As if someone —cough, Marco, cough—knew we were coming up here, the music cranks up and a song called Lick it Up comes on. I walk to the windows and peek down at the bar. Marco is smiling up at me. He salutes as though he can see me and I laugh.
“I seem to remember some unfinished business up here. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Why, I can’t imagine what you could be referring to,” I say with wide eyes and my most innocent southern accent.
“I think I’m wearing too many clothes. And I think you need to take care of that. Now. Starting with this pesky shirt.”
Cash holds out his arms, much like he did the first night I met him. I walk slowly toward him and reach around his waist, untucking his shirt, much like I did the first night I met him. My breasts brush his chest and his eyes set my body on fire, exactly like they did the first night I met him.
I tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.
“Now the jeans,” he commands. One brow shoots up and he adds, “On your knees.”
Obediently, I drop to my knees in front of him. My eyes on his, I reach out and unbutton his jeans. I can feel his impressive hardness straining against the seams as my wrist grazes his zipper. I start to lower it, but he stops me with his words. “With your teeth.”
A little thrill of excitement races through me, but I comply. Reaching around him, I plant both my hands on his firm, round butt and I lean in to nuzzle his jeans until I can get to the tiny golden pull on his zipper. I use my tongue to pick it up and grab it between my teeth, and I see Cash catch his breath. I smile as I tug the zipper open, freeing him.
Getting into his little game of torture, I squeeze his butt and pull him closer to my mouth as I run my tongue from the base of his thick shaft all the way to the tip. I hear him groan as I close my lips around the head. His fingers dive into my hair and contract, holding me to him for just one second.
“Pull them down,” he croaks, his voice hoarse. I’m pleased with his level of excitement. Two can play this game.
I don’t tell him what a pleasure it is to run my hands inside his waistband, to let my palms glide over his smooth, perfectly rounded cheeks, to let my fingertips coast down his powerful thighs. I don’t tell him how flawless he is, that I’ve never known a more impeccably built man.
When I get to his ankles, he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans. I rise slowly to a stand, letting my eyes and my fingers trail over every hard inch of him as I do.
He leans forward to kiss me, but I dart quickly away, doing my best to strut to the bar.
If he wants to play, we’ll play.
I push my shoes off my feet and turn to lean back against the bar before hoisting myself onto it. My eyes never leaving his, I stand to my feet, towering over him as I move my hips to the beat of the heavy bass. I know by the look on his face that he wants inside me. Right now. Right this minute. And very badly. But I won’t let him. Not yet.
If he wants a stripper, I’ll give him a stripper.
Slowly, I cross my arms over my chest, curling my fingers in the hem of my tank and I drag it, inch by inch, up my body and slide it gently over my head. I shake my hair loose of the neck and throw the tiny snatch of black material at Cash. He catches it and, with a wicked grin, brings it to his face and inhales.
Letting the pleasure I feel in my soul ooze out, I smile at Cash as I unbutton and unzip my jeans, wiggling my hips as I push them down my legs. I see his eyes travel with them. I feel them like a touch—heated and urgent.
I step out of the material and, with a flick of my foot, kick them at Cash as well. He catches them and, just as he did with my tank, he brings them to his face and inhales. His eyes sparkle at me from over top of them.
I slide first one bra strap then the other down my arms, revealing most of the tops of my breasts, but not the nipples. Coyly, I turn my back to him, peeking at him over my shoulder as I unhook the lacy band and pull it off. He grins and cocks one eyebrow at me. I wink and toss him my bra.
Again, he takes the cloth and buries his face in it, breathing in deeply. He closes his eyes as he does, like he’s breathing in a part of me, a part of my soul.
I wait for him to open his eyes before I slide my hands down my sides and under the band of my panties. I can almost taste his anticipation. It’s thick in the air. So I pause. And I smile. His perfect eyes are on mine and his perfect white teeth are biting into his perfect lower lip. He nods once and I see him reach down and palm his erection, sliding his fingers slowly up and down the length.
I feel an ache low in my stomach that assures me I’m as much a victim of this game as he is. But I can’t stop now.
I ease my panties down just a fraction. Cash’s eyes fall to my butt and I see him take a breath and hold it. I turn ever so slightly to the side and, as slowly as I can, I drag the material down my legs, bending sharply at the waist. I hear Cash make a noise that tells me he’s very much enjoying what I’m doing, what he’s seeing. I let my hands trail up my legs and over my hips as I straighten.
He speaks so quietly, so gruffly, I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Don’t move.”
He walks toward me, stopping at my feet and looking over my entire back side. His gaze is scorching. Or is it just my mind?
He leans in and I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stretches across the bar and grabs a bottle of Jack from the shelf beneath it.
I’m watching him from above, every nerve in my body alive and waiting for him to touch me. But still he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes locked on mine, he unscrews the bottle of Jack and pours a shot.
“Turn around,” he commands.
Tingling with excitement, I do as he asks, stopping myself from crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously. I stand proudly before him, too eager for what’s ahead to feel overly insecure.
“On your knees.”
I sink to my knees on the bar in front of him. His dark eyes embody everything naughty and sexy and dirty and hot and taboo that I can think of, and I feel the warmth of them all the way to my core. I’m so ready for him, I ache from the neck down.
“Spread your legs.”
Edging my knees apart, again I do as he asks. I watch his eyes as they skim over my breasts, down my stomach and stop right between my legs. I swear I can actually feel him there, feel his tongue, feel his fingers, feel him moving inside me. I gasp, thinking I can’t take it one more second, but then his gaze flickers back up to mine.
He hands me the shot glass. “Don’t swallow it.”
I take the liquid into my mouth and hold it there, watching him, waiting for him to speak, wondering what comes next.
“Now open your mouth. Slowly. Let it run out. Down your chin.”
I part my lips and let the fiery liquid ooze from between them. It trickles down my chin and throat, veering to the left and traveling over my nipple then dripping off onto my left thigh. From there, the stream starts to drift inward, toward my center. Cash bends forward and stops it with his tongue.
“I seem to remember some unfinished business up here. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Why, I can’t imagine what you could be referring to,” I say with wide eyes and my most innocent southern accent.
“I think I’m wearing too many clothes. And I think you need to take care of that. Now. Starting with this pesky shirt.”
Cash holds out his arms, much like he did the first night I met him. I walk slowly toward him and reach around his waist, untucking his shirt, much like I did the first night I met him. My breasts brush his chest and his eyes set my body on fire, exactly like they did the first night I met him.
I tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside.
“Now the jeans,” he commands. One brow shoots up and he adds, “On your knees.”
Obediently, I drop to my knees in front of him. My eyes on his, I reach out and unbutton his jeans. I can feel his impressive hardness straining against the seams as my wrist grazes his zipper. I start to lower it, but he stops me with his words. “With your teeth.”
A little thrill of excitement races through me, but I comply. Reaching around him, I plant both my hands on his firm, round butt and I lean in to nuzzle his jeans until I can get to the tiny golden pull on his zipper. I use my tongue to pick it up and grab it between my teeth, and I see Cash catch his breath. I smile as I tug the zipper open, freeing him.
Getting into his little game of torture, I squeeze his butt and pull him closer to my mouth as I run my tongue from the base of his thick shaft all the way to the tip. I hear him groan as I close my lips around the head. His fingers dive into my hair and contract, holding me to him for just one second.
“Pull them down,” he croaks, his voice hoarse. I’m pleased with his level of excitement. Two can play this game.
I don’t tell him what a pleasure it is to run my hands inside his waistband, to let my palms glide over his smooth, perfectly rounded cheeks, to let my fingertips coast down his powerful thighs. I don’t tell him how flawless he is, that I’ve never known a more impeccably built man.
When I get to his ankles, he kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans. I rise slowly to a stand, letting my eyes and my fingers trail over every hard inch of him as I do.
He leans forward to kiss me, but I dart quickly away, doing my best to strut to the bar.
If he wants to play, we’ll play.
I push my shoes off my feet and turn to lean back against the bar before hoisting myself onto it. My eyes never leaving his, I stand to my feet, towering over him as I move my hips to the beat of the heavy bass. I know by the look on his face that he wants inside me. Right now. Right this minute. And very badly. But I won’t let him. Not yet.
If he wants a stripper, I’ll give him a stripper.
Slowly, I cross my arms over my chest, curling my fingers in the hem of my tank and I drag it, inch by inch, up my body and slide it gently over my head. I shake my hair loose of the neck and throw the tiny snatch of black material at Cash. He catches it and, with a wicked grin, brings it to his face and inhales.
Letting the pleasure I feel in my soul ooze out, I smile at Cash as I unbutton and unzip my jeans, wiggling my hips as I push them down my legs. I see his eyes travel with them. I feel them like a touch—heated and urgent.
I step out of the material and, with a flick of my foot, kick them at Cash as well. He catches them and, just as he did with my tank, he brings them to his face and inhales. His eyes sparkle at me from over top of them.
I slide first one bra strap then the other down my arms, revealing most of the tops of my breasts, but not the nipples. Coyly, I turn my back to him, peeking at him over my shoulder as I unhook the lacy band and pull it off. He grins and cocks one eyebrow at me. I wink and toss him my bra.
Again, he takes the cloth and buries his face in it, breathing in deeply. He closes his eyes as he does, like he’s breathing in a part of me, a part of my soul.
I wait for him to open his eyes before I slide my hands down my sides and under the band of my panties. I can almost taste his anticipation. It’s thick in the air. So I pause. And I smile. His perfect eyes are on mine and his perfect white teeth are biting into his perfect lower lip. He nods once and I see him reach down and palm his erection, sliding his fingers slowly up and down the length.
I feel an ache low in my stomach that assures me I’m as much a victim of this game as he is. But I can’t stop now.
I ease my panties down just a fraction. Cash’s eyes fall to my butt and I see him take a breath and hold it. I turn ever so slightly to the side and, as slowly as I can, I drag the material down my legs, bending sharply at the waist. I hear Cash make a noise that tells me he’s very much enjoying what I’m doing, what he’s seeing. I let my hands trail up my legs and over my hips as I straighten.
He speaks so quietly, so gruffly, I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Don’t move.”
He walks toward me, stopping at my feet and looking over my entire back side. His gaze is scorching. Or is it just my mind?
He leans in and I think he’s going to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stretches across the bar and grabs a bottle of Jack from the shelf beneath it.
I’m watching him from above, every nerve in my body alive and waiting for him to touch me. But still he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes locked on mine, he unscrews the bottle of Jack and pours a shot.
“Turn around,” he commands.
Tingling with excitement, I do as he asks, stopping myself from crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously. I stand proudly before him, too eager for what’s ahead to feel overly insecure.
“On your knees.”
I sink to my knees on the bar in front of him. His dark eyes embody everything naughty and sexy and dirty and hot and taboo that I can think of, and I feel the warmth of them all the way to my core. I’m so ready for him, I ache from the neck down.
“Spread your legs.”
Edging my knees apart, again I do as he asks. I watch his eyes as they skim over my breasts, down my stomach and stop right between my legs. I swear I can actually feel him there, feel his tongue, feel his fingers, feel him moving inside me. I gasp, thinking I can’t take it one more second, but then his gaze flickers back up to mine.
He hands me the shot glass. “Don’t swallow it.”
I take the liquid into my mouth and hold it there, watching him, waiting for him to speak, wondering what comes next.
“Now open your mouth. Slowly. Let it run out. Down your chin.”
I part my lips and let the fiery liquid ooze from between them. It trickles down my chin and throat, veering to the left and traveling over my nipple then dripping off onto my left thigh. From there, the stream starts to drift inward, toward my center. Cash bends forward and stops it with his tongue.
