His hands never faltered in their dance as he manipulated the cards, but it took all his concentration. Ezra sucked in his breath and did not bite his lip when that finger stroked lightly down his thigh. Again. He glared at the 'napping' Vin. Who knew that his quiet Texan could be such a tease?

The Seven had gathered for a private game of poker but it seemed Vin had another game in mind altogether. He had folded his hand early in the evening and was comfortably slouched in the seat beside him, eyes half closed, legs stretched out under the table. Despite his tranquil appearance, the aggravating man was torturing him under the table.

It was maddening! Precisely four inches down, then--oh god--up the inside seam of his pants. Each light touch was a wave of pleasure and he was almost dizzy with need. Each stroke came tantalizingly closer and closer to his erection but never actually touched. Damn the man!

Vin's leg was now pressed against his own. Despite his firmest resolutions, Ezra found himself opening wider to the ministrations of those clever, clever fingers.

Maybe if he lost the next hand the others would leave to celebrate the sizeable pot....