A Chance at Passion

Preach's offer was not exactly generous, since anyone actively gambling got free drinks. Brett decided to call it a night, perhaps hit a drive-through for a late night snack. He wanted to get enough sleep to be sharp and focused the following day. In a way, he was glad that the last round of the tournament would be during the day rather than at midnight. Win or lose, he would be done with Del Rio by dinner.

Which would only leave the question of what to do about Ino . . . .

His sudden thought of her made him reach for his phone. He had turned it off during the game as per house rules, and now switched it back on while making his way toward the casino doors. Sure enough, there were two messages from his lover. The first had been sent perhaps ten minutes after he had dropped her off at home. It simply read, "good luck."

The second had come just under twenty minutes earlier: "I am so wet for you right now. I can't stand it. All I want to do is make love to you."

Her message aroused him, but he hesitated before responding. His gaze focused on two particular words: make love.

How serious is she taking this? Brett wondered, stopping in the middle of the casino's lobby, surrounded by flashing lights and a cacophony of sounds. Hell, how serious am I taking this?

She's a married woman, Brett. An unhappily married woman. She probably wants out, and maybe she thinks she's falling for you. Maybe she thinks you're gonna take her away from the shitty life she's trapped in.

Question is . . . are you? If you win tomorrow, and you've got half a million in your pocket . . . that'd be enough for any two people to live on for quite a while. Long enough to decide where to settle down . . . .

The conundrum nagged at him as he headed toward the doors and out into the warm night air. Finally, halfway to his car, he stopped and sent back a short message. "I keep thinking about you, too."

He checked the time on the phone -- 2:24 AM -- then tucked it back in his jacket.

It vibrated just as he reached his car. He had not expected that. At such a late hour, he would have thought Ino would be asleep in the bed she shared with her drunkard husband.

Standing beside the roadster, he took out the phone to see the message she had sent.

"I masturbated twice tonight thinking about you. I licked my fingers after and it tasted different because you came inside me. My husband's passed out and won't wake up for hours. I want you."

Despite his reservations, Brett could not ignore the sharp and sudden arousal that gripped him. He could just pretend he did not get the message, he knew, and head back to the motel for some much-needed sleep. He needed to be fully rested and ready the following day.

Logic told him to just let it go and get some sleep.

But his reckless mind would not let him listen to logic.

* * * *

This is stupid, he told himself. There's reckless, and then there's stupid, and this is definitely stupid.

Mental berating notwithstanding, Brett stopped the car just past the entrance of the drive leading to Ino's house. He pulled off the gravel road and cut the engine, then stepped out into the still night air. He could hear crickets chirping and the occasional rustle of some small animal in the darkened grass, but nothing else. The homes in the spacious park were all darkened for the night.

He looked for the large cedar Ino had mentioned in her text, finding it standing between the edges of her property and that of another tenant of the park. He approached warily, cool, damp grass crunching beneath his shoes. As he stepped closer, he could make out the swinging bench suspended from the limbs above.

Like a ghostly manifestation, a figure emerged from around the far side of the tree's thick trunk. Even in the deep shade provided by the tree, Brett could tell it was Ino. More than that, he could see she was totally and unabashedly nude.

He took in a deep, calming breath, but it helped little to assuage the rapidly-growing sexual need within him. He slowed in his steps, watching his lover as she slid onto the hanging bench. She casually lifted and spread her legs wide while facing him. One of her hands settled between her legs, upon the delectable young cunt Brett had come to treasure.

He stopped several feet away, watching Ino as she stroked her thick, dark pink lips. Knowing she had his rapt attention, she slipped a finger between her folds, then brought it to her lips. Through the gloom, she stared at his face as she sucked the tangy flavor from her finger.

"I want you," she declared huskily.

Brett did not respond with words. Instead, he approached his unabashed lover, nearly pressing himself between her thighs as he reached out to snare her fine-boned ankles. Almost rudely, he pushed her legs back, making Ino gasp. His hands then slid down her inner thighs as he dropped to his knees.

The fragrance wafting from her sex was strong, feral, almost overpowering. Her pussy was swollen and pink and more than obviously wet. The fleshy lips overlapped the dark, spritely hair surrounding her labia and glistened in the dim light.

He latched his mouth to her pussy and sucked deeply, making them both moan. Ino did, indeed, taste a little different, Brett decided. Stronger. Perhaps he tasted a bit of himself upon those sublimely sleek lips. He did not care. He devoured her as a starving man would feast upon the most delicious buffet, sucking, licking, digging, pulling.

Ino whimpered and moaned, slapping her hands to the back of Brett's head, wanting to get off. But just as he could detect the tells of opposing gamblers, Brett could tell when Ino was about to come. And just at the apex of her sexual high, he suddenly jerked back, his mouth as dripping as her pussy, and lurched to his feet.

He had unzipped his slacks while servicing her, and now his cock was thick and stiff and ready. Just as Ino was about to protest her denied orgasm, he shoved himself inside her, making the broad swing creak and moan, echoing the sounds his lover now made.

Ino sighed deeply, a sound mingled with a staccato, girlish whimper as Brett's cock dug deep within her. She looked up at him with complete adoration.

He leaned over her, slipping a hand behind Ino's head to tilt her face up for a kiss. Their lips and tongues dueled feverishly as he pumped back and forth, each thrust harder and firmer than the last. The bench swing croaked in protest. Ino's legs danced and trembled.

"Make me come," she pleaded, her voice soft, hoarse, distant. "Please."

Brett responded only with a grin and a growl, fucking harder and harder, his balls slapping against her buttocks, his cock squelching with each determined thrust within her snug tunnel.

Around them, the air seemed to become charged. The wind picked up. The sharp aroma of ozone filled their senses. Brett ignored it all, focusing upon his union with Ino.

All the while, her eyes stared into his, a constantly pleading expression within them. But then they suddenly closed, and her features twisted. Her body quaked and stiffened, vaginal muscles gripping tight around Brett's cock. He knew she was on the verge, and to send her over, he settled his lips against her neck and sucked.

"Oh, God!" Ino cried, convulsing in orgasm. She shook back and forth, making the swing protest against the strain. Her pussy clamped down around Brett's cock, as if wanting to keep it inside forever.

But just as Ino's orgasm played out and she began to ebb down, Brett thrust a few more times within her before pulling out. His cock stiff and wet, shimmering with his lover's fluids, he stroked himself to climax. Spurts of milky fluid splattered onto Ino's breasts and heaving stomach.

She giggled at the feel of his warm offering, and suddenly doubled up, bending over to suck the head of Brett's still-gushing cock in her mouth. She moaned at the taste of his semen, and pulled him closer to make sure his penis remained in her mouth until his orgasm had run its course.

Brett smacked his hands to the back of the swing, trembling and on the verge of losing balance. His cock burned within Ino's mouth, especially given the way her tongue massaged it, coaxing out every last drop of precious fluid he had to give. She pushed him back gently, just enough so that the very tip of his cock graced her lips, and swallowed with a soft, contented sigh. Then she engulfed him almost to the root, running her hands up and down his body.

He finally drew back, penis softened and spent. She gave the head one last loving lick and leaned back, smiling sublimely.

"I never liked the taste of it before," she revealed with a sigh, looking up at him. "But if you wanted to do it in my mouth every time, I'd love it."

He chuckled, still euphoric, and cupped her face. "You're an amazing woman," he said.

She grinned with pure affection. "I love the way you look at me."

He settled onto his knees once more before her, smoothing his hands up and down her pale, toned thighs. The satisfied flesh of her sex seemed to wink at him, as if to suggest further consummation. He kissed the edge of her pubic mound, feeling the soft wet hairs against his lips.

"You didn't tell me how you did tonight," she said.

He looked up at her with a crooked smile. "I won the second round," he told her.

Ino grinned again and clapped her hands together girlishly. "Yay!"

He laughed. "Still one more round to go," he said. "Tomorrow at three in the afternoon."

"Not at midnight?" she asked.

He shook his head with a wry chuckle. "I should really be getting some sleep right now."

Ino's face darkened, looking apologetic. "Oh, God, baby, I'm sorry."

Brett shook his head. "Don't you dare apologize."

"But--"

"But nothing," Brett said firmly, pushing up to kiss his lover. He did not mind the stickiness of her lips, the lingering flavor of his own semen. "You're my good luck charm."

Ino smiled sweetly and touched his cheek, gazing dreamily into his eyes. "What're you gonna do if you win the whole thing?"

Brett shrugged. "It might be bad luck to think about that, you know," he said.

She laughed softly. "What do you win?" she asked. "I mean, if you, uh, win?"

He smiled. "Half a million dollars."

Ino's eyes bulged. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Yup."

"Wow."

He laughed. "'Wow' is an understatement," he said. "And I don't think I'm gonna win the whole thing. Best I can hope for is to at least break even and walk away with the winnings I've already put in the bank. Seriously, what I've already won from the first two rounds has made this trip worth it. But not as worth it as meeting you."

She both swooned at his words and gave him a you're-full-of-shit look. "So, what if you do win the whole thing?"

Brett shrugged, casually caressing Ino's naked legs. He ducked his head to plant a kiss upon her glowing pink pussy. "Actually, if I did, I figured I'd go full pro," he said. "Cash in my car, buy a nice little RV and go on the road, hitting every casino with a tournament."

She smiled. "Sounds nice," she said.

"Nice for a pipe dream," he responded. "Truth is, I'll do my best, but I won't win the big purse. I'm okay with that. This has still been the best tournament I've ever been to."

She touched his lip with her thumb, eyes roaming across his face. "You'd really sell your car?"

He laughed. "Yeah, probably."

"I like your car," Ino said absently. "Some really nice things've happened in it."

Brett smirked. "In, on, around," he said. "Tell you what; if I win the tournament, the car's yours."

Ino bit her lip, staring into his eyes. "Pinky swear?"

He nodded and raised his hand, curling his little finger. "Pinky swear."

* * * *

If ever there was a day in which Brett was ready for anything, that Friday was it. Despite finally making it to his motel room bed at just after four in the morning, he awoke refreshed and smiling a little before ten. With hours to go before the final round of the poker tournament, he made a deposit at the bank, did some light shopping, and gradually made his way back to the Double J diner for a slice of cherry apple pie.

The flirtatious middle-aged waitress, Mona, greeted him with a randy smile and told him, before he asked, that Ino wasn't working that day and that she would be taking care of him. Brett chuckled at first, but the woman's blatant come-ons nearly became annoying.

Still, he savored every bite of the pie, having come to the conclusion that it was as much a determinant of his good luck as coupling with his favorite, sexy young waitress.

Just as he finished the last bite of pie, Mona appeared to clear the plate away. "You know," she drawled in her trailer trash accent. "Something occurred to me while I was watching you eat."

Brett wiped his mouth with a napkin and regarded the woman dubiously. "What's that?"

The corner of her mouth curled as if she had gained the wisdom of the ages. "You don't do nothing halfway."

He frowned in confusion. "Is that good or bad?"

She laughed softly, assessing him once more with her eyes. "I know lots'a people around here," she said in a quietly ominous way. "I hear just about everything that goes on in this town."

Brett watched her, effecting his poker face. "Okay."

Mona smacked her gum with a self-efficacious smile. "You been doing pretty well at the Aguilar," she said. "Sent some people packing. They say you're pretty smooth."

Brett smiled back, cocking his head. "Have to be."

Mona nodded. "Uh-huh. Sure do. But there's a big difference between hearts on a card and hearts on a person."

He stared back, stoic. "Not sure I know what you mean."

Mona slid into the chair across from him, boldly meeting Brett's eyes with her own. "Not that it's general knowledge at all," she said, then laughed to herself. "Hell, I'd be surprised if anyone else has picked up on it . . . but you and Ino . . . that ain't no stroll in the park. I figure you already know that."

Brett said nothing, not knowing who this woman was beyond her name and occupation.

"You ain't gotta say a thing," Mona continued with a casual wave of her hand. "Don't need to. But Ino ain't exactly happy where she's at."

"No kidding," Brett said.

Mona smiled, appearing glad that Brett decided to join the conversation. "You know what she's looking for."

He pursed his lips. His eyes drifted away. "A way out."

A wink dusted the mature woman's eye. "Now, I ain't gonna dare to think I know what either you two are feeling, but I got suspicions. And I gotta wonder if my baby girl Ino's gonna ride off into the sunset, or if she's just gonna get left behind to watch another sun go down."

Brett didn't respond. He did not know what to say.

Mona stood and slipped a check presenter from her apron, setting it down upon the table. "Whenever you're ready, hun."

* * * *

Brett was of two minds when he entered the casino. Part of whim was concentrating upon the battle of wits that lay ahead, while the other wrestled with his choices concerning Ino. Win or lose, he knew, Ino would be hoping in some doe-eyed fashion to be carried away from her life of minutia. Brett had all but promised her that through his actions.

Damn it, he cursed himself as he made his way through the casino, fingering the gold card in his hand. All I wanted to do was play some fucking cards . . . .

A series of ushers pointed him in the right direction, and he found himself being guided along a short carpeted hall to a rather unassuming door. Stepping through as it was opened for him, Brett looked upon a private parlor. There was a single large round table in the middle of the room. The opposite wall was a bank of windows looking out upon the Mexican desert.

Howard Preach in all his diminutive glory was there to greet him, offering an empty hand. "Mr. Walker," he said with a twitch of his mustache. "Welcome to the final round."

Brett managed a smile, banishing, for the moment, all other thoughts that did not relate to card-playing. He shook Preach's hand. "Are you playing?"

Preach barked in laughter. "Oh, hell no," he declared. "I'm a businessman."

Brett winked. "Me, too."

* * * *

The six of them sat quietly, professionally, anxious around the table. Brett let his eyes drift over each of the four other men and one lone woman -- unlike Miss Fake Tits, this one was modestly dressed and into her sixties, not at all what Brett would want to see posing in a mechanic's photo calendar -- finding each of them a par above the opponents he had faced the previous two days, if only by dress alone.

"Gentlemen and lady," Preach said as he stood off to one side of the room. He held no microphone this time. "This is the final round in the Aguilar Poker Tournament. My congratulations to all of you for making it this far."

Light, scattered applause followed the man's words, but Preach waved it away with an amused look. "I don't care what happens tonight," he said. "As long as it is fair and just. The six of you are the best this tournament has brought, but only one of you can win. Let it be a respectful win." He took up a glass of champagne, identical to the one before each of the players.

"Salud."

"Salud," responded the gamblers.

Carelessly, Preach hurled his glass toward the hearth of the corner fireplace. He grinned. "Let's get to it!"

* * * *

Brett stared at the cards in his hand. The only bright points where the seven and nine of hearts. Two hearts, he thought. Is that supposed to mean something? I'm one heart and Ino is another? Nine minus seven is two, which is how many years she's been unhappily married . . . .

"Cards?" asked the dealer.

"Two," Brett muttered, tossing cards across the table. He slapped up the fresh ones, finding a seven of clubs.

Okay, so Ino's the seven, and I'm the nine . . . there's two of her and one of me . . . two different ways her life can go . . . what the fuck am I thinking? Get your head out from between her legs, man!

Brett was barely aware of what was going on around him. He was operating on automatic. When there was a raise, he put in his chips, and when the call came, he laid down his cards.

He did not have the best hand, but neither did he have the worst. A rotund fellow in an impressive suit swore under his breath and rose to cash in his remaining chips. Brett looked up to the man briefly, as if wondering what was going on, and sipped his bourbon.

Clear your head, damn it!

The following hand was equally semi-disastrous. Brett ended with a pair of tens, barely beating out a pair of nines and keeping himself in the game. For Brett, however, nearly losing twice in a row was tantamount to folding and walking away.

"I need a moment," he announced, abruptly pushing back from the table and standing.

"Mr. Walker, we cannot stop the game once in progress," Mr. Preach warned.

"Then deal my cards," Brett replied, taking a few steps and turning away. He stared out across the serene desert view, imagining a playful young Ino, as innocent as her name implied, growing up with such surroundings . . . only to find herself trapped before she had even finished the first quarter-century of her life.

It's not my responsibility to take care of her, he thought angrily. She's not my responsibility. She's beautiful, she's sweet, she's an incredible lover, but I didn't come here to save someone from misery. I came here to win.

"Mr. Walker, if you do not take your seat, you will be considered as forfeiting. You will lose."

Brett's eyes narrowed. Mona's words resounded in his mind, a snippet of the conversation they'd had. "You know what she's looking for," she had said. And you said, "a way out."