by J. S. Scott
All four women rocked their shoulders and the capes fell in unison to their elbows, exposing bare, smooth chests, and jiggling breasts barely contained in red corsets edged in white fur.
Holy mother of God...
Heat flooded Josh’s veins and pooled between his legs. Pressure built in his chest until he wanted to moan with it.
The women leaning back in a provocative stance, rolling their upper bodies like an ocean wave. But Josh had frozen, hand locked around the beer bottle, throat tight.
Grace strutted across the stage in those fuck-me boots with a swish, swish, swish of hips, swinging the cape.
“Five and six, seven and drop,” she instructed the women on another turn, another kick, and the capes fell to the floor, exposing the outfit hidden beneath.
And sweet baby Jesus, he couldn’t form one thought. Not one fucking coherent thought.
All he could see was Grace. Her red corset laced up the front, cleavage showing through the V. The fur trim barely covered her nipples. Her breasts spilled over top, bouncing with every move. Her skirt rode a good five inches beneath her flat belly button, the fabric accented with a wide black patent leather belt to match the boots, and exposed every inch of trim, toned, shapely torso from hip bones to rib cage.
“And roll...roll...roll...” Grace was saying, but Josh has lost track of the choreography.
This was beyond his hottest sexual fantasy. She was gorgeous, sensual, erotic, naughty, and sweet all at the same time. Everything a man could ever want all packaged inside a generous, compassionate, resilient woman.
Every turn, flip or twist flashed the hint of a red lace thong beneath the skirt’s white fir trim. Every slow, sultry bend exposed her tight ass cheeks—completely bare but for a tiny strip of red lace disappearing between the golden curves.
A sharp spin turned all four women away from Josh as they strutted to the rear of the stage. Their black boots crisscrossed, their hips swayed. Then they all stopped abruptly, and on the next burst of orchestra music, all four women ripped their bodice open with both hands.
“Whoa,” he murmured, riveted to the power of such tight choreography between dance and music. But that thought skipped from his mind when they turned back toward the audience, exposing tiny, tiny, tiny red bikini tops. And as they strutted forward, all Josh saw were Grace’s perfect breasts, plump and high and deliciously mobile in a triangle of red. He wanted them in his hands again, beneath his tongue again.
He swallowed hard, his throat so dry the movement hurt. On their way to the front of the stage, they dropped the corsets to the floor. The fingers of his free hand dug into his thigh. His cock rubbed uncomfortably against his jeans, and his chest felt as tight as if he were wearing a corset of his own.
Josh dragged his gaze up Grace’s body—and found her gaze directly, purposefully on his. The sight speared his body with heat, the reaction so visceral she could have been reaching between his legs and cupping his balls.
Then she grabbed one of the gold stripper poles, hiked herself up with one hand in an effortless, smooth move that reminded Josh of the way she’d lifted her body up his the night before, and twirled slowly to the floor, still calling out direction.
“Spin, spin, spin, reach, pull...” Her words mirrored her spiral down the pole, her reach into her hair, her pull of whatever had been holding it up, and the sleek strands spilled in a copper waterfall.
When she reached the floor, her legs spread in an artful, erotic split around the pole, exposing her sex, barely hidden by a scrap of red lace. And her blue gaze kept drawing his own back. Back to eyes that screamed, “I’m strong and confident and I can take care of myself.”
And Josh was blown away by her skill, her strength, her professionalism, but even more by how mother fucking hot she made him.
She strutted away, bent at the waist and exposed her ass before performing some insanely dirty crawl across the stage that made Josh want to pop out of his jeans. The need to reach between his legs and stroke himself simply to relieve the pressure had one hand clenched around the arm of the chair, the other around his beer bottle. That’s when he realized he’d hit his limit. Every muscle in his body screamed with tension, needing release.
The kind of release he wasn’t going to get. Not with Grace.
And he sure as shit didn’t want anyone else.
As Grace gripped the stripper pole and flung her body upside down, spread her legs and slowly spiraled to the floor with her gaze hot and unwavering on his, Josh forced himself to stand. Forced himself to turn. Forced himself to put one foot in front of the other in a physically, mentally, and emotionally excruciating stride away from the stage.
Chapter Six
Grace was breathing hard when the song ended for the seventh time. She pulled herself off the floor, and gathered the garments she’d torn off during the dance – not as many as the other girls, but enough to give Josh a great view.
At first, she’d thought him watching her semi-strip would turn him off, which she’d convinced herself was better for both of them. Then, as he’d watched her dance, his expression had shifted from skeptic-laced curiosity to white-hot, I-wanna-do-you-fast-and-hard-up-against-a–wall-right-fucking-now.
But, in the end, he’d walked out.
Story of her life, right?
Feeling confused, she descended the stairs with the club staff buzzing around, preparing for the doors to open. Hillary, Jaime, and Saundra had disappeared into the dressing room, but just as Grace was about to pass through the drape and into the hallway, Jasmine popped through already decked out in her outfit for the opening dance.
“Hey,” Grace said. “Something wrong?”
Jasmine crossed her arms. “You tell me. I was coming to see just what you were doing out here to turn the mighty Navy SEAL into an overheated, tongue-tied, mess of nerves.”
Grace lifted a brow.
“He came back there red-faced and sweating, with his jeans sporting a bulge as big as a football. Then he tripped over the threshold on his way out the back door where he stuck his head under the hose.”
She frowned hard. “Oh my God. Is he sick?”
“Yeah, honey.” Jasmine snorted a laugh. “I think it’s called Semen Retention Syndrome. Also known as Blue Balls.”
“Yeah?” she asked, still unsure.
“Hell, yeah.”
Grace’s worry drained, and a smile quirked her mouth. “Now he knows how I’ve felt all these years.”
Jasmine turned Grace toward the hallway by the shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “Get back there and negotiate some relief for both of you.” She started toward the bar. “I’ve got to go bribe—I mean negotiate—with the staff for the night.”
Grace’s heels clicked on the cement and echoed off the walls as she strode down the hall. In the back, the girls buzzed around the dressing room, gossiping, laughing, and bitching like always.
She found the back door standing open, but the grind of a power saw drew her gaze toward the storeroom. He hadn’t walked out. He was – in his self-described heavy-handed way – showing her he cared.
As the staff tested the sound system, the muffled boom of music hummed through the walls. She wandered to an empty dressing table in a corner and picked up the padded chair. As an afterthought, she opened one of the drawers and slipped out an Allure condom—also used as business cards, with the dancer’s stage name imprinted on one side and the club name printed on the other—from the box there. In this case, it didn’t matter whose name resided on the foil. If Grace didn’t use it, the promo goodie would return to the drawer.
Looking at the shiny silver package in her palm made her think about Josh getting hard. Made her think about taking his rigid, hot cock in her hand. Made her think about stroking the condom on. And ultimately, feeling him slide deep inside her.
Her whole body responded to the instantaneous fantasy—muscles tight, temperature rising, pussy aching.
Shrugging into her velvet cape, she tucked the f
oil square into the waistband at her hip and carried the chair toward the storeroom.
She wandered in and glanced over the hills and valleys of muscle along Josh’s back. He’d taken off his shirt again—praise the gods—and was leaning over a piece of gypsum board, guiding a circular saw through the sheet. A small plume of white billowed behind the saw and a fine white mist coated his skin.
He finished the cut, turned off the saw and glanced up. Through the clear goggles, his eyes widened, slipped down her body, then slid away.
“Hey.” He pulled the goggles off and set them on the board, then gestured to the one strip of mirror he’d placed on the longest wall. “I just put a piece of the glass up for you to see before I went on. And I need to know how high you want the dance bar.” His gaze turned to the plans. “After seeing how flexible you are, I think the height called out in here is too low.”
She strolled in, set the chair down, and crossed her arms on the curved back. The move made her breasts fall forward and the cape drape open. “I could care less about the bar’s height at the moment.”
His gaze darted up, immediately lowered from her face to her chest and slid away again, but not before the fiery burst of lust lit them from within. He cleared his throat. Licked his lips. Turned his back to her. “We can talk about it after you change.”
He wanted her. Not only could she see it in his expression and hear it in the tone of his voice, she felt it in the air—a crackling, thick, hot desire filling the room. She turned and slowly strode to the doors, but instead of leaving, she closed them. Then turned the dead bolt and pressed her back against the wood.
Josh turned with a look of confusion. But as soon as his eyes met hers, a nervous tick pulled at the skin beneath his left eye.
She’d only seen Josh nervous once in all the years they’d known each other—when she’d asked him to move in with her while he recovered from shoulder surgery. The expression he’d had then was the same one he had now, one that said, I-want-that-but...
With determination fueling her steps, Grace started a slow, sexy walk toward him, extending her legs, crisscrossing her boots, holding the I-want-to-fuck-you sultry look she constantly required of the dancers.
“You left before the number was over.” She laid her hand on the gypsum board, toying with the edge with one finger. “Missed the best part of the show.”
He was fighting to keep his gaze on her face, but it kept slipping, and the heat there deepened. “If that’s true,” he said, his voice low and rough, “I’m glad I left when I did, or I would have definitely embarrassed myself.”
She stepped close, and purposely met and held his gaze as she pressed the tip of her index finger to the center of his chest. “So...you didn’t hate it.”
She let her gaze follow her finger as she drew the tip upward along his sternum. The barely-there white mist cleared to show tanned skin beneath. Then she arched to the left, creating a curve around the top of his peck muscle and dragged her finger down at an angle sharp enough to brush his nipple as she passed. The nub hardened beneath her finger and Josh sipped a little breath of surprise. She continued in a slow, downward angle until her finger touched the waistband of his jeans. And yes, there was definitely a substantial bulge there. One she desperately wanted to explore.
“Seeing me dance like that doesn’t...I don’t know...disgust you on any level?”
She scraped her lower lip between her teeth and placed the tip of her finger at the original starting point. Then followed her previous pattern, this time, arcing to the right.
“The opposite,” he murmured, voice rough. “Seeing you own that stage is ridiculously hot.”
Her smile deepened, her confidence soared, and with it, her lust broke free, spilling through her body like glitter.
This time when she brushed his opposite nipple, gooseflesh broke out over his chest, and his eyes closed for a brief second. She finished off the nearly invisible shape of a heart where her finger met his jeans again. Fisting the waistband, she pulled him around so his back faced the chair, then pushed him into the seat.
His breath whooshed out on a soft grunt. Before he could speak, Grace planted her heel on the seat at his hip, gripped his face in both hands and leaned in until her mouth was a breath from his and whispered, “I’m about ready to own you.”
Instead of kissing him, she stroked his bottom lip with her tongue. He opened and leaned forward, his mouth searching for hers, but she pulled back with a teasing smile. “On my terms.”
This power trip was a surge of lusty goodness, and she wondered if this was how the dancer’s felt on stage in front of dozens of men. She took two steps back, shrugged the cape and let it fall to her elbows. The throb of Korn’s grungy beat of Coming Undone pulsed through the walls and her body moved easily, smoothly, and without any conscious thought. For Grace, dancing was built into her muscle memory. What she needed to concentrate on now was tantalizing Josh out of his mind.
Turning her back to him, she let the cape slide off her arms, let her upper body fall forward, exposing her ass beneath the short little skirt for Josh’s view—just out of his reach.
“Jesus—“ he rasped, but trailed off when she straightened, tossed her hair back, and rocked her hips in a slow sway as she lowered to a crouch, thighs spread.
She fell to her knees, then her belly. Rolled and sat up, letting her hands stroke up her body to the beat of the muffled music.
Josh was leaning forward, elbows on knees. Lids heavy, eyes burning, skin glistening with a fresh sweat. “You’re killin’ me, Grace.”
When he held out his hand, she took it, easing to her feet, but when he tried to pull her close, she spun out of reach and strode behind him. One hand slid across his wide shoulders, before she leaned in, pressing her breasts to his back, but the small amount of skin on skin contact wasn’t near what she needed. She stroked her tongue down his neck. He was salty and gritty, smelling of sawdust and fresh sweat and lust. He was everything she craved.
Her hands trailed across his shoulders, over his hard chest, down his warm abdomen. His hands covered her arms, caressed her skin. He dropped his head back, closing his mouth over the skin at the base of her neck and sucked hard just as her hand slid over his crotch.
Heat and sensation spread outward from his mouth, slid into her chest and pulled at her nipples. She tightened her hand on his cock, hard and thick and rough beneath his jeans.
His mouth dropped open on a groan and his hands rose to grip her face and pull her mouth to his—open and hot. His tongue swept in, found hers and stroked. She met his kiss and returned all the passion as her fingers worked his button, pulled at his zipper, pushed at fabric, and finally, finally closed around his bare cock.
Josh broke the kiss on a rough, “Ah, fuck...” His hips lifted into her touch. “Gracie...”
Her name was a plea. One that exposed his need, his vulnerability. Grace fed off each and every reaction, gaining a sense of power, of control, of possession—but not over Josh. Over herself. That combined with living out this fantasy was absolutely intoxicating.
She pulled the condom from her waistband, held it in front of him so he could watch her tear the foil and unroll the slick coil just enough to swallow his head, then scraped his ear between her teeth and whispered, “I’m so wet for you.”
“Holy fuck...” He was panting now, muscles strung tight, one hand gripping the edge of the chair, one arm up and around her neck, his hand fisted in her hair. His gaze followed her hands as she pulled his cock from the restriction of his boxers and stroked him, loving the feel of the silky smooth skin covering a steel hard cock. “Gracie...”
This was half-plea, half-warning. And she fitted the condom to his head.
His hips pulsed on a curse. His head fell back, mouth dropped open, eyes squeezed tight. “Fuck.” His head rolled side to side, and the hand on the chair snapped up and gripped her wrist, pulling her hand from him. “I can’t... I’m sorry. It’s been to long. I can’t have you
touching me like that. I need to be inside you when I come, Grace. Need to.”
She kissed his neck. Once, twice, three times, until his hand relaxed around her wrist. “I’m on board,” she whispered, “but let me get this on first.”
And she stroked the condom down his length. His muscles contracted, hips lunged, back arched.
A low, hot laugh slipped from her throat, a thrill rolling through her veins. “Damn, this is fun.”
He clamped down on her wrist, and hauled her around the chair, wrapping his forearm around her waist as he tried to pull her onto his lap. “This is more fun.”
“You forgot something.” Grace pushed against his shoulders and wiggled away. Standing in front of him, in full fluorescent light, Grace bent, laid her hands against her knees, then dragged them slowly up her thighs, lifting her skirt. Josh’s gaze burned over the red thong. His chest rising and falling with shallow, quick breaths. “These might get in the way.”
She hooked her thumbs into the panties at her hips and shimmied them down, until her skirt covered her pussy again, then she let her panties drop down her thighs, her calves. Pressing one hand to the seat beside Josh’s hip, she bent provocatively over his lap while reaching for her panties and dragging them over her heels.
Josh sat forward, both hands gripping the backs of her thighs, sliding higher, higher, then cupping her ass. Big, warm, firm hands squeezing her cheeks.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, tugging her closer.
She caught herself with one hand on the back of the chair. Josh’s hands slid back down her thigh, and lifted her knee to the seat beside his. Then his fingers stroked the heat between her legs from behind and a luscious wave of pleasure rocked through her sex, her hips, her chest.
She arched, pushing her pussy back, and her breasts forward. Suddenly, she was totally out of control again. Josh’s thick fingers touched and stroked, while his other hand gripped her breast, shoved the tiny bikini top aside and he sucked her nipple into his mouth.
