Sarah didn’t doubt it. The blood left her brain fast as a rush of erotic images filled it. What could it hurt? Would one night with him kill her?
She couldn’t believe she was actually contemplating it, but she was, justifying it by assuming no girl in her right mind when offered the equivalent of a carte blanche shopping trip to Gucci’s would deny it.
“I’m offering to leave you so sated you won’t be able to move. I was offering to fuck you until you’d forgotten any other man you’d been with. Fuck you until you knew you were mine. And only mine.”
Sarah drew a sharp breath and jolted backwards out of his grip before she could give in to the urge to fall into his arms and never leave them. She knew she walked a precarious trail along a seawall. On one side she saw a dirt road, scattered wildflowers and acres of open meadow, the other was a sharp hundred foot drop to the angrily churning sea that would claim her for all eternity. Even after it spit her back on shore, she’d still belong to the sea. The meadow was sweet and manageable, but the sea….
“A lap dance is all I’m offering you.”
She had no idea where the strength or sanity came from to turn him down, but she wasn’t sure she was all that proud of herself. That little voice at the back of her head kept whispering, what would it hurt?
Since it seemed so interested in pain, Sarah found herself fleetingly wishing she could smash it with a sledgehammer. See how that hurt.
“Pity. I think we both would have found my option more satisfying.”
No doubt. But satisfaction didn’t interest Sarah, safety did.
She wanted in a way she’d never felt before, and that fact alone kept her from agreeing. What if he was right, and when he was done with her she felt like his? What if he claimed not only her body but a part of her soul? Then what? Would she just ache for him for all time?
Unacceptable.
She supposed a part of her would always ache now, just from meeting him. From these feelings that tore at her heart and made her feel.
He was music, the only other thing that reached that deep inside her, but the ache of wondering what she was missing was manageable. She’d go on as before and so what if late at night in her own bed she brought herself pleasure while thinking of him, at least her heart and soul would be…well not intact exactly, she didn’t lie even to herself that much. They’d never be whole, but they wouldn’t be completely obliterated, either.
Sarah knew instinctively that the combination of herself with this particular man had the power to tear the universe at its seams. Neither of them would walk away from a liaison the same, and she just couldn’t allow herself to chance it.
“I accept.”
She blinked twice.
“What?”
She sounded appalled, but she really had not anticipated he’d accept. What was he thinking? She schooled her features along with her rising panic. It was a lap dance, she’d done hundreds, she…oh, who was she fucking kidding?
Sitting on his lap, grinding her body against his, her pussy on his cock—she might as well be blunt about it—she would so not be able to think about her grocery list. She hedged, took a step back when he held out his hand. She needed an out. Fast!
* * * *
It took all his focus not to smirk. Drago watched her lose, then recapture, her breath. She hadn’t expected his capitulation. Then again, he hadn’t intended to give it, but he wanted her and if that was her comfort zone, he was willing to meet her there.
“I said…” He stood straight from the bar and spread his arms as if offering himself up. “…I accept. Lead the way.”
“But…but, but I…”
Drago raised one brow, biting the inside of his cheek this time to keep from laughing. He liked his Phoenix off-balance, but he didn’t want her mad.
“What?” he asked, the epitome of all innocence, and that was when he saw it, challenge accepted. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes met his head on and that smile he’d seen all night suddenly took over her lips as she held out her hand, pink nails with white tips. It was Drago’s turn to hesitate.
His eyes fixed on those feminine nails, on that gentle hand extended. Waiting for his touch. He didn’t want her on his lap in a public place, though. He wanted her naked, in private. She had called his bluff, however; now it was his turn to call hers.
“I call, angel.”
* * * *
As he slipped his hand in hers, Sarah tried to calm her racing pulse. She led him to the back room, a room she’d been in plenty tonight and hadn’t felt a damn thing. This time would be different. She knew he didn’t really want a lap dance and she didn’t want to give him one. Together they were playing some sick game of chicken and Sarah Rose Bennet did not lose. So here she was, on the verge of being incredibly vulnerable, exposed in a way she never allowed, but she could handle it.
“This is where you give lap dances?”
He’d stopped walking, becoming dead weight on her arm, which halted her as well. She looked around the room. The room was decorated in bright pinks and feathers, with four chairs along each wall. A lap dance was already in progress in the corner closest to the door. Soft lighting, a few potted palms and muzak completed the setting. She’d never really thought about it before, but gathered it was supposed to set some kind of mood. In all honesty, she’d never gotten it and doubted that many of the guys who were brought back here cared one way or the other. She pulled her shawl closer around her, not that it would matter in about three seconds.
“Yes. Why?”
He smirked again. It was one of his I-am-so-above-this smirks, and she had already learned to hate that one. He shook his head and cleared his features of any emotion. She recognized the ploy for what it was, having done it many times herself.
“Not very romantic, is it?”
Sarah laughed. “I don’t think romance has anything to do with lap dancing.”
He tugged her hand until she came closer. She felt the fine silk of his shirt against her nipples, the linen of his pants against her thighs.
“If we were back at my place, it would.”
For a full minute, she considered it. She ached to feel the weight of his body atop hers, feel him slide inside her, knowing it would be something she felt in her heart, not just her body. She had decided a very long time ago though that she’d go to her grave not knowing what that felt like. The search for it wasn’t worth the constant letdown when your frog turned out to be merely what it appeared to be…a blasted frog.
“So you sit here.” Intentionally changing the subject, she slid around him, motioning to a chair in the far corner. Usually she preferred the chairs by the door, but she didn’t want an audience tonight. He followed her over and she gently shoved him into the chair. “Your hands go here.” She placed them on the arm rests, eyes meeting his. “No touching.”
He looked around her, she knew he was watching the other lap dance occurring behind her. A moment later he met her stare again.
“No touching at all?”
She shook her head, pressing both lips between her teeth.
“And you’re going to be like that?” He motioned across the room. She glanced briefly at the other couple, the woman sitting in the man’s lap, her back to him as she ground her ass against her customer’s cock. It was a fairly standard lap dance. She nodded. Her breath hitched and she forced it back into a normal pattern.
“No chance in hell.”
Sarah felt tension release. She’d won. She smiled as her entire body relaxed.
“All right then, if…”
That was all she got out before he pulled her down into his lap. She had ten seconds to get his hands off her before Jonesy came over. Gently, she placed those fine hands back on the chair arms, smiling tightly. “No touching.” She swallowed. “I’m getting up.”
“Coward?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Then stay.”
Sarah fidgeted without moving the lower part of her body, ran her
tongue over her teeth, and looked for an out.
“I’m turning around.”
“Like her?”
He motioned with his chin to the other girl again, the one whose back was facing her partner.
“Yes. Haven’t you ever had a lap dance before?”
“No, as a matter of fact, but I am not paying you fifty bucks to rub your ass against my cock. I want your pussy on me and your tits in my face.”
She felt her left foot wriggling in agitation. Normally, she would have started out facing him and turned as soon as she recognized the signs that she’d become as faceless to the guy as he was to her, but with this guy it would be different. At no point would she be some faceless piece of ass to him and she didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see his eyes go dark with desire, couldn’t bear to watch his mouth or feel his breath on her skin. It was too much temptation and she was already far too weak to resist.
Anyway, he was being vulgar just to get her to beg off and she knew it. Poor judge of character that he was, he had no idea what her rebellious streak was capable of when necessary.
“Fine.”
She flung the shawl to the ground and, with only a tiny scrap of silk to protect her, she threw one leg over his, straddling him intimately, pressing deeper into his lap, feeling his hard cock flex against her almost immediately. She put her hands on the back of the chair behind his neck, her breasts a mere inch in front of his face.
“Is that better?”
“I’m not sure,” he ground out. The obvious pain in his strained voice made her deliriously happy. Served him right. “Does this no touching rule apply to my tongue?”
She shivered. The subtle lift of one brow told her he hadn’t missed it.
“The room is kept at an uncomfortable temperature for a half-naked woman.”
His words gave her an excuse, but his eyes told her he knew exactly why she’d shivered and she refused to hide behind his forged pretext.
“The room is kept this cold so our nipples stand out. We need to appear turned on. Even when we’re not.”
So take that.
He pressed his groin up into her.
“You’re turned on. I can feel your heat through my pants.”
Damn him!
Sarah was quickly learning she was out of her depth with this man. Every move she made, he countered. Every time she thought she was getting the upper hand, he snuck around behind her and pulled the rug from beneath her. She was beginning to think of retreat as her only viable option. However, Sarah Rose Bennet did not retreat.
The sick groans coming from across the room weren’t helping, either. She wished Liza would finish up. Of course, that would have the strange side effect of leaving them alone. It being so near closing, she doubted anyone else would be coming in.
Whenever her options dwindled to flight or fight, Sarah always picked fight, regardless of the consequences. She did so now, throwing herself heart and soul into giving the damn man the best fucking lap dance of his life.
Not that she apparently had any competition and that it wouldn’t cost her a bit of her own soul to do it, but by God she’d pay the price and he’d remember this night to his deathbed.
By the time she was done with him, every other woman he would ever have he’d compare to her.
* * * *
Drago saw it flicker in her eyes just a second too late to do anything about it. She flipped some switch inside her head and totally engaged as he quickly discovered with her pressed against his raging hard-on, grinding just enough to give him the sweetest torture of his life.
Bloody fucking hell!
He wanted her. Wanted her so bad he couldn’t think anymore. She leaned closer, nipples pressed to his shoulder while her tongue circled his ear. Her hand slid through his hair. Unfastening the band that held it at his neck she splayed it over his shoulders. It hung half way down his chest and she buried her nose in it.
He gripped the arms of the chair for his very life, bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood. Her pussy made another hard pass against him and he couldn’t hold back the groan this time. She was killing him.
Literally. Fucking. Killing. Him.
If a man could die from an unresolved hard-on, he was only seconds from his demise.
“Like that, baby?”
He slid his hand around her neck and brought her face to his. “I’d like it more if I could stick my tongue in your mouth.”
She froze for a half-second, slid her hand under his, entwined their fingers, then placed it back on the arm.
“No touching.”
“Christ!”
She leaned closer again, her pussy so fucking hot it scalded him. He felt wet and couldn’t be entirely sure whether it was her soaking through his clothes or his own pre-cum.
“You wanna fuck me?”
She made a sound very like a cat’s purr and ran her tongue over his lower lip.
“More than I want my next breath.”
She made a change in movement. Instead of a circular grinding, she started making very deliberate fucking movements, her body moving in waves over his.
“I’d wanna suck you first. Are you half as big as you feel?”
Somewhere inside him that struck a chord and he was able to regain some sense. He didn’t give a fuck about her “no touching” rules. His hands slid up her thighs, resting at the curve of her waist. Her face was still close enough that without effort he was able to capture her mouth with his. He felt a moment’s resistance, but then she utterly melted against him.
Hot and hungry, they devoured one another. Drago sucked her tongue into his mouth, but—apparently not one for submission—she quickly reversed positions and had his tongue in hers. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her entire body pressed against his, her pussy pulsed against his cock as she thrust against him and pulled back.
She felt fierce, hot, and needy. He wondered how long it had been since the last time a man took care of her needs. Wondered how badly she needed him, how much she wanted him inside her.
The sound of a throat clearing froze her in place. For a moment, they were both still, with only their rapid breaths between them. Opening then closing her eyes again, she sat up, held up a hand to the burly man behind her without looking back and uttered a breathy, “No touching.”
“Christ, angel, then take me home.” His hands shook with the need to touch her again, to rip that damn wig off and run his hands through whatever hair was under it. “Let me take care of you.” He buried his nose against her neck, nuzzled the curve. His voice rasped with need. “Let me love you.”
Her body went spineless against his and, rules be damned, he wrapped his arms around her. The mere moment she let him hold her wasn't long enough and when she pulled back he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. It was a sight that made a man want to take on the world to protect his woman from whatever had upset her, but he knew it was him and there was nothing he could do about it.
She tenderly touched his cheek, pressing the heat of her palm onto it until he felt momentarily as if he were a part of her.
"I won't ever forget you, but please don't come back here again. I'll have you barred at the door."
She pulled out of his lap, covered her body with the scant shawl and her dignity, leaving the room with her practiced grace and leaving him hard and aching, his crotch soaked from her juices. She could bar him if she felt it necessary, but no way in hell was this over.
Chapter 4
Sarah sat like stone in the little plastic chair before the mirror. Chin dropped onto her palms, she muttered the God’s honest truth, “Geez, Sarah, you look like shit.”
She pressed on one of the dark circles rimming her eyes, accepting that this was what no sleep did to a person. For the first time in nearly four years, Sarah was having trouble sleeping. Perhaps “staying asleep” might be more accurate.
It didn’t seem to matter that four days had passed without a word from him. That she was apparently no more than a
night’s amusement for him—which admittedly hurt more than she cared to analyze—or that he’d probably forgotten her the moment he’d left the club.
She smiled shyly. Well, after he’d jacked off, anyway.
None of these facts seemed to hold much relevance with her sub-conscious mind, however. Night after night she’d been plagued with erotic dreams that had her nearly fearing sleep. Waking up soaked with sweat despite the air conditioning, sheets a tangled wreck around her body and being so painfully aroused she could barely breathe, was not Sarah’s idea of fun.
As she started trying to cover the dark circles—after all, what man wanted a stripper who looked like death warmed over?—she also started telling herself her latest creation. Not once in her life had she ever admitted to anyone the little fantasies she weaved to amuse herself—not to one therapist, not to one friend. No one knew the truth that all her life, from the time she was five years old and her daddy left, through her mother’s illness and death, to her time in foster care and group homes to her first years alone and on the streets, that her life was filled with imaginary friends and scenarios of princes and heroes and grand adventures. Truth be told, her fantasies were the only thing that had saved her sanity.
So the fantasy de jour was that the man had a wife and six kids to go home to and was a beast of the worst sort. A man who probably left his women tied to some inanimate object until they swore their fealty and undying love for him at his feet and she’d been lucky to escape him.
“Here, Sarah.”
Bobby set a large blue vase filled with white and lavender roses in front of her. Sarah sat stunned. She often received flowers, along with nefarious invitations, but these flowers were different. They weren’t the expensive generic variety out to impress her with however much they cost. They weren’t red with diamonds inserted into the petals or exotic species she’d never heard of. These flowers simply seemed meant to please her. From the delicate blooms to the beautiful vase, they spoke as if they’d been hand selected with her actually in mind. They weren’t the sort of flowers you’d buy for a stripper—they were the sort you’d buy for your wife. She pulled the violet satin ribbon that held a parchment card and read three simple words: Let. Me. In.
1933563079-Torrid-Hearts-Lucas.doc Page 3
