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There is no way he can know.
Unless Charles tells him, which is not in the rules.
Moira suspects that they both cheat, in every game, all the time.

She is on her way out when he catches up with her, yanking her arm so she stumbles and then pushing her against the car. He tries to get his hand under her skirt, but she clamps her legs together, starts to fight him off. He slaps her hand away and grabs a hold of her throat. She stops and stares at him.

”Open. Your. Goddamn. Legs.”

Moira hesitates and his hold tightens in warning. She spreads her legs and he smiles, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Good girl.”

He pushes his hand up her thigh, rubbing his fingers against the moist lace. She doesn't make a sound, but he doesn't let go of her throat. She can feel her own pulse thrumming under his thumb.

“I told you not to wear these. You know what happens when you try to be clever.”

“I'm going to town,” she mutters. “It's not proper.”

It's an excuse, and he sees through it. He hooks his fingers, taking a hold of the fabric and yanking hard, again, until it rips.

“And just when you hit the winning streak,” he says and tosses the remnants of the panties to the ground. “Back to the square one.”

The air is cold on her naked skin but its all heat and sparks when he pushes his hand back under her skirt, slides his fingers in her. There is nothing she could do or say, her body betrays everything she feels. But then again, so does his.

He makes undignified sound when she slips her hand down his pants, stroking him like he strokes her. The hood of the car shudders in the harmony of their hands. It's a strange sensation, like pleasure amplified, fed back to her and through her back to him. And just when she is close, he stops and pulls his hand away.

“I'm feeling generous, so I'll give you a point,” he says, and leans to kiss the corner of her mouth before letting her go. “Charles has a new round planned for this afternoon. Don't be late.”

He flashes a smile before turning around, starts to walk back inside.

“I'm going to win you know,” Moira shouts to his back, leaning to pick up the torn underwear. The boys shouldn't find them. “It will be my round next.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says and Moira can hear him laugh, before the front door closes behind him.