Awareness flickers across her face, like the sun rising in the morning. Like the power of her sensuality is dawning on her at this moment. It’s intoxicating to witness. It’s a privilege to see her step into her sexual beauty.
“Torture . . .” she repeats.
“Exquisite torture,” I add.
With slow, deliberate flicks of her fingers, she d
raws the ribbon through one eyelet and then another, loosening the corset until the last bit of ribbon slides free and the silk boning falls to the floor at her high-heeled feet, leaving her in nothing but the lace garter belt, matching panties, and thigh-high stockings.
“Good?” she asks, running a finger beneath the waist of the garter belt.
“So good,” I murmur, my dick so hard there’s no way she hasn’t noticed the totem pole erected at the front of my pants. “Now the stockings.”
Inch by inch, no, centimeter by centimeter—what an incredibly fast study she is when it comes to driving me out of my mind—she rolls the stockings down her toned thighs to the knee, then to her ankle, exposing more of her soft skin. I pull in a shaky breath, desperate to feel every inch of her bare beneath me, writhing and calling my name as I glide in and out of her tight heat. She’s crossed the line into goddess territory, and by the Mona Lisa smile on her face as she slowly turns her back, peeking at me over her shoulder as she grants me another killer view, I suspect she knows it.
“How do you feel about stripping now?” I ask. “Now that you’ve driven me out of my mind with wanting you?”
“Pretty good,” she whispers with a nervous laugh. “But just FYI, I’m not going to be able to get the garter belt off in a sexy way. It’s designed so that I have to take it on and off over my head, and it tends to get stuck on certain . . . obstacles.”
I laugh, too, partly because the sound of her laughing is infectious. Maybe also because it can be fun to laugh even when you’re burning with lust.
“Obstacles like your perfect tits?” My heart pounds as she wiggles out of the garter belt with her back to me, slaying me with every shift of her hips.
“You really think they’re perfect?” she asks, freeing herself and tossing the belt to the floor as I make a mental note to consult with my design team for a garter fix.
“I do, but I’d like to feast my eyes on them again. Turn back to me. I’ve seen how gorgeous you look in the lingerie I make. Now I want to see how gorgeous you look out of it.”
Slowly, carefully, she turns to face me, revealing nearly every stunning inch of her. She’s ridiculously beautiful—the kind of angel fallen from the heavens men write poetry about. Innocence still flickers in her big eyes, making her all the more irresistible. She has no idea how dangerous she’s becoming, how easy it would be for her to hold a man’s soul in the palm of her hand.
Hell, I would sell mine in a heartbeat if that was what it took to ensure my mouth was on her skin in the next ten seconds. My cock jerks again, throbbing insistently in my pants, demanding to be allowed to attend the party.
Control. Must maintain control . . .
“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, my jaw clenched in an attempt to keep from scaring her, but my next words still emerge as a growl. “Come. Here. Right now.”
She tosses her dark hair to the side again—God, she has a lot of hair, wild hair, all wavy and messy, the way I like it. “Now?” she asks, teasing me, apparently having no idea how close I am to the edge.
“Now,” I repeat, my voice harsh. By the time she glides to a stop in front of me, my restraint is wearing thin. From the edge of my seat, I reach out and, almost violently, yank her close. The air whooshes out of her lungs as she braces her hands on my shoulders, setting her breasts to bobbing so near to my face it almost kills me.
“Did I really drive you crazy?” she breathes, excitement and surprise clear in her gaze as she meets mine. “You still look fairly calm.”
I take her hand and plant it flush against my chest, covering it with my own. “Feel that?”
Her eyes widen as my heart does its best to jackhammer through my ribs. “Wow.”
“Indeed,” I agree, letting my gaze roam over every inch of her. “Do I have permission to touch, Stripper Goddess CJ?”
“Oh, yes, please,” she whispers, her fingers threading gently into my hair.
Carefully, I plant my hands on the backs of her thighs, drawing her closer then skimming my palms up over the ample curve of her ass. I can feel her tremble as I bend to kiss her belly, traveling to her navel, her hipbone.
“You taste like honey.” I open my mouth, my tongue swirling into the hollow near her hip, wanting to lick every inch of her at once.
I lower my face to the top of her blush-pink panties, pressing a kiss to the fabric, inhaling her sexy scent as I do.
“Graham,” she says my name so softly it barely registers.
“Yes, Butterfly?” I look up at her. Her brown eyes are fierce and strong, full of passion.