Amber bounced the ball so as to reach Eric; she could’ve flung it, but that took more skill and she wasn’t ready to reveal her cards. "Sure," Amber agreed to the endgame of eleven. Fewer points worked in favor of her scheme.
As Eric stumbled with the dribbling, clumsier than that first graceful circuit when they'd reached here, Amber knew the jig was up. He was faking now. It was so stupid it was almost funny. Why would she fall for her own trick?
Even pretending to be worse though, fuck, he was better than her. Amber reached fast enough to grab the ball, but she didn't have the needed moves ingrained; Eric blocked her automatically as if he knew in advance where she'd be. And when he threw her the ball, for her turn at offense, he still managed to nab it right back.
Fuck. Amber just stood there, panting, a hand on her hip as Eric went in for a fucking fifth point. She might as well not even be there. Time to pull in more of her heavy-duty tactics. But before she could, Eric himself messed up. Just great. She could get the ball back, as long as he screwed up his own maneuvers.
She'd take up any opportunity, though. Amber grabbed the ball, dashed, jumped. Her ponytail had loosened from all the running and jumping, sweat ran down her face, but none of that mattered, because she felt fucking alive, driven by one glorious goal: to win. No more pretending, now, this was as good as she got, determined, fast, forceful. Eric getting in her grill without doing anything to actually stop her was annoying, but she'd still take advantage of his horniness. Feet pounding the smooth floor, Amber managed another shot, the ball whistling sweetly through the net. Score.
Catching the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber hated to relinquish it again. Stupid rules. Not time to break them yet, though. Amber passed the ball back to Eric, running to block him. He was in his element, though, grinning, assured. He was sweating more than she was, stains spotting his shirt, but even so, lunging and throwing seemed to come effortlessly to him. Inside, Amber growled.
She managed to score another couple of points on the offense, reluctantly passing the ball back to Eric after each turn, so she wasn’t too far behind. The third time, though, about to lose the ball, she shot from far away; missed by a mile. Damn. Amber stopped for a second, hands on her knees, getting in air now. Damn it, she'd lost herself the chance to keep on scoring. If she was going to play like this, she might as well sit down on the outer edge and watch Eric as he slam-dunked consecutively. No. They were even and that'd be laughably easy to beat. Amber righted herself, ran again, the end of her ponytail whipping against the side of her head.
"Hey!" she cried out once she was within arm's reach of Eric. "Weren't we going to play for the skins?" He'd meant himself and the other guys, but whatever. Once she had his attention, Amber tore her tank top off. The distraction-- shock-- might just be enough for her to steal the ball back.
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As Eric stumbled with the dribbling, clumsier than that first graceful circuit when they'd reached here, Amber knew the jig was up. He was faking now. It was so stupid it was almost funny. Why would she fall for her own trick?
Even pretending to be worse though, fuck, he was better than her. Amber reached fast enough to grab the ball, but she didn't have the needed moves ingrained; Eric blocked her automatically as if he knew in advance where she'd be. And when he threw her the ball, for her turn at offense, he still managed to nab it right back.
Fuck. Amber just stood there, panting, a hand on her hip as Eric went in for a fucking fifth point. She might as well not even be there. Time to pull in more of her heavy-duty tactics. But before she could, Eric himself messed up. Just great. She could get the ball back, as long as he screwed up his own maneuvers.
She'd take up any opportunity, though. Amber grabbed the ball, dashed, jumped. Her ponytail had loosened from all the running and jumping, sweat ran down her face, but none of that mattered, because she felt fucking alive, driven by one glorious goal: to win. No more pretending, now, this was as good as she got, determined, fast, forceful. Eric getting in her grill without doing anything to actually stop her was annoying, but she'd still take advantage of his horniness. Feet pounding the smooth floor, Amber managed another shot, the ball whistling sweetly through the net. Score.
Catching the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber hated to relinquish it again. Stupid rules. Not time to break them yet, though. Amber passed the ball back to Eric, running to block him. He was in his element, though, grinning, assured. He was sweating more than she was, stains spotting his shirt, but even so, lunging and throwing seemed to come effortlessly to him. Inside, Amber growled.
She managed to score another couple of points on the offense, reluctantly passing the ball back to Eric after each turn, so she wasn’t too far behind. The third time, though, about to lose the ball, she shot from far away; missed by a mile. Damn. Amber stopped for a second, hands on her knees, getting in air now. Damn it, she'd lost herself the chance to keep on scoring. If she was going to play like this, she might as well sit down on the outer edge and watch Eric as he slam-dunked consecutively. No. They were even and that'd be laughably easy to beat. Amber righted herself, ran again, the end of her ponytail whipping against the side of her head.
"Hey!" she cried out once she was within arm's reach of Eric. "Weren't we going to play for the skins?" He'd meant himself and the other guys, but whatever. Once she had his attention, Amber tore her tank top off. The distraction-- shock-- might just be enough for her to steal the ball back.