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Holy. Shit.
Miles of long legs. Feet clad in fuck-me knee-high boots. He groaned as the sudden image of those legs wrapping tight around his hips while he drove inside of her swarmed his vision. Her mouth opened in a little shocked O, and her gorgeous meadow-green eyes were slightly blurred and unfocused. Definitely tipsy. On the way to drunk. She held a green fruity drink--probably an apple martini like Genevieve's--and wore the tiniest, hottest outfit he'd ever seen.
His gaze pinned her tight, allowing her no escape. Her top was mostly unbuttoned, showing off a huge amount of smooth cleavage, and a bad-girl leather jacket topped the whole thing off. Even her hair was different, the long strands curled in big waves that tumbled over one eye, spilled over her shoulders, and hit her hips.
With no makeup and casual clothes, the woman was gorgeous. Dressed tonight? She was Eve, Helen of Troy, and Kim Kardashian all rolled up into the hottest bundle he'd ever seen.
Her appearance screamed sex, from her pouty red lips, to her come-hither eyes, to her fuck-me boots. There wasn't a shred of organic cotton in sight, and in that moment, all the blood rushed to his other head and he was toast.
Ignoring the noise and urging of the crowd, he stared helplessly at her, hard as a rock and completely intoxicated.
Her teeth pulled at her lower lip. Her breath made a catchy little moan, and when she finally spoke, her voice came out husky, like she'd spent the night in his bed screaming his name and had nothing left. "What are you doing here?"
"Gen said you wanted to talk to me."
She blinked. "No. I didn't even know you were here."
"I think I was set up. They think I'm a stripper."
A giggle escaped her lips. Fascinated, he wanted to hear the sound again. She hiccupped. "Kennedy hired a cop stripper. Kate freaked and begged me to take her place." Her head tipped up to look at him. "I'm her wing woman," she said proudly.
Damn, she was adorable. "So you're gonna take the stripper on for the sake of your friend?"
Her eyes heated, roving over him like a hungry shelion. "Yeah. I am."
Stone ached all over. He'd give over a damn appendage just to touch her right now. "You're a good friend. I kinda wish I was the stripper right now."
Her tongue snaked out and wet her bottom lip. Those eyes heated and took in his uniform with more than a hint of lust. His dick wept. "You look like a stripper," she whispered.
He moved closer. "You think?"
"Yeah."
The women roared their frustration, begging him to do something. The blonde looked like she was about to start ripping off his clothes herself for giving her a bad deal. Nothing mattered except the woman in front of him who tortured his body and mind on a daily basis.
"What should I do?"
She reached over, placed her hands on his face, and dragged his head forward. Her breath rushed in his ear.
"Take it off."
He growled low, ready to grab her, toss her on his shoulder, and take her to bed. Oh, she was brave with the alcohol and her friends and wanted to play now, huh? Did she have any idea he was a master?
"Be careful what you wish for," he warned. "Payback is a bitch, little one."
She had the nerve to nip at his earlobe and touch her tongue to the inner shell of his ear. He hissed in agony, and she pulled back a few inches. Smiled. "So you've said before. Unless you're all talk and no action?"
He wasted no more time. She squealed as he tossed her over his shoulder, his hand on the gorgeous curve of her behind, and dumped her right into the chair.
The women screamed with encouragement. He blocked her escape by standing right in front of her, so her gaze was in line with his rapidly growing erection. The music rolled out its sexy rhythm, and Stone decided to teach her a lesson of a lifetime.
He began to take it all off.
ARILYN WAS KIND OF drunk, but not drunk enough to realize he'd called her bluff and raised the stakes.
The man was a walking, talking sex god.
Her body became completely magnetized around him, humming and softening as if she recognized him as her master. Those seething inky eyes demanded deliciously bad things she craved to give him. His black hair was messy and tousled, emphasizing his carved features, sexy goatee, and full lips. His whole aura beat out one mantra. Primitive Male.
But the uniform pushed him past the edge of droolworthy into laminated list territory.
He was wearing a dark navy blue shirt with long sleeves and a padded vest with his name stitched on the upper right side. He was intimidating enough in a baseball jersey and jeans. But with the leather belt slung low on his hips, filled with an array of gadgets that stole her breath, Arilyn was crazed to touch him. Her gaze took in the gun holster, cuffs hanging to the side, and some type of stick in its holder. God, it was like an erotic fantasy come to life. The tight fabric molded to every meaty muscle, his chest stretched to capacity in crisp, clean navy blue, Stone Petty was a package any woman would die to unwrap.
He towered over her, his gaze never leaving hers. As the music pumped, his fingers paused at the top button of his shirt, stroking slow, listening to the screams of the crowd, and then flicked it open lightning quick.
Her belly dropped.
He repeated the motion with the second button. His refusal to dance for them only made everyone crazier. Dollar bills started flying through the air and chants of "Take it off!" vibrated in the air. He ignored the other women, focused intently and only on her.
It was the most erotic thing she'd ever experienced.
In this crowded room, he stripped for her eyes. A line of naked flesh appeared in the gaps. Arilyn caught the hues of light brown skin, and a patch of dark hair swirled over cut, chiseled muscles. Hungrily, her gaze followed the tempting path until his shirt gaped open, giving her a tantalizing peek.
She wondered how he tasted. Wondered how it would feel to run her tongue over that intriguing line of hair and follow it downward.
"Do you want me to open my shirt, Arilyn?" His question burned her ears in more of a command. Even with the deafening noise, she heard him clearly, as if they were alone in a darkened room on a quiet night. Her body began to shake, and she gripped her martini glass tight. Oh, how she wanted. Bad, dirty, wonderful things. She was helpless to fight.
"Yes."
His lower lip lifted. Those dark eyes pinned her to the chair as capably as the handcuffs hanging on his belt. With slow, deliberate motions, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slowly parted the material.
The women went wild.
"More, more, more!"
Her mouth went dry. Her fingers itched to run over that gorgeous broad chest, tracing every carved muscle. Feeling the strength and power under each flex of movement, the drag of his breath in and out, the sound of his heart beating under her palms. She ached to feel him, stroke him, hear the groans from his lips as she pleasured him. A low whimper fell from her lips.
"They want more," he said. "Do you want more?"
She licked her lips. "Yes."
Reaching over, h
e grabbed her hands and pressed them to his chest. "Then take what you want."
Arilyn realized she was in a packed room where everyone thought he was a paid stripper, and she couldn't care less. It was literally the craziest thing she'd ever done, but she couldn't stop now. Her fingers hit the hard wall of his pecs and she stroked him. He let out a groan through gritted teeth but remained still. The song switched to Prince's "Get Off," and then she heard her name chanted in unison, commanding her to take it all off.
Trembling, she savored the iron wall of his abs, gently tracing the edge of his belt buckle. She paused. Their gazes locked.
"No." Her voice broke. Waves of his body heat radiated and uncoiled around her. "Not here."
"Do you want me for yourself?"
His harsh question demanded truth. Logically, they were all wrong. But her body didn't care, and a raw possessiveness caught her off guard. She wanted him to belong to her. She didn't want a bunch of women watching him strip with greedy eyes and hands.
"I don't want anyone else to touch you."
He muttered a vicious curse. "Good. I don't want anyone else to touch you either."
He quickly refastened the buttons on his shirt. Loud boos filled the air.
Without missing a beat, Stone picked her up easily from the chair, lifted her high, and slammed his mouth on hers.
Arilyn was lost. Not caring that they had an audience, she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back with a hunger she couldn't hide. The boos turned to catcalls and whistles, and a dollar bill floated down between them.
"Come with me now," he growled against her lips.
"Yes."
Stone took her hand and tugged her out the door. Gen jumped when they went past her, cheeks red and flushed. "Oh! Ugh, guess you guys found each other, huh?"
Stone gave her a look. "You'll pay for that."
She swallowed. "Hey, I was just trying to help."
"I'll deal with you later," he warned. "I'm taking Arilyn home." Gen shot her a look, checking to make sure it was okay. Arilyn nodded, and Gen relaxed.
A young guy dressed in a police uniform, complete with hat, stick, and handcuffs belted to his side, blocked their way. "This is the bachelorette party?" he asked. His brow rose. "Didn't know we were doing a tag team, dude. I'm not splitting the tips."
Stone jerked his thumb toward the door. "I warmed them up. They're all yours now."
He didn't pause. Led her out the door and pushed her into the cab waiting at the corner for drunk patrons to take home. He snapped out her address. They didn't speak during the short drive. Soon he pressed some bills into the driver's hand and escorted her into the bungalow. Arilyn fumbled with the keys but finally got the door unlocked.
