His lips tip up in a grin as his eyes zero in on my anxious fidgeting. “No need to be shy with me, Bluebird.”
“What?” I feel my brows furrow beneath my mask.
Hottie shrugs. “They call you Birdie, and you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Seems fitting.”
It’s been so long since a man has complimented me one-on-one—obviously they yell all sorts of things from the tip rail, but smother me with your tits baby isn’t really a compliment—that him simply noting my eye color has my brain going a little haywire.
“Well.” I run my fingers over my thighs again. “I guess we should get started. Wanna make sure you’re getting what you paid for, and all that.”
He jolts forward, as if he wants to say something but can’t find words. His mouth opens and closes, as he wages some kind of internal war, before finally he settles back against the couch and nods for me to continue.
A new song starts, and I move to the center of the room, swaying my hips to the beat. This music is different from what I dance to on stage, and I find myself slightly off count.
Though, judging from the way Hottie’s eyes are eating me up, it’s safe to say he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
My confidence grows with every second, and when he pats his thigh and beckons me closer, I find myself willingly straddling his leg as I dip, roll, and sway my body.
The crotch of my leather shorties brushes against his thick thigh as I drop down to grind on him, and while I’ll never in a million years admit it out loud, the heat of his leg between mine nearly makes me moan.
I guess not having sex in over four years will do that to you.
“Fuck, Bluebird,” Hottie groans when I thrust my tits into his face.
He wants to touch me—his heavy breathing, clenched fists, and massive erection are dead giveaways. But not once does he ever try. Despite being turned on and hard as steel, my sexy stranger remains the picture of respect.
A fact that only makes him hotter.
A fact that makes me want to reward him.
I shimmy away from him, moving so that I’m standing between his legs with my back to him.
His sharp intake of breath when I arch my back and roll my hips only spurs me on.
Gathering my hair in one hand, I lift it off my neck as I wind my body down until my ass is rubbing against his thick erection.
“Fuck, Bluebird,” he groans, his hips thrusting forward ever so slightly. “You’re killing me.”
I lean forward and wrap my hands around my ankles, making sure he has a good view of my leather-clad pussy before rubbing against him again. “Do you want me to stop?”
I’ve never once been this bold with an ATF patron. Even with men at the tip rail shoving money down my shorts, I’ve always remained a little bit aloof.
But with my sexy stranger, I find myself wanting to throw caution to the wind. I want to touch and tease and play.
Maybe because he’s the kind of guy I’d be interested in outside of these four walls?
“God, no,” is his sharp reply. “Never.”
His voice sounds like pure sin, and it sends an anticipatory shiver down my spine.
“Good.” I lower myself fully, leaning back against his chest and laying my head on his shoulder. His body is rigid beneath mine, like it’s taking every bit of his willpower not to snap.
I roll my head to face him, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. “You… you can touch me.” I swallow and lick my lips, my tongue accidentally grazing his warm skin. “If you want.”
He doesn’t hesitate in wrapping his strong hands around my hips. “Here?”
I nod and then place my hands over his, guiding them up to my breasts. “Or here.”
His fingers flex as I continue to rock my hips.
“You’re perfect.” He rubs his thumbs over my pastie-covered nipples. “What’s your name?”
Drunk on his touch, I almost tell him. Luckily, Marcus bangs on the door, signaling the end of our time together.
I slide from his lap on shaking legs, wondering what in the hell came over me. How did I go from VIP room novice to practically dry-humping a stranger?
Shame coats me from the inside out, and I rush from the room without saying a single word.
Tears sting my eyes and worry turns my stomach. This isn’t who I am. Yes, I’m a young, single mom, but I’m not easy. Hell, my baby daddy is the only person I’ve ever slept with—and clearly that turned out well.
Yet, Hottie had me ready to spread my legs and bounce on his dick all night long, and I don’t even know his name.
“How’d it go?” Walt asks, as I step into the locker room. “He hurt you?”