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“You actually look nervous for once.”
“Impossible.” I huff and further block his comment by crossing my arms under my chest.
This only heightens his amusement, which quickly becomes contagious; a smile creeps up on my face unbidden. “Okay, fine, you caught me. This is definitely uncharted territory. For both of us, I guess.”
Zane buries his hands harder under his thighs — another cute little nervous show that does stupid things to my insides. “Does it help if I tell you that there is likely nothing you could do to me that I would disapprove of?” he states with all the mustered confidence in the Universe.
Oh, sweet innocence. My stars, it hurts in the best way. “You have no idea,” I find myself muttering in response. “Did your MC brothers tell you anything about me?”
Zane shakes his head. “Not much. But I have picked up plenty since being here.”
“Like the fact that I am insatiable?”
“Among other things, yeah.”
Speaking of uncharted territories, pretty sure I have never done this much talking foreplay before getting down to business. Not even with the lonely, chatty customers.
I look toward the front door, wondering which Hell for Leather man I will have to pounce when he walks in because Zane needs more time.
“Stop worrying about them,” Zane pipes up, picking up instantly on my drifting attention. The new but very evident shake in his tone this time immediately brings me back to our conversation. When my eyes meet his, he swallows hard and states, “I will make sure you get what you need tonight.”
All six plus years of experience with men shrouds me in an instant, and just like that, anything potentially complicated about this poofs away. My hand slides up his chest and over his shoulder to scoop around his neck. “That is a very bold statement, Father.”
“Well, I live to serve,” is his quiet, confident comeback.
The way my cheeks warm and a smile pulls on my lips is completely unavoidable. How this guy gives me butterflies is insane. I thought for sure those things took flight years ago and had no intention of ever returning; women like me are not allowed to entertain that fluttery feeling. The golden stripper rule: do not, under any circumstances, fall in love.
My mouth connects with his, and my entire body melts against him. He wanted a birthday kiss? He is getting one. A real one. Not for show. Not for an extra buck. Not at the behest of my occupation or the demand of anyone else. I want those butterflies to stick around for a while. I want to feel sick from them. I want the loud flap of their combined wings to muddy my thoughts and consume my senses.
Zane completely engages, our prior kisses serving as enough practice so that he feels more confident with what to do. His long eyelashes fall closed, then his soft, blond curls brush against my forehead as his face tilts and one of his hands comes up to cup my cheeks.
I slip my tongue out and swipe it along the seam of his slightly open mouth. The tip of his reciprocates, pressing and looping against mine.
That little, shared taste is all it takes to amp things up; in the next heartbeat, we are devouring each other, our bodies trying to twist just as eagerly as our tongues. Zane scoots forward on the stool, and my pelvis presses into him, seeking pressure and heat.
I disconnect our mouths, turn around, and offer him my neck with the tilt of my head. My hand shoots up and behind me to scoop behind his head, and my fingers slip through his curls.
Zane does not disappoint. His mouth brushes along the length of my neck and hands move to the outer portion of my thighs to lift my loose shirt up toward my hips.
I take advantage of the height of the stool to grind my ass against him and am immediately rewarded with the delicious mix between a hum and a grunt against my neck.
Mind getting lost and fuzzy in the moment, I slowly turn around. Our eyes meet as I place a quick kiss on his lips. Holding that connection, I put my hands on his thighs and bend my knees to drop nice and slow between his legs. Once my face is in line with his zipper, I then look up at him and my fingers get to work, unclasping his belt, opening the button of his cargos, and unzipping them to free him.
His gaze leaves mine, distracted by the movement of my tongue as it snakes out to wet my lips in anticipation of seeing him bared for the first time. I drop my gaze long enough to slip my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers before flashing him an upward glance, seeking an approval I usually just assume and take.
That upward glance is not received as a question, though. His cock twitches in my grip, and he groans and breaks the eye connection to look up toward his God for help.
