I suck in a breath, which gives him deeper access to my mouth. I’m drowning in the kiss, melting beneath him. He shifts so his hands move up, running along the thin bottoms, then sliding them down.
I can’t imagine what all we’ll do. I’ll do any of it. Anything at all.
His thumb slides down my belly and slips into the wetness between my legs. His knee shifts them more widely apart.
I can’t breathe. My body is engulfed in the flames of this need. It’s brighter than the light above us. I am consumed with every stroke of his finger.
He slides up and down in that space, feeling me, circling, delving only slightly inside. When I suck in a breath, he smiles against my mouth, like he’s found what he wanted.
He works it with several fingers, rubbing it in ways that make me see stars. His mouth leaves mine and inches down past my jaw to my collarbone.
Then, he nudges the red circle aside and takes my nipple in his mouth.
I arch toward him, gasping for breath. I squeeze my eyes closed to the light overhead and let all the sensations take over.
The music is gone, the bar silent and still, so when I let out my first cry, it echoes on the walls.
“Yes,” he says. “I want to hear every sound you make.”
His fingers work faster, his mouth crossing to find the other breast.
My body shudders from his attention. I want this morning to last, the song, the dance, this act. But I can’t slow down my response. My body contracts beneath his hand.
“Merrick!” I shout and realize I haven’t said his name before, not like this, a cry in the throes of heat.
“Yell my name,” he says, his fingers working faster. “Fill the room with it.”
I clamp down so hard I couldn’t control my voice if I wanted to. “Merrick! Merrick! Oh my God!” My hands squeeze his powerful biceps as the orgasm rockets through me. I want to hang on, to stay in this space forever.
And he keeps working me, drawing it out, until every shudder subsides, and I collapse back down on the floor.
The hardwood floor. I’m going to feel that tomorrow.
So might he, given how long he’s been on his knees.
This thought makes me want to laugh. I throw my arm over my eyes.
His face moves close to my cheek. “I like that an orgasm makes you laugh.”
This makes me laugh harder. “If an orgasm is the payment for dancing for you, I’ll do it every day. Twice.”
His nose nudges against my ear. “Yes. A dance for an orgasm. Any time you want.”
I want to draw my arms around him, pull him close. But he withdraws from me to kneel next to my feet.
“I take it the pole worked well?” he asks.
I sit up, shading my eyes with a hand. “It’s perfect.”
Before I can feel too strange, lying in a blinding light with my outfit askew, my sparkly bottoms around one ankle, he extends a hand to help me up.
I stand, adjusting my outfit. “Now you’ve seen the tiniest thing I own,” I say. “There’s nowhere to go from here.”
He draws me against him, my back to his chest, and runs his hands down my body from neck to breast to waist. Then he slides his fingers inside the tiny red bottoms, making me gasp.
“My sweet Marietta, we have so many places to go.”
I shudder against him.
