Making Wagers

Caeden's fingers left an antsy pressure on her side because he couldn't make up his mind how to go about his predicament. Feeling lust gnaw at him and feeling shame wash over him, he grew even more rigid and flustered. 

No, it's not, he muttered tightly shifting her to sit more on his leg at the expense of giving her a better view of his hand. His fingers tightened on her side to keep her from squirming. His disheveled hair fell more into his face at the struggle of organizing the woman in his lap, and he was grateful for it. He didn't want to look at her while she was so close. He had serious matters to be thinking of. He completely missed what Witclaw had been doing. He looked from his cards to the man now like a student asked a question he didn't know the answer to. Now, Witclaw was telling him to give up. Had he read something while Caeden had lost focus? 

At least the lady had grown quiet. Some sort of seriousness possessed her. He could feel her quit her squirming and make only small movements with her head between him and Witclaw. He could also feel her lean into him which both relieved and excited him. This, in turn, made him close his eyes and cover his face with his cards like a wealthy woman about to faint. This was too much for him. He'd been out in the wilderness for a few weeks before leaping into Witclaw's hospitality. The lures of such an elf, now, with so much whiskey in them on top, made him wonder how much he wanted the map and the opal. (He'd never been with an elf before, but he heard they were wild.) His reluctant, curious fingers trailed up her hips edging along the softness of her stomach and tracing the embroidery of her dress. 

Give me a moment, Witclaw. It's a nice dress. You know I love a proper stem stitch, he seemed to bluff, but really, it was just an attempt to buy time. Torn between his thoughts and the feel of her, Caden continue to let his fingers follow the paths of the embroidery up her stomach as his mind raced. Witclaw's tone of voice felt contrived, but the bourgois man was always one to brag, too. Witclaw, the gentleman. Witclaw, the coward. His logic tangled. He swallowed as it hit him: He had to bail. His hand stopped, lowering with defeat as his future set upon him. Months getting that opal to tempt Witclaw, wasted. 

Caaden avoided looking at her, resignation toying at his eyes as he finally stopped hiding his face in the cards, and began to reach forward it to throw them down. He didn't care if she saw them as he began to lean forward.