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Under the trench coat, the blonde was wearing a skintight black dress with a zipper up the front. The dress was so low-cut that her tits, in some kind of miraculous push-up bra, nearly spilled over the top of it. The hem of the dress ended barely past her ass. As the music played on and she did a slow, sensuous little wiggle, I could pretty much see every inch of the body beneath the thin fabric. And it was a body like I’d never seen in my life.
Those big, soft, generous breasts. A slim waist, ending in a flare of hips. Long legs. Heels. She turned around and bent slightly, giving another sensuous wiggle of her hips, and I was glad I was sitting on the sofa, because the heart-shaped ass she showed me was out of this world. I’d woken up in my normal life, hung over, and suddenly I was living a perfect male fantasy. It had walked through my door and bent over practically in my face.
There was no way I was telling her she had the wrong man.
The music pulsed. She looked back at me over her shoulder, biting her lip. It was all a show, and a good one. Whoever this Daniel guy was, his buddy had ordered him a top-of-the line stripper. He’d spared no expense. She turned back around and moved closer, brought the show up a notch. She edged in between my legs, bumping my knees. I let her, forgetting for the moment about how my jeans covered a leg she likely wouldn’t want to look at. Fuck it. I hadn’t seen a naked woman, a real one who wasn’t on the internet, in four years. Four fucking years.
She leaned forward, put her hands on the back of the sofa behind me. Now she had me caged, her knees pressing into the sofa between my legs, her body held over me. The pose put her cleavage right in my face, her breasts practically brushing my beard. I put my hands on my thighs, where my palms sweated into my jeans, and took a breath. Coconut body lotion, hair spray, and sweet, slightly sweaty woman. I closed my eyes, unable to take it for a second. I had never smelled anything half as good in my life.
She did a sensuous snake-like move, slithering her body like she was nearly humping me. I wanted to put my hands on her hips, pull her down onto my lap, but I didn’t think I was supposed to do that. You weren’t supposed to touch the girl, right? I couldn’t remember. My brain wouldn’t work.
She answered the question for me by picking up one of my hands from my thigh and putting it to the top of her zipper. Then she did the snake move again, making what was left of my blood move straight into my dick. “Go for it, big guy,” she said, her voice hot and throaty, the kind of voice you wanted to hear in your ear moaning fuck me, God, fuck me harder as you pounded into her as hard as you could.
I pinched the tag of the zipper between my fingers and looked up at her face. She had her long lashes lowered, looking down at my hand, but when I paused she raised her eyes to mine. And she looked straight at me.
Something happened. We both froze for a long minute, our eyes locked. Hers were a soft blue color, almost gray, and beneath the makeup and the heavy mascara they were observant, intelligent. They were also fixed on mine, and as we stared a pulse of confusion crossed them, though she didn’t look away. Then her pupils dilated, slow and black. Her lips parted. And still she looked at me.
I couldn’t breathe as I watched her back. I could feel everything—the spot where her knee pressed the inside of mine through my jeans, the electric brush of her breasts in the black dress, the cold zipper between my finger and thumb. The music disappeared behind the roaring pulse in my ears, and suddenly I realized it had stopped. We’d been staring at each other so long that the song was over.
In the silence, I could hear her breathing. I could hear my own. She blinked, still staring into my eyes like she couldn’t stop. A lock of hair fell over one eye, blond and perfect. Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips.
I didn’t know what was happening. I only knew my ribs felt like they were about to crack. I had every muscle tied down so tight that my whole body ached. I could feel my own pulse in my neck. I tore my gaze away from her eyes and glanced down at the zipper I was holding.
“You want me to do this?” I asked her, my voice hoarse.
She hitched a breath, and I saw her breasts move. Her tongue darted out again, briefly, touching the middle of her top lip, like she was imagining how I tasted. When she spoke, her voice wasn’t theatrical anymore, not the sexy tone she’d used before. Instead it was barely a breath.
“Do it,” she said.
I didn’t need another invitation. In one quick motion I unzipped the dress from top to bottom, letting it fall open. She lifted her arms from the sofa behind me and shrugged it to th
e floor.
Now she was wearing only a skimpy black lace bra and matching panties. Her body was a revelation, her stomach flat, her hips perfectly round, her thighs long and strong. And those breasts—there was nothing unnatural about those breasts. They were nothing but soft flesh, barely contained by the confines of the tiny bra, the nipples darkly visible through the lace. And those nipples were hard as chips of ice.
I raised my gaze up to hers again, and something arced between us so strong it took my breath away. She wasn’t doing a show anymore; there was no more music, no more script. Instead she kicked off her tall heels in two quick motions and straddled my lap, her knees on either side of my hips, her hands on my shoulders. I put my hands on her hips—they were warm and so fucking soft—and pulled her down onto me. Then I lifted one hand to the back of her neck beneath her hair, pulled her down, and kissed her.
She didn’t even hesitate. She kissed me back, pressing that sexy mouth into mine, parting her lips, letting me take the lead. I tried to take it at least a little bit slow, like I wasn’t a goddamned animal, and I almost succeeded. I explored every corner of her mouth, my beard scraping her skin, my teeth and tongue scraping off every last trace of her lip gloss. She made a soft little moaning sound as I did it, and then she opened wider and slid her tongue into my mouth, and it was on.
I held her still and kissed her with everything I had in me, and she gave it right back. We were locked like that for God knew how long, her hands moving into my hair, her mouth wild on mine. My other hand pulled her hip down, pressing her against my throbbing cock in my jeans, and she cried out at the contact, biting my lower lip. Then she moved, rubbing up slowly against me like she couldn’t help herself, and kissed me harder.
I was going to fucking explode. I broke the kiss and moved my mouth down to the tender spot at the corner of her jaw, down her beautiful white neck, scratching her tender skin. She tilted into me and her hand curled tighter in my hair, holding on. “Oh, fuck,” she said, praise and a curse at the same time, like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening any more than I could.
I sucked gently at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, making her squirm against me helplessly, and my hands traveled to the middle of her back, unhooking the black bra. She gripped me harder with her knees as I dropped the straps down her shoulders and her breasts came free.
She didn’t let go of me, and the bra drooped between us, still looped on her arms. I slid my hands up under it and cupped her breasts, staring in fascination at the way my big hands swallowed them, the way the flesh moved in my palms. She sighed, and I looked up to see she’d closed her eyes and tilted her head back, lost in the sensation. It was then that my fucked-up brain remembered that I had something to tell her.
So, with her spread-kneed and mostly naked on my lap, my cock throbbing, my hands full of her incredible tits, I made myself say it, though my voice wasn’t much more than a rasp. “My name isn’t Daniel Parker,” I said. “It’s Max Reilly. You got the wrong apartment.”
I thought maybe she’d flinch. Back away. I was giving her the chance.
But she stilled for only the briefest second, taking in my words, before she let out a breath. She opened her eyes, leaned forward again, and grabbed my face with both hands.
“You know what?” she said. “I don’t fucking care.”
Chapter 3
Gwen
