Suspended in eye contact, lost in the pressure of his fingers, I give up on the choreography and free fall into improvisation. My hands drop to his shoulders, digging into the fabric and muscles beneath.
The slouch of his body begs me to dance on him. While I’m not a stripper, I know my way around a lap, having spent a year playing kinky games with Cole. I also know that the build-up, the sexy tease, is crucial.
As the song restarts, I perch my butt in the air, pushing my chest closer to Trace’s slack face. Then I nudge back on his shoulders, using his body to gracefully stand straight and step back.
Lips parted and smile playful, I strut around him, tilting my hips up and down and running my hands along my body. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, twisting on the seat to watch me dance behind him.
With my feet positioned behind his chair, I touch his jaw, nudging him to look forward. Then I gently lower my chest toward the back of his head, moving my body downward and twisting my hips to the beat.
Now would be a good time to take a step back and talk myself out of whatever this is. But every nerve ending below my waist rages at the thought. Instead, I reach around him and boldly graze my fingers along the thick shape of his cock through the slacks.
Hard and long, he jerks against my hand, and his head falls back. “Danni.”
Sliding upward, I explore the chiseled expanse of his abs and run my nose along his neck. “You smell hungry, Trace.”
His chest heaves, and one leg stretches out, scraping his shoe along the floor. “Come here.”
A hand curls around my wrist, and I let him pull me around the chair. When I return to his front, I give him my back, writhing sensually, tauntingly between his knees.
“You have a great ass. Not big. Not small.” His voice is hoarse, raw, lacking its usual eloquence as he caresses my backside. “It’s a perfect shape that looks incredible on your body.”
Emboldened by the compliment, I slowly lower onto his lap with my back to him, grinding gently and shivering against the hard press of his erection. His hands slide to my thighs and move upward beneath the skirt, settling on my hips.
“Your skin feels like silk,” he breathes raggedly at my ear. “And the dips here…” His thumbs stroke my waist. “I dream about these curves and the way you move them. You’re built for sex.” He touches his mouth to my neck, groaning. “Christ, I’m so fucking hard.”
Quivers race along my inner thighs, and my core tightens, pulsates, driving my movements to the music. I lean back and press my backside into his lap, my shoulders against his chest, and wrap an arm around his neck.
“You always smell like Nag Champa.” With his hands beneath my skirt, one sinks between my legs, over the thong. The other lifts, slipping under my shirt to cup a bare breast. “Such a sexy, potent, exotic scent. It lingered on my sheets for a week after you left.”
“Your maid didn’t wash them?” I moan against the tweak of his fingers on my nipple.
“I wouldn’t allow it. Not until I couldn’t smell you anymore.”
My chest flutters.
Who am I kidding? There’s a damn butterfly migration taking off inside me. His confession is just so…unexpected. So is the hand caressing the soaked crotch of my thong.
He’s rock hard beneath me. I’m dripping wet. Why are we still talking?
I remind myself he was with another woman two nights ago. Hell, he could’ve spent the night with another woman after dropping me off at the concert.
Miserable thoughts. But my body doesn’t seem to care. His touch feels too good, and I’m so fucking worked up my pussy throbs with its own heartbeat.
“I love your tits.” He squeezes my flesh. “Perfectly round, sitting up high on your chest and driving me insane every goddamn day.” His finger circles around the bud. “I bet these perfect little nipples are pink.”
“See for yourself.”
“Turn around.”
I’m not fully standing before he spins me to face him, pulls me onto his lap, and guides my legs to straddle the spread of his.
“So damn beautiful.” He cups my face, seemingly hypnotized by whatever he sees there.
I look him in the eye and give him a sweet subtle grin, communicating that I know how entranced he is.
His attention lowers to my chest, and his hands follow, lifting the hem of my shirt with slow, agonizing patience. Cool air brushes my nipples. Then his gaze.
“Pink.” His expression intensifies, lighting me on fire.
He grips my ass and shifts me up his chest to nuzzle my breasts. I use my hands to squeeze what little I have around his face. His breaths become shallow, and his teeth graze my skin. When he swirls his tongue around a nipple, my head falls back, my fingers clutching his shoulders for support.
But he has me, his arms holding me tight as he lowers me onto the rigid cock trapped within his slacks. He rocks his hips upward, groaning, his hands roaming everywhere—my thighs, my breasts, my neck, always returning to knead my butt.
I slide my face along the side of his until I reach his ear. Then I draw the lobe between my lips and suck.
It sets him off, his hands plunging into my hair and his tongue sweeping into my mouth.
“You’re so fucking hot.” He growls into the kiss, the fingers in my hair wrenching my head back for a deeper angle. “You make me crazy.”
I know the feeling. All reason has abandoned me in the powerful arms of desire. I want him, need him, and none of this is rational. But I’m caught in the rapid rhythm of his breaths, the flex of his body, and the expert strokes of his tongue.
With my legs hooked around the back of the chair, my skirt rides up to my hips. I gently grind against him, rocking up and down, like I’m riding a bull in slow-motion. The wetness between my legs will no doubt leave a stain on his slacks, and the thought makes me grin against his lips.
The song loops again, and he eases back but not away. “I can’t do this anymore.”
A fist of dread clenches inside me. “Can’t do what?”
“I can’t keep pretending you aren’t the first thought in my head when I wake and the reason I can’t fall asleep at night.”
I stare at him in shock.
Eyes hooded, mouth parted, he cradles my face and touches our foreheads together. “I lied to you.”
My heart skips. “What do you mean?”
“I want you, Danni.”
Oh. “That’s not exactly a secret.” I press my weight down on his erection.
“It’s more than that. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” His fingers tighten against my jaw. “I want all of you.”
Chapter Sixteen
PRESENT
“You want all of me?” My pulse accelerates, and my voice cracks on a fragile breath. “What does that mean?”
“Just when I think I can’t possibly want you more,” Trace says roughly, heatedly, “this hunger, this gut-deep need I feel for you consumes me until I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”
My mouth dries, and the room spins around me, tipping me off balance.
“I don’t understand. All this time…” I slide off his lap and back out of his hold on my neck. I don’t know what this is, but something’s off. “You said you wouldn’t fuck me. You didn’t want the mess. Why would you lie?” I shove my hair away from my face. “Why are you telling me this now?”