isn’t over yet, Trevor.” She took one of his big hands and placed it on her butt, precisely where the barest hint of pink lingered on her pale skin. “Mmm,” she hummed, and rolled her hips, so her flesh slid under his palm. “You feel so good.”
Glancing at the mirror, she watched his eyelids drop like white flags, heard the surrender in his agonized groan, and felt a rush of triumph. A few breathless seconds later, however, he buried his face against the nape of her neck, his hand slid around to her waist, and he jerked her hips down hard—so hard she felt the huge head of his erection straining to get past her tight, fragile threshold. Triumph quickly faded as awareness kicked in.
One little flex of his hand proved beyond a shadow of a doubt which one of them held the power. Not her. She’d toyed with him, forgetting the formidable strength coiled in his rock-hard body. If he chose to unleash it, he could take what she’d teasingly dangled before him—without breaking a sweat.
His fingers tensed on her hip and sent the pressure between her legs to a critical point. Pleasure, low and deep, twisted painfully tight. Something had to give. She feared that something was her. Biting her lip to hold back an anxious, needy sound, she tried to shift away from his restrained intrusion, but his grip held her fast.
“Christ, don’t move,” he growled. Leaning in, he pressed his chest against her back, pushing her forward. Grappling for balance, she gripped his knees, twined her legs around his firmly planted calves, and scooted her hips back hard and fast until the only thing she could feel—the only thing she could think about—was the blunt, unforgiving thrust of his erection against her quivering sex. Just when she feared she’d cry out from a combination of agony and need, Trevor choked out a strangled curse, shuddered, and exhaled a long, rough groan.
Involuntary tremors shivered through her as the pressure between her legs slowly subsided, leaving her overstrained body weak with relief, yet aching with a sharp, unfulfilled need. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and told herself to relax. She’d done her job. Yes, doing so meant walking a tightrope between fantasy and reality, and for a moment there, she’d nearly lost her balance. But she’d made it to the end in one piece.
“Are you okay?” Trevor’s lips brushed her neck, lingered long enough to bestow an openmouthed kiss along the tender curve where neck met shoulder. She fought back another shiver, this time because tingling heat radiated along her sensitive nerve endings. There was something seriously wrong with her.
His eyes found hers in the mirror and held.
“I’m fine.” Losing control. Losing Kylie and becoming…I don’t know who . She wanted to stand, get some distance, but the weight of his fathomless gaze paralyzed her.
“You don’t look fine. You look like a lost little girl.” The cynical smile was long gone, replaced by worry and something alarmingly close to compassion. “If I don’t watch it, you’re going to break my heart.”
Even though she knew no real stripper would, she couldn’t keep from bringing her arms up to cover herself. She tore her eyes away from his. He shook his head and sighed. “Come on, what are you hiding? Whatever it is, I promise, telling me is the right thing to do.” He sounded concerned and endlessly patient, then ruined it by saying, “Stacy, talk,” in his firm, no-bullshit cop voice. The command reminded her about the distribution of power again. The imbalance went beyond physical, it encompassed their entire dynamic.
“I have”—she stopped and swallowed the lump in her throat—“I have to go. Right now.”
“Goddammit, Stacy.”
She shook her head and stood, intending to walk the short distance to where her top lay on the floor, put it on, and get the hell out of there, but her legs wobbled and she lost her balance.
Lightning fast, he bolted to his feet and grabbed
Glancing at the mirror, she watched his eyelids drop like white flags, heard the surrender in his agonized groan, and felt a rush of triumph. A few breathless seconds later, however, he buried his face against the nape of her neck, his hand slid around to her waist, and he jerked her hips down hard—so hard she felt the huge head of his erection straining to get past her tight, fragile threshold. Triumph quickly faded as awareness kicked in.
One little flex of his hand proved beyond a shadow of a doubt which one of them held the power. Not her. She’d toyed with him, forgetting the formidable strength coiled in his rock-hard body. If he chose to unleash it, he could take what she’d teasingly dangled before him—without breaking a sweat.
His fingers tensed on her hip and sent the pressure between her legs to a critical point. Pleasure, low and deep, twisted painfully tight. Something had to give. She feared that something was her. Biting her lip to hold back an anxious, needy sound, she tried to shift away from his restrained intrusion, but his grip held her fast.
“Christ, don’t move,” he growled. Leaning in, he pressed his chest against her back, pushing her forward. Grappling for balance, she gripped his knees, twined her legs around his firmly planted calves, and scooted her hips back hard and fast until the only thing she could feel—the only thing she could think about—was the blunt, unforgiving thrust of his erection against her quivering sex. Just when she feared she’d cry out from a combination of agony and need, Trevor choked out a strangled curse, shuddered, and exhaled a long, rough groan.
Involuntary tremors shivered through her as the pressure between her legs slowly subsided, leaving her overstrained body weak with relief, yet aching with a sharp, unfulfilled need. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and told herself to relax. She’d done her job. Yes, doing so meant walking a tightrope between fantasy and reality, and for a moment there, she’d nearly lost her balance. But she’d made it to the end in one piece.
“Are you okay?” Trevor’s lips brushed her neck, lingered long enough to bestow an openmouthed kiss along the tender curve where neck met shoulder. She fought back another shiver, this time because tingling heat radiated along her sensitive nerve endings. There was something seriously wrong with her.
His eyes found hers in the mirror and held.
“I’m fine.” Losing control. Losing Kylie and becoming…I don’t know who . She wanted to stand, get some distance, but the weight of his fathomless gaze paralyzed her.
“You don’t look fine. You look like a lost little girl.” The cynical smile was long gone, replaced by worry and something alarmingly close to compassion. “If I don’t watch it, you’re going to break my heart.”
Even though she knew no real stripper would, she couldn’t keep from bringing her arms up to cover herself. She tore her eyes away from his. He shook his head and sighed. “Come on, what are you hiding? Whatever it is, I promise, telling me is the right thing to do.” He sounded concerned and endlessly patient, then ruined it by saying, “Stacy, talk,” in his firm, no-bullshit cop voice. The command reminded her about the distribution of power again. The imbalance went beyond physical, it encompassed their entire dynamic.
“I have”—she stopped and swallowed the lump in her throat—“I have to go. Right now.”
“Goddammit, Stacy.”
She shook her head and stood, intending to walk the short distance to where her top lay on the floor, put it on, and get the hell out of there, but her legs wobbled and she lost her balance.
Lightning fast, he bolted to his feet and grabbed
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