She was difficult enough to resist in the clothes she normally bummed around in; the suits she wore to meetings, even her ugly, fluffy, antacid-pink robe looked hot. Her outfit tonight, however, spoke to his senses on a level he couldn’t deny.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
If possible, her outfit revealed more than his did. She was dressed in a filmy white toga style dress that was knotted over one shoulder and cinched in with a bright red band under her bust. Folds of sheer fabric stretched over the creamy mounds of her breasts and did little to hide the rosy outline of her nipples.
It didn’t end there. When she walked a turn for him, the tempting curves of her firm ass and the barest hint of red silk panties flashed below the criminally short skirt with every step. Red ribbons snaked up her calves, securing her delicately-heeled sandals.
He couldn’t think.
She arched her eyebrow. “Well?”
“You need a sweater. Christ, Nichole, you can’t go out like that.” His voice was low and gravelly. The images flooding his mind were hot and powerful. Images of her beneath him, her ribbon-clad calves hooked over his shoulders as he buried himself deep inside her. God, this was Nichole. He’d fantasized about her, sure. But she’d never made his fantasies seem chaste before. “Look, how about you wear that red cocktail dress—?”
“Enough of the big brother protection crap.” Nichole cocked her head to the side and smirked at him. “This is Club Kink, and I’ve been hired to do the PR for their mythological themed Valentine’s Day event. I need to look the part. Besides, it’s fun. Kind of provocative. I like it.”
He liked it too, and that was the problem. Her big brother protection idea was dead wrong. His emotions didn’t stem from any protective place; they were possessive. He had no right. Yet regardless of what his head knew, his heart and everything south of it screamed that Nichole belonged to him.
He could only imagine where the average horny fuck’s mind would go when other men saw her. They’d think about bending her over a chair, pushing up that gauzy skirt and tearing down her racy red panties, or putting her on her knees and winding their fingers through her hair. Jesus. His gut twisted at the thought.
Stupid as it was, he didn’t like to think of her being physical with anyone. Nichole was no virgin, he knew that much for sure. But in the happy land of Denial-dom, he chose to believe she never gave it up. He liked to believe in the magic of her cold, empty bed.
Tonight, however, her outfit screamed come and get me. If anyone took her home, no way would he be able to summon up the image of her slapping a wayward hand from her ass or turning a cheek to block an unwanted kiss.
“Eros, stop scowling,” she chided. “Do you want a drink before we go, to take off the edge?”
“Why? Are you nervous?” He took a step toward her and grasped her shoulder. Maybe she felt obligated to dress up for the job. Club Kink wasn’t an actual sex club, but its theme was unquestionably sexual. Maybe Nichole didn’t mean to send any signal at all.
“So does this outfit do anything for you…at all?” Her voice low and sultry, she peered up at him through those long black lashes tipped with glitter.
Maybe he just wished she didn’t intend to send such a wanton signal, when in reality, her outfit reflected the goal she had in mind. The look in her eyes made him wish like hell she’d dressed up for him, not some damn bunch of strangers at a club. As quickly as he thought it, though, he knew he’d never let it go that way. He couldn’t risk losing her.
Nichole bit her plump bottom lip and tugged it slowly through the grip of her teeth. “Well? Anything?”
“You know it does.” He met her faux-flirtatious stare with his own dark, honest heat. “How can you even ask when you’ve got me in these shorts? A guy’s got nowhere to hide.”
Nichole’s smile faltered as her gaze tracked down his body, leaving the skin of his face, neck, and torso to burn in its wake. She lingered on his cock, as he had known she would. He felt no shame in his physical response. She’d known what she was doing. He didn’t have a chance in the fight against her flirtation. She’d gotten to him. So the utter look of shock on her face was a surprise.
Nichole tumbled back on her narrow heels, blanched, and then flushed red across her chest and cheeks.
“God, you’re…you’re…huge,” she stammered, her eyes still locked on his swollen shaft.
More blood plummeted to his groin. “Christ, Nichole, I’m a man. What did you expect?”
The way she stared at him had him scrambling for excuses and justifications, back to the shelter of the platonic purgatory where he never let her see the depth of his attraction.
“Hell, my grandmother would be turned on by that outfit.” It was his turn to have the blood rush to his face. Nana was rolling in her grave.
“Your grandmother?” A mixture of disgust and amusement lit Nichole’s eyes as she regained her composure and flippant attitude. “You’re bent. But I’ll take it as a compliment regardless.”
A horn blared in the background, saving Matt from further mortification, and Nichole spun into high gear.
“Let me grab my binder. You put that thing away before you hurt someone with it. God, it’s a monster!”
Matt snorted and adjusted the taut fabric, trying to settle his cock into some kind of a discreet position. But after Nichole’s adulatory assessment, until the demons were released, he doubted he’d have much wiggle room in his costume.
Nichole took the short flight of stairs down to the door and glanced over her shoulder, her gaze dragging back to his crotch.
Shit. Just having her eyes on him was enough to make him swell again. He scowled. “Stop that, or I’ll never get out of here. Grab your coat.”