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Stripped Bare(6)
Emma Hart

I drew in a deep breath. My heart pounded in my chest when he didn’t move away for several seconds.

Were lap dances supposed to be this quiet?

He answered my question by getting up and moving toward a side table. There, he picked up a remote control, and instantly, the room magically filled with loud music. After another push of a button, the lights dimmed just enough that I was pretty confident he wouldn’t see me when I inevitably blushed.

I was going to blush. I knew it.

I think he did too, this nameless man who was currently walking toward me. The predatory glint in his eye was thrilling and scary, and honestly, I was no weak woman, but I knew one thing.

If I’d met this man anywhere else, he’d have probably eaten me for breakfast.

I’d also have probably opened my legs and let him. Lunch, dinner, and snacks too.

He moved.

Not...to me. Against me. He flexed his hips, making a grinding motion. It should have been cheesy or wrong or stupid, but it wasn’t. His muscles rippled and danced along with him, tensing and becoming more obvious with each move, and I couldn’t look away. It was mesmerizing.

My teeth sank into my bottom lip as he moved closer to me and opened my legs with one nudge of his knee. I obliged, my eyes focused on his body and the way his hips moved perfectly in time with the music.

My fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, but he beat me to it. He ran one of his hands through my hair and fisted it at the nape. The tug was gentle, but it felt good as he pulled my head back and forced me to look into his eyes. The bright sea of blue cut through the dim light, and he reached up, slowly sliding his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. It fell to the floor in a flash of white, and he bent to open my legs further.

I swallowed hard as he popped the button on his pants and gripped the back of the sofa again.

“You can touch me,” he murmured into my ear. His breath was hot against my skin.

Touch him? Whoa. I didn’t plan on that. What if my fingers burned with his hotness?

His strong hand brushed my knee and up my thigh. He pushed my dress up, and his touch seared against me as he edged my legs farther apart and got even closer.

Oh my god. I’m so turned on.

I hadn’t thought it was possible, but there I was, desire bolting through my veins as he slid his hand up my side and brushed the underside of my breast. I fought the urge to physically respond to him, but he held his hand behind his head, and as the music slowed to something more intimate, his movements slowed until every one flawlessly matched the beat.

“Mia,” he murmured, this time against my ear. “Touch me, angel. I can see you want to.”

I did. Shit, I did, but it was awkward.

His chuckle was low as he grabbed my hand and flattened it against his own stomach. My eyes widened at how solid the muscle was—fuck me, he was made of stone—but he didn’t notice as he guided my hand up his body. He all but showed me how to touch him, how he wanted to be touched.

I ran my second hand up his body, my eyes flitting up toward his like I was asking for permission. Fucking hell, was I twenty-five or eighteen?

I knew my way around a man’s body. Just not one this hot. That was all.

“Down.” The word sounded so hot. “You want my pants off?”

I nodded. Freakin’ right I did.

“Sorry. I don’t speak silence.” He was teasing me now, still dancing against me.

“Yes. Take your pants off.” It came out a little more demanding than I had been going for, but honestly, I was happy I’d found my voice again.

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek as he moved back. His eyes were hot on me. They had been the whole time, but my gaze dropped to the sway of his lower body as he eased his pants down over his thighs.

Holy shit.

He was hard.

And he was big. The outline of his erection was obvious as it pushed against his white boxer briefs. His cock was long and thick, and I could see a teasing hint of the head of it through the material.

My clit ached. I didn’t realize how turned on I was until just now. Was he turned on too? By me? He had to be. I knew getting hard was part of a stripper’s job, but he didn’t strike me as the everyday stripper.

The music changed in the background from the unknown tune to the erotic, slow beat of The Weeknd’s “High For This.” It only served to turn me on a little more. I was aching everywhere, my pussy almost painfully so.

I resolved there and then that the next guy I dated would be a stripper.

The man in front of me drew me back to him by running his hand down his stomach and along the side of his cock. My lips felt dry, and when my tongue flicked out to wet them, he grasped my chin. Slowly, he shook his head and ran his other hand up my thigh.

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