“No,” I whispered as I reached up under my dress and slid my panties off. “I won’t go.” I left the panties on the floor and walked slowly to him.
“That’s it,” he said, as I climbed onto the couch, my dress spread out wide around us. I was on my knees, my shoes still on, my sex slick and wet. I reached down and found his cock, then positioned myself right over it so that the tip was barely inside me. He locked eyes with me, and then, before I could react, he grabbed my hips and thrust me down, impaling me on him.
I cried out even as he did, his body arching up as he buried himself inside me and I arched back, taking him deeper.
He moved one hand from my hip to my clit, then stroked me even as I rode him, sparks of pleasure building inside me, spiraling up, faster and faster.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he said, as he stroked and teased me. I reached out, my hands to his chest. Even under the shirt, I could feel the beat of his heart.
His eyes were open, locked firmly on mine, and I could see the storm rising inside him.
“Tyler,” I murmured as one of his hands reached up and found my breast, stroking and teasing my curves before lightly pinching my nipple and sending shocks of pleasure shooting through me.
“That’s it, baby,” he said as my body clenched around him. His fingers continued their dance on my clit, teasing and tormenting as I soared higher and higher.
“Hands on my shoulders,” he said. “That’s it. I want to watch you ride me,” he demanded as I did as he said, impaling myself on him, feeling him go deep, so deep, and with every thrust I could see the explosion building in him, and feel the matching rise in me.
“Come on,” he said, his voice tight and on the edge. “Explode with me. I want to watch you come.”
As if his words were an incantation, I shattered into a million pieces, my body clenching tight around him as if he were the only thing holding me to this earth.
“Yes,” he said, his clever fingers keeping me aloft even as he thrust into me again and again before finally reaching release himself, and then collapsing against the back of the couch, his arms going around me to pull me down on top of him.
“Wow,” I said. I lay limp on top of him. When I found the strength, I lifted my head. “All that and you still won’t let me work at Destiny.”
He flashed a lazy grin. “That’s not the job for you. I’ll help you find something, though. But I’m curious, of all the strip joints in all the towns in all the world, why do you want so desperately to work at mine?”
I had to grin at the bastardization of the Bogart quote, but I also knew I had to give him an answer. Another lie. And though that reality hadn’t bothered me at all just a short while ago, now it made my stomach twist.
“A friend told me that Destiny’s a good place to wait tables. Good tips. Good management. Decent customers.”
“And?” he asked as I moved off him to curl up on the couch beside him.
“And when I arrived in Chicago, it turns out she doesn’t work here anymore. I tried to track her down, but nobody’s heard from her. I’m worried.” And that, at least, was the truth.
“What’s her name?”
“Amy. Amy Dawson, but she may not have used her real name.”
He nodded pensively. “Early twenties? Blond? Tattoo of a daisy?”
A ribbon of jealousy curled through me. “On her ass. Yes.”
“She turned in her costume and moved on.”
“Costume?”
“School girl uniform,” he said. “A bit clichéd, I’ll grant you. But very popular with the clientele.”
“I’ll bet. So she got a new job. Where?”
“Vegas, I think. But I don’t know for certain. I was her employer, not her parent.”
“What about lover?” I asked.
He looked at me for a moment, and I swear he could see the jealousy brewing in my eyes. Then he shook his head. “No. She had a bit of a crush. Made a move once, but I deflected it.”