“On your hands and knees. Consider it punishment for thinking I’d ever want you to dress like my ex and for listening to your father when it comes to my preferences. You want to know what I like?I like you.And if you ever doubt that, ask me.”
Her lips part in a soft “oh,” and for a second, I think I’ve lost her. The fight flickers in her eyes, the same fight she’s shown me every time she’s tried to stay safely inside her carefully drawn lines and lawyer-speak.
But then, just like that night in the club, she surprises me. She turns, walks to the doorway, then drops to her hands and knees and starts to crawl.
The sight of her moving toward me, her hair falling in front of her face, the hem of my shirt swaying with every slow inch, turns me on in ways I didn’t think was possible.
When she reaches me, she kneels at my feet, her hands sliding up my legs to rest on my knees before she moves them higher and squeezes my thighs so firmly that I feel it in the back of my neck.
Her grip has my cock at attention and if she moved just a little higher, she would touch it. I wonder how it’d feel to have her slender fingers wrapped around me squeezing.
She stops there, pausing, her eyes lifting to meet mine. Waiting for my permission and approval.
I’m going to give her so much more than that.
“Good girl,” I murmur, cupping her chin softly and tilting her face upward until her wide, pretty eyes meet mine.
My thumb brushes against her lips, lingering for just a moment before I press it past the seam. Her mouth opens willingly until she’s wrapped around me, sucking down on one digit with a tiny hum of pleasure. Her cheeks hollow, her tongue flicks over the bed of my thumb and all I can do is watch.
“Soft, pretty lips,” I say, my voice low as my hand moves to her throat, fingers wrapping around the slender column of her neck. “A neck made to hold.” I let my hand tighten just enough tofeel the thrum of her pulse beneath my palm, and then I trail my fingers upward, tangling in her golden hair. “And this hair? Made for pulling.”
I tug gently, tilting her head back and exposing the pale curve of her throat. Her pulse is racing beneath her skin. I’m dying to leave marks there that show she’s mine; to claim every inch of her so that when she looks in the mirror tomorrow, she can’t pretend this is all fake. That she feels something for me too.
But instead, I loosen my grip and lean in close to her ear.
“But I won’t. Not yet,” I whisper. “Now show me how you give a lap dance.”
Her breathing picks up, but she nods, releases my thighs, and rises to her feet. There’s a hint of nervousness in her eyes, but there’s something bolder there too now. It’s the same resolve she had in the club. Like she knows she’s doing something that’s pushing her out of her comfort zone, but she wants to do it anyway. She needs this. She craves it. It just takes a little coaxing and deserved praise to bring this side of her out.
I fish out my phone from my pocket and pull up a slow, sensual song that she can move to. And as soon as the music begins to play, she does.
She starts in a slow circle around me, her fingertips ghosting over my shoulders, brushing my arms, teasing me. Her touch is featherlight, and every pass around the chair has me craving more.
My eyes are locked on her every movement, and where else could I possibly look when she’s in the room?
Rosie may not think she’s got my attention, but I plan on showing her that since she danced into my world, there’s been no one else I’ve looked at. No one else that I’ve wanted.
I don’t see a future past her.It’s only her.
When she pauses at my front, she leans over, her hands drop to my thighs, thumbs tracing along the inner seam of my thin sweatpants. Her palms press against the thick muscles there, moving upward, stroking closer to where I’m already hard, waiting for her to touch me.
“You’re so big…” she whispers, her voice soft and awed as she looks down at my lap.
“It’s for you,” I say, my focus only on her. The gentle curve of her nose. The soft velvet of her lips. The sweet inflection of her voice that she reserves just for me when we’re alone away from the cameras and her family.
She turns slowly, drops her hips, presses her back to my chest as her hips begin to roll. The slow, circular motion of her ass grinds against my lap in lazy figure-eights. She looks over her shoulder at me, her pupils wide.
“Is that okay?”
My hands are clenching the arms of the chair, trying to maintain control. Her dance has barely started, and she’s already killing me.
I can’t resist it anymore. I can’tresist her.
I brush her hair aside, exposing the nape of her neck as I lean in close. My lips graze her skin as I murmur, “It’s more than okay. But is this club rules tonight? No touching? Or am I finally allowed to touch my wife?”
She laughs softly, her hips rocking forward before pressing back against my cock again, harder this time. “Touching is allowed tonight,” she whispers, her tone teasing, “but there might be a cost.”
“You can take my whole damn salary and everything in my savings account,” I rasp, my hands digging into her hips.
