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“I knew your panties would be ridiculous,” he grunts.
Gasping, I tilt my head to the roof and let my lids flutter shut. ““I thought you’d had lap dances before? You should know you get fined for touching.”
A cool breeze whistles past my ear, and when I snap my eyes open, I see another brick of bills bounce off the windshield and skid across the dashboard.
Muscles shift underneath me, then a hot, ragged breath grazes my throat. “Turn around, Penelope.”
Too breathless to think of a witty comeback, I rise on shaky legs and turn to face him. This time, I’m not prepared for the way he’s looking at me. His stare is so intense it’s borderline violent. It burns as it trails up the seam of my thigh and over my lower stomach.
“Beautiful,” he mutters. It’s more to himself than me, but still, I shudder underneath the weight of it.
Raphael Visconti thinks I’m beautiful. Dizzy with a new wave of confidence, I grip the back of his headrest and slowly lower myself onto his lap. It doesn’t go to plan though; my foot rolls over my wayward sneaker and I fall backward against the steering wheel. I let out a little yelp when the horn sounds, but Raphael leans forward, catching me before I fall again.
Large hands with a hot, greedy touch slide behind my back to steady me. Black hair tickles my throat, and a chuckle works its way down my cleavage, making my nipples ache. Raphael’s dry joke vibrates against my collarbone, lighting every nerve ending in my body on fire. “I’m beginning to think I overpaid.”
“No refunds,” I whisper back, a smile twitching my lips as I roll my clit against his throbbing cock. Christ, he’s so warm and hard that I know I could get myself off with a lot less.
The dirtiest part of my brain races with possibilities, but the fingers sliding underneath the back band of my bra bring me back to earth.
Raphael looks up at me through dark lashes. “Take it off.”
“Costs extra.”
The snap as he drags his thumb out from underneath the band makes my back arch in pleasure. Jaw tight, his eyes run down the length of my throat and back up to my parted lips. “I’ll take it off.”
“That costs even more.”
There’s that animalistic groan again; my pussy clenches around it, and fuck, how I wish it was tangible. My fingers dig into the headrest, and raspy breaths tickle the planes of my chest. I shoot a half-lidded glare at the roof and feel a sudden weight in my lap.
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip to suppress a smile, familiar with the weight of his money now. “Not gonna cut it.”
Another thud, this one harder, lands on my stomach. I shake my head. “Not even close—”
My sass morphs into a gasp as Raphael’s thick fingers find purchase in the base of my hair and yank my head back. I open my mouth to protest, then something cold and smooth slides into it.
At first, I think it’s another playing card, but when I pull it out, I realize it’s a Black Amex.
My eyes clash with Raphael’s.
“Pin is four, eight, four, two,” he says quietly. He locks his fingers behind his head and leans back against the headrest. His gaze flashes like a warning sign. “Now, take it off.”
A numbness creeps over my body. I stand just enough to toss his card onto the passenger seat—like hell am I forgetting that pin number—and drop back onto his lap.
He stares at me expectantly. Three stuttered heartbeats pass before I muster up the courage to slide my bra off.
I throw it in his face, and when a lace cup slides off his chin, slow breath escapes his parted lips. Tension tightens the line of his shoulders as he rakes hungry eyes over my breasts. They grow heavier with every inch he covers; more sensitive with every flutter of his hot breath.
He cocks his head. Flexes his biceps as he readjusts his hands behind his head.
He nods. “Carry on.”
Pussy throbbing with awareness, I lean back and grip his knees as I rock my hips forward again, lighting a path of ecstasy along the hard plane of his thigh. Of course, I’d never grinded on a patron like this at the strip club. I’d rather have caught the plague than saunter into one of the VIP rooms and indulge in any of the…off-menuactivities.
But Raphael isn’t a regular patron, and I’m no longer a stripper. Whatever thisis, there’s no denying we have a thing. A highly flammable thing, and it’ll explode if we light a match to it.
Another hip roll brings out another moan from deep within me. Raphael’s eyes narrow, his jaw ticking in realization. “Are you wet, Penelope?”
Flustered, I nod.
