My fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, but he beat me to it. He ran one of his hands through my hair and fisted it at the nape. The tug was gentle, but it felt good as he pulled my head back and forced me to look into his eyes. The bright sea of blue cut through the dim light, and he reached up, slowly sliding his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. It fell to the floor in a flash of white, and he bent to open my legs further.
I swallowed hard as he popped the button on his pants and gripped the back of the sofa again.
“You can touch me,” he murmured into my ear. His breath was hot against my skin.
Touch him? Whoa. I didn’t plan on that. What if my fingers burned with his hotness?
His strong hand brushed my knee and up my thigh. He pushed my dress up, and his touch seared against me as he edged my legs farther apart and got even closer.
Oh my god. I’m so turned on.
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but there I was, desire bolting through my veins as he slid his hand up my side and brushed the underside of my breast. I fought the urge to physically respond to him, but he held his hand behind his head, and as the music slowed to something more intimate, his movements slowed until every one flawlessly matched the beat.
“Mia,” he murmured, this time against my ear. “Touch me, angel. I can see you want to.”
I did. Shit, I did, but it was awkward.
His chuckle was low as he grabbed my hand and flattened it against his own stomach. My eyes widened at how solid the muscle was—fuck me, he was made of stone—but he didn’t notice as he guided my hand up his body. He all but showed me how to touch him, how he wanted to be touched.
I ran my second hand up his body, my eyes flitting up toward his like I was asking for permission. Fucking hell, was I twenty-five or eighteen?
I knew my way around a man’s body. Just not one this hot. That was all.
“Down.” The word sounded so hot. “You want my pants off?”
I nodded. Freakin’ right I did.
“Sorry. I don’t speak silence.” He was teasing me now, still dancing against me.
“Yes. Take your pants off.” It came out a little more demanding than I had been going for, but honestly, I was happy I’d found my voice again.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek as he moved back. His eyes were hot on me. They had been the whole time, but my gaze dropped to the sway of his lower body as he eased his pants down over his thighs.
Holy shit.
He was hard.
And he was big. The outline of his erection was obvious as it pushed against his white boxer briefs. His cock was long and thick, and I could see a teasing hint of the head of it through the material.
My clit ached. I didn’t realize how turned on I was until just now. Was he turned on too? By me? He had to be. I knew getting hard was part of a stripper’s job, but he didn’t strike me as the everyday stripper.
The music changed in the background from the unknown tune to the erotic, slow beat of The Weeknd’s “High For This.” It only served to turn me on a little more. I was aching everywhere, my pussy almost painfully so.
I resolved there and then that the next guy I dated would be a stripper.
The man in front of me drew me back to him by running his hand down his stomach and along the side of his cock. My lips felt dry, and when my tongue flicked out to wet them, he grasped my chin. Slowly, he shook his head and ran his other hand up my thigh.
Then he climbed on top of me. Kind of. He wasn’t actually sitting on me, but his knees were on the sofa cushions either side of my hips, and his erection came dangerously close to brushing my stomach as he thrust his hips forward.
Bravely, I touched his body, running my hands across the deep valleys indented between his muscles, exploring every solid inch as he continued dancing against me. My clit literally throbbed as my skin tingled with warmth, even when his breath cascaded across my skin.
He dipped his mouth toward my ear. “Tell your friend I’m not charging her for this.” He wound his hand in my hair, and I involuntarily tilted my head back. “It’s on me.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I can.” He flicked his tongue against my earlobe, making me shiver.
He couldn’t do it for free.
“I insist.”
“I insist it’s free.”
“Why?”
He moved back the smallest amount and looked into my eyes. “I’m a man of great restraint, Mia, but dancing for you is pushing the boundaries of my self-control. You’re beautiful, and very, very tempting.” He ran his thumb across the curve of my jaw and cupped my chin. “Now, let me finish before it breaks.”
“Wait,” I heard myself say. No... I wasn’t going to proposition him, was I?
Fuck it.
I was.
I trailed my fingers across his stomach, and my baby finger caught in the sharp Sex-God-V-Line muscle that disappeared beneath his boxers, my touch missing his erection by half an inch. His hips half jerked away from me. He wasn’t dancing anymore.
“I have a room at Planet Hollywood,” I murmured, staring at his cock. “Eight oh two.”
“Are you inviting me to fuck you, angel?”
I raised my eyes to his. The slight hint of amusement reflected back at me, but his gaze was primarily heated lust.