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It’s like she gives a damn about what I want. Unlike my ex…
No, he couldn’t go there. Not here. Not now.
“Chrissie.” He growled. He was beyond calling out commands. He needed… He wanted…
“Hold on tight,” she said, and her lips danced across the tip of his dick. She kept her gaze focused on his crotch. “I’m going to give you one heck of a ride.”
She executed all of the moves he’d called out earlier. Her hand ran up his aching length with the perfect amount of pressure. Hell, he couldn’t have done it better himself. And her mouth drew him in, taking him deep, until he couldn’t hold back. Oh yeah, he was going to explode.
He leaned his head back and let out a scream that summed up this fucking perfect moment.
“Hooyah!”
Chapter Twelve
“I don’t have much time before sound check.” Chrissie pushed past him and walked into the hotel room. They were in a part of Colorado he’d never heard of before this tour, in a room that looked a helluva lot like the last stop.
Dante followed her into the room and stopped in the center. He folded his arms across his chest. “And you wanted to squeeze in a lesson?”
“We could skip the SEAL training and head straight to the naked tutorial.” Her fingers toyed with the edge of her workout shirt and skirt that looked like they belonged on the tennis court. She’d skipped the elaborate disguise—apart from her Morticia Adams wig. But hell, even that was growing on him.
And yeah, he was on board with abandoning the pretense. He’d been replaying the Salt Lake City BJ in his head over and over. Looking at her, thinking about the way she’d hung on his every word, he was ready for a little naked action.
“I’m game.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Turn ar
ound and place your hands on the bed.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What about my clothes?”
“I’ll take them—”
Ring! Ring!
The innocent-looking hotel phone cut through his words and shattered the mental picture of Chrissie bent at the waist and waiting to hear his voice. He was so damn turned on that he almost said screw the phone.
“I need to get that,” he said, his tone all business even though his imagination was still taking a trip down Sexual Fantasy Lane.
He shook his head as he walked over to the nightstand and the hotel landline. He’d come too damn close to putting his desire before his job. And when it came to her safety, he couldn’t take that risk. What if her crew had found another crazed fan scoping out tonight’s concert venue? Or a knife-wielding lunatic in their hotel lobby? Shit, that might be someone from Team Chrissie Tate trying to locate the star. This call could be related to the career she put front and center in her life—the same way he made the call to serve his number one focus.
…
Next time I plan to seduce a SEAL, I must remember to unplug the phone first.
Chrissie watched the man who’d previously planned to remove her clothes and give her an orgasm that would probably keep her smiling all the way through sound check and into her pre-concert dinner with her parents. She lowered her forehead to the crisp hotel bedding. That meal promised to strip away the lingering happiness from her SEAL training sessions.
“Raske,” Dante said into the phone, drawing her attention back to their interrupted “lesson” in his hotel room. He listened for a moment and then, covering the mouthpiece, he mouthed the words, “It’s your manager.”
Mason, you’re so fired.
If her manager was looking for her, there was zero chance she’d find out if missionary would seem boring compared to bent over Dante’s bed.
“Yeah, I can find her and bring her down,” he said into the phone.
Hearing those words, she knew that reality had found a way into her orgasm-filled fantasy world.
“Stay with her parents,” Dante barked, and then he hung up the phone and turned to her, his expression grim.
“My parents?” she said.
