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He rubbed his lips together. “Yes, ma’am.”
She turned back to his laptop and hit a button.
“Dirty! Rotten! Filthy! Stinkin’!” A loud drumbeat filled the wireless speakers around the room.
Wyatt stared at her then burst out laughing. “Tell me you didn’t.”
She grinned as the grinding guitar of Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” started. “Hey, I wanted this to be authentic. This song was big the years you were in high school. God, you’re old by the way.”
He gave her leg a little smack and she laughed.
“Plus . . .” She shoved the computer aside and put a booted foot on top of the desk, hoisting herself up with ease. “It’s a song about pastry. How could I resist?”
Wyatt shook his head, staring up in awe. Gorgeous and a wicked sense of humor. “I’m the luckiest fucker alive.”
“You are.” She put the toe of her boot in the center of his chest and pushed, sending his chair rolling backward so that he had the best view possible, then she met his gaze head-on—no shame, no closing her eyes and pretending she was somewhere else—and began to move to the beat.
Her fingers flicked open the next button of her blouse, but Wyatt couldn’t pull away from her eyes. He was transfixed by what he saw there. Despite the tongue-and-cheek song and the playful outfit, this was more than a little sexy fun. This was her gift to him. She was showing him what those other guys had never seen, what she’d never given any other man—her trust, her heart, the soul of the girl behind the seductress.
She was beautiful.
And whole.
Strong.
She slipped her shirt off her shoulders and snaked her way down to eye level with him, dropping the blouse around his neck. The scent of her perfume surrounded him—perfume and maybe the faintest hint of maple syrup forever trapped in the uniform. He inhaled deeply and smiled. Then she was working her way back upward again, turning her back to him and dancing in fluid motion as she peeked coyly at him over her shoulder and released the front hook of her bra. The lacy bit of material dropped off her shoulders, hitting the desk. She cupped her breasts, still hidden from his view, and tipped her head back as she let out a little mmm.
“You’re so fucking sexy, love,” he said, his fingers flexing. “It’s killing me not to touch you.”
She spun slowly around again, giving him the full sight of her teasing her nipples until they were flushed and hard in the golden lamplight of the room. To keep himself from reaching out for her, he unbuttoned his slacks and took his cock in his hand, giving it a slow stroke. She smiled down at him and ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.
“Tease,” he said, smirking.
“Oh, no, for you, I always deliver on my promises,” she said, lifting up her skirt and giving him a peek at the skimpy lace thong she wore beneath.
“Take them off,” he whispered, his words gruff.
“Can’t resist giving commands, huh?”
She stepped to the side of the desk closest to him, putting him near eye level with the apex of her thighs, then hooked her fingers in the sides of her panties. He barely resisted begging. Maybe he could have a submissive moment. She rolled her hips and dragged the wisp of lace down her legs. Her sweet, sexy scent hit him, sending his head spinning and his patience waning. God, he needed to touch her, taste her.
Kelsey kicked off the panties, then lowered herself down and climbed off the desk. She stood before him in only that little skirt and those fuck-me boots. “I think you’ve earned a lap dance, sir.”
“I tip well.”
With a smile of illicit promise, she trailed her hands up his legs and brought her breasts right in front of his mouth, dancing and teasing him with every beat of the music. He moved his hand away from his cock and let the edges of her skirt brush his length with each sway of her hips. He was lost in her, absolutely fucking lost. The house could burn down around them and there was no way he was leaving this spot.
Kelsey braced her hands on his thighs and with a wicked spark in her eyes, worked her way down between his knees. A few strands of her ponytail danced over his crotch, heaven marking a path over his skin. All semblance of self-control left him. He grabbed a fistful of her ponytail, and she gasped.
“On your knees, love,” he said, his voice hoarse with need.
She complied without protest, her body sinking down to the floor. “Yes, sir.”
He took her hair in his fist and wound her long ponytail around his cock, the golden strands like spun silk against him. He groaned at the sight he’d imagined so many times. She kept her head bowed, letting him use her however he wished, and put her hand over his, helping him with the first silken stroke. The nape of her neck was bared to him as their hands moved in tandem, sliding her soft locks against him. He stared at that expanse of skin, an ache digging into his chest.
She gripped his knee, still covered by his slacks, and the sight of her bare left ring finger only deepened the pang. But he had to be patient with her. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with how sure he was in his love for her, how far he saw it stretched out before them. He reached out with his free hand and traced a line over her neck. “I want to collar you, Kelsey.”
Her hand stilled against him and he let her ponytail slide through his fingers, then lifted her face to him. Her cheeks were flushed with desire, but her eyes were wide and clear. “I have a collar, sir.”
