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I trailed my fingers back up, hooking them into my bra and undoing it. In one quick movement I stepped up to him, leaning forward. “Take it off.”
His breath hitched, but he shifted slightly and drew the straps down my arms, dropping the bra onto the floor at my feet. His gaze lowered, taking in my tits.
My nipples hardened for him, and I had the innate urge to touch myself. To squeeze the tips and roll them, knowing it would feed the sensation building inside me. That wasn’t something I did as part of my job, though. So I refrained. I hadn’t been lying when I said that this wasn’t a sex club.
So I danced some more, trying to push the arousal away. I tried not to look at him, tried to think about all the other dances I’d done in this very room, the nameless, faceless men I didn’t care one iota about.
It was impossible. Every time I spun around, Boston was there, watching me with worship in his eyes.
He wasn’t like the others. I couldn’t pretend he was.
I pushed my fingers into the top of my panties and slid them down my thighs, stepping out so all I wore were my heels.
We’d been here before, with me completely naked and him completely dressed. Last time, he’d been quick to look away and cover me up. This time he groaned audibly, his gaze unashamed in drinking me in. It lowered until it hit the junction of my thighs. I never got turned on while working. Normally I was as dry down there as the Sahara Desert. But tonight, my body had a mind of its own.
My pussy was coated in arousal.
I wanted him to know it.
I dropped down low on my heels, hands on knees, and pushed them wide. I let him see the effect dancing for him had on me.
I wasn’t disappointed by his reaction.
His fingers clenched in the back of the couch, as if he were physically holding himself back from launching across the room and grabbing me.
I pushed my ass back and rolled my body up in a wave until I was standing in front of him once more.
The look on his face was everything I wanted it to be.
The man was in agony. Every inch of him stiff, holding himself in check. I leaned forward and put my hands on the back of the couch either side of him, moving my body up his. Normally when I did this, I kept a gap between me and the man. But not with Boston. I pressed my tits to his T-shirt and his hard chest beneath. Though it was against the rules, I ran my mouth ever so lightly up the side of his neck. It wasn’t a kiss, more like a drag of flesh on flesh, but Boston’s hips jerked up off the couch, unconsciously looking for a place to meet mine.
“You’re making it really hard not to throw you down on this couch and fuck you, Eve.”
I didn’t say anything. Just kept dancing over the top of him, inhaling the scent of his cologne and letting the rasp of his stubble brush over my skin. Every movement designed to turn him on.
Except tonight, it wasn’t just him feeling it. My core throbbed with the need to strip him naked and sink down on his thick, hot length. My nipples ached to be inside his mouth. Every ass shake, every grind over his body, every glance at his face and the need there had me wanting to touch myself.
Horny would have been the understatement of the century. The way he looked at me was everything. A sweet, delicious torture that made me wonder how long I could keep this up. Very soon, I was going to have to walk out of this room and go take a very cold shower before I could continue.
Our gazes connected, and this time, when his hand landed on my hip, I didn’t stop him. His fingertips pressed into my flesh desperately, holding me to him, unwilling to let me go.
Not that I wanted him to.
The possessive hold urged me on, dancing for him, bouncing over his lap, simulating the sex I wanted desperately. A tiny moan slipped from my mouth, surprising me.
I’d never once moaned while dancing. But Boston’s touch had me craving more of it. I couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of his mouth at my core, and the orgasm he’d elicited from somewhere deep inside me. That same pressure built now, begging, and desperate for a repeat performance.
His palm traced the indent of my waist, and higher up my side until he stopped, fingers splayed open across my ribs, mere millimeters from my breast. He brought the other hand up to mirror the action, holding me still, until I looked down at him. I stared into beautiful eyes that made my heart thump unevenly.
“I want more.”
So did I.
That moan of need escaped again, but that tiny seed of doubt in the back of my mind reared its ugly head. “I meant what I said,” I whispered. “I don’t have sex for money.”
His thumb stroked the underside of my breast in a way that had me wanting to melt into a puddle. “I didn’t offer any. I’ll pay for the room. And for the dance. But anything else is just us.”
His hand moved to cup my breast, and when I pushed into his touch, it was all the okay he needed. With lightning-fast moves, he pushed me down onto my back, the softness of the couch beneath me, and I surrendered to what my body so desperately wanted.
