thigh as he lines up. She rocks back once, pressing into him, and his fingers sink deeper. The game is forgotten. The felt is damp where her palms sweat, and the only rules left are the ones her hips are writing against his hand.