My eyes rolled closed and I begged, “I want you on your knees now. Put your mouth on me.”
But to my absolute fucking horror, she moved her hand and walked over to retrieve her panties from the corner.
“What are you doing?” I rasped.
She tied the tiny straps of satin at each hip, and pulled a robe from a hook on the wall, slipping it over her shoulders and smiling a little at me. “You good?”
I returned her level stare. “Are you serious?”
She came back to me, lifting my left hand to her mouth, sliding my bare ring finger between her teeth and deeper, wrapping it in the delicate softness of her tongue. And then she released it with a wink, whispering, “I’m serious.”
My arms shook with tension, my cock pulsing from the echo of her mouth, her too-short, gentle suction. “Then no, I am not good, Chloe. Not even a little bit.”
“I am,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I feel fantastic. I hope you enjoy the rest of your bachelor party.”
I leaned back into the wall, watching her cinch the robe around her waist. My skin felt hot, itchy, feverish and the entire time she dressed she watched me, relishing my frustrated need for her.
I struggled to hide it, deciding to pretend I was fine. Yelling would only make her more pleased with herself. Cool detachment always worked best when Chloe was being a teasing bitch. But when my brow smoothed, she laughed a little, not even a little surprised.
“What are you doing after this?” I asked. For some reason it hadn’t even occurred to me what she would do when she left. Was she flying straight home?
With a shrug, she murmured, “Don’t know. Dinner. Maybe a show.”
“Wait. Are you here with someone?”
She looked at me, pursing her lips and shrugging.
“The fuck, Chloe? Are you at least going to tell me where you’re staying?”
She looked me up and down, letting her eyes linger a little longer on the fly of my pants than the rest of me before she smiled. “At a hotel.” She straightened, arching her brow before purring, “Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Ryan.”
And with that, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway.
Two
Max Stella
Bennett Ryan looked like he was on the verge of losing his lunch and razzing all over the table.
“I’m going to pass. Lap dances aren’t really my thing.”
His brother Henry leaned forward, horrified. “How is an unfamiliar and extremely hot woman dancing on your lap not your thing? Are you warm-blooded?”
Bennett mumbled some excuse, and I couldn’t really blame him because, fuck, I wasn’t about to have some strange bird climb on my cock. But he had no idea what was waiting on him in the back. I had to get him out of that bloody chair and into the private room so we could get this night started off right.
“Bollocks,” I told him, waving to where Johnny stood, waiting near the private hallway. “This is your bachelor party, and a lappy is a requisite.”
Johnny raised his chin in acknowledgment and finished his conversation with security before making his way through the room, taking his sweet bloody time. Every second that ticked by saw my own impatience build. The longer it took Johnny to get here, the longer it would take Ben to man up and head back, and the longer my girl waited for me.
When he finally stood in front of me, Johnny flashed me a knowing smile. “Heya, Max. How can I help you?”
“I think we’re ready to begin the festivities.”
Johnny nodded, slipping a hand into his pocket. “Chloe is in Neptune. Down the Blue Hallway, to the left of the stage.”
I nodded, waiting. Finally, when he hadn’t offered more information, I prompted, “And Sara?”
“She’s in the Green Room, down the Black Hallway. The one to the right of the stage,” Johnny said. He leaned in a little to add, “Positioned how she requested.”
I stopped short, slipping my hand into my pocket to hide the fist that had instinctively formed. “She asked you to position her?” What in the bloody hell did that even mean?
“Just a little ribbon here, a little ribbon there.” Johnny watched me, a small grin giving away how amused he was by my reaction.
I looked around the dark room, at the scattered clients sitting on black leather couches or leaning against the sleek charcoal granite bar. I could feel my pulse in my jaw from clenching my teeth together in what I knew was an uncharacteristic scowl.
I was conflicted: curious at this growth in their trust, but needing to know what he’d seen, and where he’d touched her. It was rare for Sara to be tied up at Red Moon, and each time, it had been my doing. “She let you touch her?”
Johnny looked at me, smiling wider as he rocked on his heels. “Yep.”