Then he left her. She bit her lip rather than beg him to come back. But she ached for him. It had never been this intense.
He touched her with the fur, rubbing it over her throat, down over her nipples.
Then the fur feathered softly over her abdomen. She held her breath.
Finally he swept the fur between her thighs. Her sigh was as soft as the fleece. At the same time his strong fingers explored, almost roughly, seeking the core of her. The contrast overwhelmed her.
She shuddered, so close to an unfamiliar edge.
Abruptly he pinned her to the bed with all of his weight, thrusting his penis inside her in one stunning stroke.
And then he pulled out. “Do you want this? Me?”
She arched up. “Yes!”
Still he held himself over her. She could feel that he was holding something back.
It didn’t matter. All she wanted was the release he could give her. Life should always feel this incredible.
“Please, Bandit, now. I’ll give you a tip. A bigger tip.”
“Are you begging?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t forget. You begged me.”
She made an angry, frustrated sound and tried to reach up and bite his neck. How could he make her feel so aroused, and then play games with her? “You bastard. Do what I bought you to do!”
He didn’t complain. Instead he laughed softly. With a shift of his hips he entered her again, slowly, and then harder. Plundering her. Sobbing, she wound her arms around his neck. Through the roar of pleasure, the clinking of the chains and the sweat from the leather blindfold, she could only imagine those heavenly blue eyes glinting with holy hell as he took her to heaven.
2
TINA WOKE TO FIND a hairy arm flung across the pillow. She blinked at it. Her head hurt and her mouth tasted like sour milk, indicating she’d had a little too much to drink. She remembered indulging every time Tyler had put his hand up Sheila’s skirt. Tina gritted her teeth. Why did she allow that man to get under her skin as easily as he’d gotten under Sheila’s skirt?
And who was the man lying beside her?
Slowly the details came into focus. This man must be The Bandit stripper. The one who’d given her so many orgasms she’d lost count. Of course, she’d been too drunk to count. Hadn’t she? It had to be the alcohol that had made her feel so giddy.
I can’t wait to tell that idiot MD that I was right. I wasn’t depressed. I just needed a change of male scenery.
She knew some people actually needed chemical help, but she wasn’t one of them. In her case it was more a mind-over-matter thing, as she’d recently explained to her doctor.
The stripper made a little snorting sound that interrupted her train of thought.
Why hadn’t he gone away?
Surely, strippers knew the protocol; even casual dates knew when to scoot out of a woman’s room. Tina herself always left the man’s house in the middle of the night to avoid those awkward mornings. The one time she’d brought a man home had been a mistake. She’d spent the next evening at Emma’s doing a silly thing Emma called a cry movie, and pigging out on Chinese food.
The hairy arm moved.
Tina had to admit she was at a loss and it was a rare thing for her. What to do with a stripper who’d overstayed his welcome? She’d certainly paid him enough. Even for all of those orgasms. But he was wonderful in the sack. Did she really want to get rid of him?
Maybe she could play nice and keep this particular option open. Seeing him had definitely been the best sort of therapy. And it would be cheaper than a shrink, the other option her MD had recommended.
She could probably even deduct him from her taxes for services rendered.
The other arm came up to drape around her shoulders. Tina should have felt claustrophobic. Hugging was foreign to her—an activity she avoided at all costs. Perhaps it was a postcoital connection or precoital possibilities that made this hug feel acceptable, but she couldn’t just lie here and accept an invasion of her privacy.
Remember to be nice. But, she fully intended to take charge here. After all, this was her hotel room and passive wasn’t her style.
She didn’t passively accept anything. When she’d become an orphan and then a ward of the state at a tender age, she’d quickly learned that she had to fight for every little thing. Since then, she’d had this need to be in control. She thought of it as being the driver rather than the passenger. She just liked to drive.
She always drove.
“Do you mind moving your arm so I can get up?” Her tone was deadpan dry. But nice.
There was a moan from down inside the pillows.
“I don’t know what your problem is, since I’m the one who had too much to drink.”
Be sympathetic. Remember that you definitely want him again and again.
Another moan. However, it didn’t invoke any sympathy.
Rather annoyed, Tina told him, “Really, this is just silly. You’re a professional and you should have gotten out of here at a reasonable time instead of causing this awkward scene….” She softened her tone. “I definitely would have called you, or rather I would have called the service.”
She tried to stretch and became aware that at some point she’d been freed from the ankle cuffs. Then she became even more aware that her bladder was under more pressure than was comfortable. Still, she didn’t want to totally blow it. “I guess I could allow you to make it up to me. I haven’t exactly been myself since this dumb cruise I took in the spring, and you’ve definitely cured what ailed me.”
Maybe she sounded a little peevish, but she really needed to use the bathroom and grab a double espresso. Struggling against the weight of the arm wasn’t enjoyable.
Was she nuts to also feel like it was kind of cozy under the warmth of his arm?
Of course not. She wasn’t the cozy type any more than the hugging type. It must be the hangover.
“Please get up. This is getting embarrassing.”
“Just give me a second.” The voice sounded muffled but familiar.
Of course it was familiar—she’d just been intimate with the man. “I’ve given you more than a minute and I’m running out of patience.” There, she’d used her cutting courtroom voice. It should have him out of here in minutes. She hadn’t been christened The Shark for nothing.
The hand slid up her arm, intimately, seeking. It felt good, which angered her, so she reached over to push it away. Then she struggled out from under the dead weight until she came to the edge of the bed, where for some inexplicable reason, she hesitated.
She was naked.
She needed cover. The sheet and thin blanket were tangled around at least six feet of male flesh. The bedspread wasn’t an option, as it was probably gross from the hundreds of guests who stayed in this hotel. She had no robe, because she liked to be naked, and she was usually totally comfortable with her body. Yet she hesitated to get out of the bed.
Why? Why should this time be any different? Maybe it was the paid part of the situation that bothered her, since she’d never paid for sex before.
“Why should I have to get up when technically this is my bed bought and paid for?” she mused aloud.
“Because I seem to have thrown out my back.”
She looked over at him. With the mask gone and those incredible blue eyes blinking at her, there was no denying