Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
The room is dark, his blackout curtains leaving nothing but a thin line of sunlight peeking around the windowsill.
"That chair," he says, pointing to one of the chairs I recognize from the kitchen. It's placed in the middle of the room wide access all the way around it. "Have a seat."
I place the basket on the end of his bed and do as he's directing me, a tingle building in my lower belly with how assertive his tone is.
The second I'm in the chair, the lighting in the room activates, mimicking what a disco ball would do, shooting prisms of light all around the room.
"That's unexpected," I whisper as he steps in front of me.
I resist the urge to grab his hips and pull him closer, but it's a losing battle, I realize as my hands reach out.
He takes a step back. "No touching the dancers. House rules."
I blink up at him, fully enjoying the way he smiles down at my look of disappointment.
He leans down, close enough that we can kiss, and whispers, "Play music."
A sultry instrumental begins to fill the room. I swallow, my mouth growing dry as he stands back up.
"You'll need this," he says, grabbing the basket and placing it in my lap.
I force my eyes down to it, not wanting to pull my eyes from him.
He leans in close again, his body close enough to mine that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
"Oh," he says as he reaches into the basket, pulling out a slip of paper. "Why didn't you tell me you had a backstage pass?"
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
"Silly me," I say as I grin up at him. "What does it get me?"
He turns the card over, reading the print on it as if he isn't the one who created it. "This is full access."
"Yeah?" I whisper.
"It means you can use this," he says, reaching into the basket again and pulling out a small bottle of baby oil.
I squeeze my thighs together, something that doesn't go unnoticed by him.
"But only if you want," he says, pulling the bottle a little further away from me.
"I want," I say in a rush, grabbing the bottle from his hands.
His chuckle is deep and full of promises I'm excited for him to fulfill.
"Ready?"
I nod so enthusiastically it makes him laugh, and I sort of love that we can have a moment of levity when all else seems so intense.
Standing at his full height, he does that super sexy thing guys do by gripping the back of his shirt at his nape and tugging it over his head. Realistically, the level of fitness this guy has is insane, especially for someone who does computer work for a living.
"Like what you see?" he asks, his hand running down his chest.
He gets another enthusiastic nod from me, and I get another chuckle from him.
The snick of the bottle cap sounds like a bomb exploding in the room.
I pour some into my hand, realizing very quickly that this is going to be too difficult to do sitting down. With the angle I'm at, I'll have to focus a lot lower on his body than I think he'll allow right now.
I stand, rubbing my hands together to coat them with the oil.
I look up at him just as I press my palms to his chest.
"Jesus," he whispers, and that same spark I felt when I touched him when he was proving to me that he wasn't his brother makes my hands tingle. "That feels good."
"I'm thoroughly enjoying it," I whisper, my voice a little throatier and thicker than I anticipated it would be.
His body rolls, moving under my attention, and once again, I find myself fighting the urge to squeeze my thighs together.
There's something to be said about the wait. I crave this man in a way I've never felt before.
I trace my fingers along the dips and curves of his chest before letting them roam a little lower to his abdomen. His muscles dance and tense under my attention, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.
I tease the edge of his sweats, wanting to go even lower but also enjoying the suspense.
"Mmm," he groans when I dip a single finger past his waistband. "Careful."
I pull my hands back, wanting him to lead wherever this may go. I step back, take a seat, and grab the towel he so thoughtfully added to the basket to wipe my oily hands on.
"My dance?" I ask, grinning up at him.
"Don't laugh at me," he says as he pulls in a deep breath. "This is going to be awful."
"There's absolutely no way."
"Famous last words," he says, but he's still smiling as his hips roll.
I sit back and enjoy the show, trying my best to look as if I'm enjoying it but not express just how turned on I am.