Chapter 3: Olive
If this man is a stripper, I'll eat my baker's hat. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not complaining. He doesn't even glance at Chelsea, despite her hot pink BRIDE sash. Instead, he pins me in place with just a look as he undoes his shirt. His eyes rake over my body, leaving hot trails of awareness everywhere his gaze lingers.
His shirt hangs open and maybe I’m shallow, but dear god his abs are giving me the dirtiest fantasies. Is licking a stripper inappropriate? If he even is a stripper, that is. I’m pretty sure strippers are supposed to dance. He isn’t dancing, but this is so much better. This feels… intimate. This feels like it’s just for me. The other girls are only getting to watch because they happened to be here.
He slides the shirt down his shoulders and tosses it right at me. I catch it on pure instinct because the logical, thinking part of my brain has completely failed me. Shamelessly, I bring his shirt to my face and breathe it in. It smells like lumber and pine and fresh laundry. Oh jeez. Of course he smells like heaven. It’s not enough that he looks like a god. Maybe he’ll toss me the pants next…
As if he can read my mind he flips the button on his jeans and lowers his zipper. I can see the top of his black boxers in the open V of his pants but instead of losing the pants he shoves a hand down the front of his underwear and gives himself two long, slow strokes. Oh god, I think I’m drooling. Did I just moan out loud?
Just as quickly as it started, the song is over. The other women sit silently, watching with gaping mouths as Mr. Contractor removes his hand from his pants and zips them back up. He doesn’t bother with the button before stalking towards me. “Go to bed, ladies,” he growls. His eyes never leave mine and I’m frozen to the spot, just drunk enough that common sense has abandoned me.
Sally pops up from her spot on the couch where she’s been fanning herself. “Hey! I paid for the full hour!”
“And I told you, I'm just a contractor that needs you ladies to be quiet so I can get some sleep. You’re welcome, by the way,” he tosses over his shoulder. He stops in front of me and he’s so close I can barely breathe without my chest touching his.
My back is against the wall, giving me no place to go. The warmth radiating off his body sets my heart pounding at a frantic pace. I’m still clutching his shirt to my face, covering my mouth and nose as if I can hide from him.
He looks at me hard and arrogant for several seconds. Long enough that I squirm under his ominous glare. It’s almost like he’s angry at himself for liking what he sees. Or maybe he’s angry because I clearly like what I see. I don’t care. Either way, my skin is tingling and aching for him to touch me.
“Go to bed.” His voice rumbles through my body as he pulls his shirt from my grasp.
I don’t enjoy being bossed around. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t want to see how this fuck-hot man would react if I push back, so I lift my chin. “Make me.”
He gives me a threatening look, one that might make a lesser woman give in. Not me. “Maybe I need a goodnight kiss first,” I say tauntingly as I rest my hands on his chest. I can’t help but notice the way his hard pectorals flex under my finger tips, their raw power barely contained.
"Ah, fuck it," he husks. His hands catch my wrists, pinning them to the wall beside my head as his lips crash down on me, his body pressing mine into the wall. The world could burn down around me and I wouldn’t care because, right now, this man is the only thing that matters. The hard planes of his body grinding against my curves, his dominating mouth claiming me, and the deep groan of lust that rumbles out of him.
My body gives into his, melting like chocolate on a sultry day. I’m putty in his hands. He tears his mouth from mine, releases my wrists, and with an intensity that sends shivers skittering through my body he whispers, "Go to bed."