Painted in the Mind

Connor

He smirked.
"Check."
I huffed, exasperated. This man was just far too good at chess. I moved my king to the left. He moved his bishop to join in the carnage that was about to befall my poor little monarch.
Then came the gleeful cry of "Checkmate!" from the victor, and my profane and rather passionate elocution of
"Bugger!"
He raised a stupidly gorgeous eyebrow in my direction, his piercingly blue-grey eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Want to play again?"
"So you can win again too? Not likely."
"Hmm...how about we mix it up a little? You know, so it's not boring,"
I must admit - I was intrigued.
"Oh?" I inquired, scooting closer to the chess board (we were sitting on the floor).
"Each piece lost also loses you a piece of clothing and the loser has to chug a bottle of lemon juice."
He knew I couldn't refuse a challenge. Why couldn't I refuse a challenge. Any other person could just laugh and tell him to keep dreaming - yet here I was, fiddling with a pawn I'd captured during our last round.
"Deal. You're on."
——
This was going very badly. At least in that I was definitely going to lose. I was down to my bra and jeans, having lost my earrings, necklace, cardigan, socks, belt, and tank top. Connor, on the other hand, had only lost his socks and his shirt.
"Are you trying to get me naked?"
"Possibly." was his reply as he captured my other castle.
It was either my jeans or my bra.

Connor looked at me, a twinkle in his eyes. "Which is it going to be, Sweetheart? You're taking a while. Do you need help?"

I needed to take back some control. As much as I was starting to enjoy this, I needed to gain some dignity back. He was systematically undressing me with chess pieces. Damn he was good at this. I just had to be better.
"Hmm. You know...I think I might." I leant the chess board, giving him a full view of my A cups encased in an olive drab lace front-loader. Not impressive in size, but they were symmetrical and fairly perky.
"Think you could help? The clasp is always so tricky."
I looked up at him, biting my lip. "Pretty please?"

His eyes flicked to meet mine, then focused on the clasp that was supposedly 'tricky'.
It was basically a small buckle.
Blatantly simple.
His slender fingers made their way to the subject his eyes seemingly couldn't leave.
"I suppose. Do you want me to help?"
"Pretty please?" I then added, in a stage whisper, "I promise I don't have cooties."

The bottle of lemon juice was forgotten.