|
(Note: This book is written in both the male and female points of view! This one is Brady the Bull Rider.)
I’m completely overwhelmed by this woman.
Beautiful. Funny. Bright.
And that voice.
I have to have her.
Have to.
When
she's done singing, Vivienne pushes through the crowd to get to me.
Everybody wants a piece of her, reaching out, calling out, trying to get
her attention.
But her eyes are on me.
Damn.
When she gets to me, I can’t even find words for how I feel about her song.
So I put my hand on her back and pull her in super close. Her body is warm and soft against me. My fingers brush her waist.
Vivienne
looks up. Her eyes shine. Her hair glows a gentle gold-red from the
light. I lean down, my lips landing on hers in a gentle kiss. We’re in
her world now, among people she knows. I don’t want to upset the balance
of her life here.
But
her arms come up around my neck. A few people let out a whoop as we
press closer together, my mouth insistent now, diving into her.
She
picked that song. I know she must mean it. The connection between us is
vibrant, like a lasso around us. She tastes of whisky, and I want to
drown in it, more intoxicated by her than the drink.
Her
breasts press up against me, and I have to fight for control. We’re
surrounded, and the music fires up again, another girl hoping to sing
like Vivienne but falling sorely short.
She breaks the kiss, gasping a little. “We can go,” she says. “I’m ready to go.”
I’m not sure where we’re headed yet, but I hang on and lead her back outside.
By
the truck, I can’t wait to kiss her again. There’s no one watching now,
and I touch her more freely, hungry as a bull, my hand sliding up her
thigh.
She lifts her leg up and around me. I close in, raging with need, and press my rock-hard cock against her.
She moans against my mouth. “I have two roommates,” she says. “One is a homebody. You have a hotel?”
“I
do.” It’s not fancy, especially not for someone buying a six-figure
cruise. I wonder if she expects something grand, assuming I’m rich.
“It’s not much,” I say, but she kisses me again.
I
open her door, kissing her as I lift her up on the seat. I reluctantly
break away to step back. God, I hope she’s not a gold digger who dumps
me when she realizes I’m not Mr. Money Bags.
I
feel more anxious than I let on as we drive back to the main road. She
turns on the radio and hums along with a Taylor Swift song.
Pulling
up to the motel will either kill what’s happening or it won’t. I brace
myself for her reaction as I turn on my blinker. She nods along to the
music.
I park and wait for her to notice where we are. But she just opens her door and steps out, then peers back in.
“You shy or something?” she asks with grin.
And
that’s it. I jump out lightning fast and race around to her. I take her
hand, and we fairly run up the metal steps to the second floor. I
fumble with the key card as she looks around.
“I used to have an apartment about a block from here,” she says. “When I first arrived.”
I wrestle the door open, flooded with relief that she doesn’t care. That it’s about us after all.
She steps in.
The
only light is low to the ground, plugged into a socket near the floor.
It illuminates those killer shoes, and I’m dying for that image in my
head of her naked in the heels to be real.
I
shut the door and turn to her. We’re two shadows at first, but
gradually my eyes adjust. She sets her purse on the dresser and leans
against the edge of it.
“What first?” she asks.
“I want to see the body that fits that angel voice,” I say. “Strip for me.”
She tilts her head. “Piece for piece.”
“Fair enough.”
“You start,” she says.
I
unbutton the flannel shirt, watching her. She has her hands propped on
the dresser behind her, making her breasts stand at beautiful attention.
I’m desperate to see them, touch them, feast on them.
But
I take my time. Her voice is still in my head, the image of her on that
stage, singing for me. How stupid are those recording execs who turned
her down? They have no idea what they are missing.
I toss the shirt on a chair.
She can’t be wearing much. She reaches for a shoe, but I stop her. “Can those be last?” I ask.
“Sure,”
she says. She hesitates, and I realize her dress is all one piece. But
she gives me a sly smile and reaches beneath her skirt. With a small
tug, a piece of green silk slides down.
Her panties.
My cock strains against my jeans. Jesus.
She
tosses them to me, and I press them to my face. They smell divine, like
detergent and floral lotion and her. God, I want to bury myself between
those legs.
I’m dying.
I kick my boots off. “Don’t count,” I say, “since I asked yours to stay on.”
She shrugs.
I
grab the collar of my undershirt and pull it off my head. When it
clears and I’ve tossed it on the chair, I see Vivienne looking at me.
She likes what she sees.
I’m practically salivating, waiting to see what will come next.
She tosses me a flirty grin and reaches behind her. Then pushes beneath her dress at the shoulder.
A strap peeps out from the bottom of a sleeve, and she tugs it down her elbow and off her arm.
What is she doing?
She repeats the process on the other arm, then reaches into her cleavage.
A shiny green bra emerges.
“Now that’s talent,” I say, catching the garment as she tosses it to me.
“I have many.”
Her nipples are visible beneath the fabric of her dress now. She’s naked beneath it.
I
unzip my jeans, glad to be rid of the damn things. My boxers tent out
instantly, and when I glance at Vivienne, all her attention is on my
crotch.
The jeans drop, and I make sure my socks go with them as I kick them off.
“Your turn,” I say. My cock strains with need as she looks at me. Her naked in the shoes. I’m about to get there.
“You untie it,” she says. “Like a present.”
I walk straight up to her. I want to hold on to this incredible moment, as intense as when she sang to me.
I
touch her wrists, bent against the dresser still. My fingers glide up
her bare arms to the sleeves of the dress. Then across her shoulders,
lightly fluttering across her collarbone.
They flirt with the edge of the dress as it makes a V down to her breasts.
Her
breathing gets shallow as I take my time. I cup the sides of the
curves, then with aching slowness, allow my thumbs to cross those pert
nipples beneath the fabric.
She sucks in a breath, her head falling back. I can’t resist her neck, open to me, and press my mouth to it.
She arches up to me, and I slip the dress off her shoulder. It slides down easily, revealing the first tempting breast.
My
fire is raging, but I force myself to take my time. I kiss slowly down
her neck until I reach the swell. Her breast is heavy and luscious and
full. I lift it to me as my mouth captures the nipple.
I
suckle greedily, still not looking yet, but learning her by feel and
taste. She smells divine. My finger reaches for the tie, and with a
sharp tug, it comes free.
I pull away as it falls, my eyes taking her in.
The fabric glides down her body like a caress.
|
