#carter baizen

as you reach his lap, you don't go for the zipper immediately. instead, you slide your palm him from his trousers, finding him already warm and beginning to stir. your thumb circles the head through the fabric, feeling him jump beneath your touch.

carter glances down, catching a glimpse of your hair between his legs, his breath hitching audibly. surprisingly, he widens his legs with immediance, creating space for you as his knuckles whiten against his cards. you find his zipper and slide it down slowly, freeing him from his briefs before you immediately wrap your lips around his cock.

you take him slow at first, swirling your tongue around the head before sliding down until you're taking him as deep as you can manage. the sound of his sharp inhale echoes in the small space under the table.

above you, you hear someone ask about the betting pool, but carter just manages a strained, "i'm in," his voice cracking slightly.

he tries to focus on the flop, but his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard against the sensation of you swallowing him.

"check," he mutters when it's his turn, but his fingers twitch violently against his chips, nearly knocking them over.

you shift your focus, withdrawing your mouth to replace it with slick fingers that wrap around the length of him. you can hear the other players discussing the turn card, their voices muffled by the heavy tablecloth, but all you care about is the way carter is unraveling.

he's trying so hard to maintain some semblance of control, but every time you squeeze tight or drag your nails lightly along his underside, his composure fractures.

"fifty more," he manages to choke out when the betting comes to him, but his voice is thick, strained with the effort of not moaning.

his free hand grips the edge of the table so hard his forearm muscles stand out in sharp relief. you decide to escalate, leaning forward to bite down on the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. he flinches violently, a strangled sound escaping his throat that he barely passes off as a cough.

"you okay, carter?" someone asks from across the table.

"fine," he grunts, though his eyes are blown wide and glassy, fixed on the cards in front of him. you know you've got him right where you want him.

as you continue the relentless friction of your hand, you lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you deliberately edge him. you can feel the tremors running through his thighs, the way his cock pulses against your palm as he nears his limit.

"call," he rasps when the final bet comes around, but the word sounds more like a plea. his composure has completely evaporated; he's not even looking at his cards anymore, just staring blankly ahead while his chest heaves. just as you feel him start to tense up for the inevitable release, you abruptly slow down, withdrawing your hand to gently massage his balls instead.

the sudden loss of stimulation makes him whine audibly, a sound he immediately tries to cover with another forced cough. he's desperate now, his hips twitching involuntarily as he searches for the friction you were providing. he's desperate now, his hips twitching involuntarily as he searches for the friction you just stole away.

"damn, carter, you're sweating like hell," one of the guys at the table remarks, and you can hear carter swallow hard.

"just... hot in here," he manages to grit out through clenched teeth.

you decide to give him exactly what he's begging for. you slide your hand back up his length, your grip tight and sure. this time, you don't hold back. you use your free hand to grip his thigh, holding him steady while you work him toward the edge again. his breathing becomes erratic, shallow gasps that he tries to disguise as frustrated exhales at the game.

"i'll raise," he chokes out, but his voice is almost gone, reduced to a gravelly whisper. his hips begin to buck involuntarily against you, his knuckles white as he grips the table for dear life.

you don't give him any warning. you tighten your grip and increase the speed, your thumb working the sensitive underside with ruthless precision. carter's head falls back slightly, his eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second before he forces them open again, terrified of being caught.

just as you feel that first violent spasm of his orgasm beginning to take hold, you abruptly pull away. you don't let him finish; instead, you slow your movements to a torturous crawl, your fingers barely grazing the tip of his cock as you deliberately hold him back from the edge. he makes a sound that is pure agony a broken, needy whimper that he has to swallow down like poison.

"don't," you whisper against his inner thigh, your breath hot and mocking.

carter has lost track of the game and his cards entirely. all he can focus on is the heat of your mouth, the bite of your teeth, and the knowing glint in your eyes.

"fifty — fifty more," he stammers, but the bet makes no sense. he pushes a stack of chips forward without even looking at them, his eyes unfocused and glazed.

the guy beside him scoops the pot with a triumphant shout, but carter just sits frozen, breathing heavy. he doesn't care about the money; he's fighting the urge to whimper your name. you pull your hand away, leaving him in total, unfulfilled need while he fumbles with shaking hands to gather his chips.

carter's lost, not just the hand, but his entire sense of self.

you crawl silently out from under the table, smoothing your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you catch his eye for a split second — he stares back with blown pupils and parted lips, quivering on the edge.

offering a slow, devastating smirk, you simply turn and walk towards the chattering crowd.

"congratulations on the win, guys," you say brightly, your voice casual and sweet as you walk over to the winner, clapping them on the shoulder.

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