Page 61 of Bad Boy Next Door
Obediently, he gripped the back of his seat.
“Legs together.”
He dragged his boots along the floor, bringing his thighs together, the muscles bulging so much I wondered if the denim would give.
I wanted, more than air, to feel those hard muscles between my legs, to even ride one of his thighs as he bucked it against me. The way I felt now, I might come the instant his thigh muscles hit my mound.
I straddled both legs, and even with the help of my six-inch heels, my legs barely reached across his.
His hands landed on my hips, warm and strong against my skin, and his fingers pressed lightly against the thin fabric of my shorts as his thumbs grazed the front.
With every ounce of willpower I could muster, I said, “Hands down. On the chair. Do I need to use these?” I dangled the handcuffs.
With a grin, he dropped his hands back, and I set the cuffs and crop on the table. Resting my hands on his shoulders, I pressed my chest forward, rubbing the spiky studs up and down his hard chest, hoping they’d hurt him—just a little. Just enough to make sure he’d remember who was in charge.
I wasn’t sure whether or not the spikes were making any impact onhischest, but the backs of them tormented my hardened nipples, and his legs were like long, hard rocks between my inner thighs. I moaned. So did he.
Shifting my position to rest my forehead on his shoulder, I tipped my pelvis to brush my crotch against his bulge. Even with that light pressure, I nearly came. But it was too soon for that. Way too soon.
A climax now would be violent but short. A release, sure, but nothing compared to what I knew would come if I let it build.
My heel slipped on the concrete floor, and my body slid forward, slamming into his. He groaned as our crotches crashed, and the pleasure pushed the air from my lungs. I lifted my head and saw into his eyes.
Shit, too real. I couldn’t get caught in that emotional trap again.
I scrambled off his lap, not even caring how awkwardly I moved, and grabbed the riding crop.
“On stage,” I said. “Time for the show.”
“The show?” Adjusting himself, he stood. His erection pressed against his jeans was about the sexiest thing I had ever seen.
“Strip for me.” I pointed the crop toward the stage. “Dance. I want to be entertained.”
He looked at me with heat in his eyes, then sauntered toward the stage while I sat, spreading my legs like he’d done, planting my stiletto-clad feet on the floor.
“What?” I asked. “No lights? No music?”
Grinning, he headed to the control booth and soon one of Diamond’s signature songs pounded through the club. He turned down the volume as the lights blared to illuminate the empty stage. Slowly, he walked back to the stage.
I could tell he was stalling but did nothing to change that. The mere sight of his strong body, the anticipation of seeing him naked, made me so wet and ready it was hard not to squirm.
He jumped onto the stage, landing softly for such a big guy, then walked to the center and turned to face me, shielding his eyes from the lights. “What do you want me to do?”
“Come on. You’ve seen thousands of sets.”
He folded his arms over his broad chest, and I loved how they barely reached across.
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have the same equipment as the dancers who work here.”
No, he did not. Nick was the most masculine man I had ever known, ever seen. About as far away from the club’s dancers as possible.
I flicked my hand. “Do male stripper stuff.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know.”
“How the fuck would I know what a male stripper does?”
