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He grunts. “More.”
I feel powerful, like a goddess. Like I’m in charge of my own fate, like I’ve made no mistakes.
I grind and I touch, my hands covering his chest as we move together. The line between fantasy and reality blurs. We’re dancer and customer. We’re two strangers. We’re lovers in Paris. We’re us, making up our own rules, and bending all of them.
As his breathing turns labored, and my skin grows hot, I tear myself away, walking slowly across the room, unzipping the skirt, and stepping out of it.
One spin, and I’m a wicked woman as I stand before him in white lace, black heels, and flushed skin.
He’s fully clothed, and his erection is tenting his slacks obscenely.
Finn grits his teeth as I sashay my way back to him, shaking my tits, my hips, my ass. All the curves he loves. When I reach him, I turn once more so I can lower my butt to his thighs and grind down on him, my hair spilling over his chest.
His harsh breath fills my ears, the sound of a man’s restraint crumbling. His fingers twitch, and then as I rub my ass against his hard-on, he breaks, one big hand coming down on my thigh, squeezing possessively.
I shake my head, then peel off his hand. “Don’t break the rules,” I purr.
His lips coast along the back of my neck. “Fuck rules,” he warns me.
Heat sparks down my spine, heading straight for my core, but I try to stay in character. “Rules are rules, handsome.”
He drags his nose along my neck. “My rule is I want you.Now.”
I go up in a white-hot blaze of sex and lust. I can literally feel my panties dampen. He can, too, since he grabs my hips and presses me harder, more urgently down on him.
I should stay in character. Truly I should, but I’m melting under his strong hands, his commanding voice, and his unchecked lust.
I’m still amazed he feels this way for me.
Me.
A woman who for years didn’t want sex. Who abandoned all interest in it until she started thinking of it again in the most inappropriate of ways.
Now, here I am being appropriately inappropriate. Touching, teasing, toying with a man I shouldn’t have.
High on this feeling of power and sex, I push my luck. I step away, walking toward the bed, each click of my heels on the hardwood a punctuation mark. I wheel around, unhook my bra, and toss it at him.
“Stay there,” I say, before he can devour me. I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Don’t break the rules, handsome.”
Finn says nothing, just seethes with desire, huffing like an animal. I return to him, straddling his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, then dry fucking him. Rock, grind, thrust. Rinse, lather, repeat, until I fire the starting shot. “Break them,” I order.
A racehorse at the gates, he’s up, hoisting me over his shoulder, carrying me to the bed, tossing me down.
As he toes off his shoes, he says, “Leave your shoes on.”
My inhibitions are out the window. He slides next to me and thrusts an eager hand inside my panties, and I arch shamelessly.
“My rules now,” he growls as he glides those talented fingers over me, and I writhe.
“What are they?” I gasp out. “Your rules?”
He stares down at me with eyes dark with lust. “You come till you can’t take it anymore. Understood?”
I shudder. “Okay,” I say, breathless as I rock into those long fingers.
“No, it’s not fucking okay,” he says gruffly. “Say you want it.”
He takes his fingers away from my pussy, and I whimper. “I want it.”
