Talk about hot.
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He relaxed. “There’s gotta be a time limit to this lap dance.”
“Shoot. Thought you might not remember to ask about that. Five songs.”
Dalton shook his head. “Two songs.”
“Four songs.”
“Nope. Two songs.”
“Three songs.”
“Three songs no more than nine minutes total.”
She smiled. “Deal.” She kissed him. “I’ll follow you home.”
“Lemme grab a quick shower here first—”
“No. I’m not gonna shower either. I like your scent after you’ve been working out.” She turned her head and let her tongue follow the ridge of his biceps, licking the salt from his skin. “I like how you taste after you’ve been working out.”
Dalton made that growling noise again.
“On second thought…I’ll race ya.” She pecked him on the mouth and practically skipped out of the gym.
But somehow, Rory still didn’t beat him to his place.
Inside, Dalton leaned against the breakfast bar separating the living room and kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest.
Poor man wore a scowl. She dropped her coat, kicked off her shoes and moved to stand in front of him. “You’re supposed to be looking forward to this, Dalton, not like you’re about to face a firing squad.”
That brought out his sexy wicked grin. “Trust me, baby, I’m all about this lap dance. Just thinking about what I’m gonna demand from you.”
“Putting the cart before the horse, ain’t ya, cowboy?”
He laughed and smooched her nose.
“You get the chair and I’ll plug in my iPod.”
“Where’s the chair gonna go?”
“Living room. You might wanna move the coffee table.”
Rory scrolled through her song list and selected her seductive tunes. Then she plugged her iPod into the audio system and turned around.
The straight-backed dining room chair sat where the coffee table usually did. Dalton curled his hands over the top of it. “Now what?”
“I’d tell you to strip, but I wanna help you do that.”
His eyes turned suspicious.
“Relax. If you don’t like something I do…tell me to stop.”
He snorted. “You have got to be kiddin’ me.”
“No sir.”
“Start the music.”
“This doesn’t count as part of the lap dance. Stand still so I can strip you.” Rory slipped her fingers beneath the bottom edge of his tank top and began to pull it up. When the material cleared his ni**les, she gave each flat disk a kiss. Then a lick. Then a suck.
“Rory.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
She jerked the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. She planted kisses down the center of his torso as she lowered herself to her knees. Hooking his gaze, she mouthed his cock, which was already hard—big surprise—through the material.
“Rory!”
“What?”
“Stop.”
She sighed. “All right.” Hooking her fingers in the stretchy waistband, she slowly tugged the shorts down, watching as the tip of his c**k bounced against his lower belly. He hadn’t worn a jockstrap.
“Word of advice, sugarplum? You frowning at my dick ain’t instilling any confidence in me.”
Her eyes met his. “Sorry. Just wondering if you ever wear a jockstrap or a cup when you’re working out?”
“Jesus. Really?”
“Yeah, why? Is that a weird question? Because I seriously don’t know about these man things—no dad growing up, remember? And since your body is so buff, that means you work out a lot, so I just wondered.”
“Such a curious kitty. Yeah, sometimes I wear a jock. Depends on what I’m doin’ in the gym and what workout shorts I’m wearing.” He ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “Satisfied?”
“Yep. But sometime, I wanna see you model them. I’d probably really love how the straps frame this tight little ass of yours.” Rory yanked his shorts to his ankles and licked his shaft from root to tip before opening her lips and swallowing him.
And releasing him.
And swallowing him.
She did that about five times before his big head overruled his little head.
Dalton clamped his hand on her jaw and pulled her off.
Very, very slowly she might add, but hey, who was keeping track?
She was, heh heh heh. Rory ahead by giving head, one to zero.
“Back. Away. From. My. Cock.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that, big guy.”
He groaned.
Rory rolled to her feet and pointed to the chair. “Get comfy.”
Dalton grabbed a throw pillow off the couch and plopped it on the seat before he sat. “What?” he said defensively at her questioning look. “The seat is wood, you’re gonna be bouncing on my lap and I don’t want my balls to get pinched.”
“Poor balls. I could kiss ’em and make ’em better?” she cooed.
“You’re gonna be doin’ that anyway when I win this lap dance off.” He threw his arms wide. “Bring it on, baby.”
“Hands by your sides, baby, and no touching, remember?” Rory pulled the elastic band, freeing her hair from the ponytail. Shaking it loose so the soft strands swished across his face. Then she peeled off her T-shirt and ditched her sports bra. She kicked her feet out and stretched, keeping her ass right in front of him, knowing he could see her tits swaying as she loosened her muscles.
He cleared his throat. “Topless ain’t fair, Rory.”
“Aw, it’s so cute how you think that’ll matter. Because you’re goin’ down.” She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked. “Literally. You’re gonna go down on me for two hours straight after I win this lap dance.”
“Be a little hard for me to have my mouth on your pu**y when my dick is gonna be buried in your sweet ass when I win.”
She laughed and leaned over to turn on her iPod.
The first strains of Santana’s “Smooth” drifted through the speakers and Rory started out with her back to him. Arms above her head. Ass swishing over his crotch, the end of her hair teasing his chest. She ground down on him a little harder each time. Feeling that hard c**k twitching and jerking against the lower curve of her butt cheeks.