Free Positively Criminal by Mia Dymond

“No doubt in my mind I’ll get every penny’s worth.”
    Bri lifted her hair from her neck, straddled his legs, and then swiveled her hips to the beat. First to the left, back around to the right, and then in tiny little circles right over the incredibly mouthwateringly large bulge between his legs. Slowly, she eased downward until two millimeters would allow her to sit in his lap atop the wild stallion that beckoned her to ride.
    Her flesh tingled when he rested his hands on the bare skin of her hips and he buried his thumbs under the hem of her tank top. “Off.”
    She raised an eyebrow at his attempt to push the no-touching rule, tempted to call a stop to this whole crazy, sexy, dangerously-arousing idea. One more push of the button would stop the music and bring her back into her right mind. Suddenly her lips split into a satisfied grin and she straightened. Insanity had its own agenda.
    With her legs squeezed against his, she pried his fingers from her top and then lifted it up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. She gave him a wink and then lifted first one leg and then the other over his until she stood with her back to him.
    Very slowly she backed up until she straddled his thighs and then lowered her chest until it rested on his knees.
    A very tortured breath left his lips. “Shit, Bri, you’re bare.”
    She bit her bottom lip, lifted her head, and winked over her shoulder as she pumped her hips up and then down. “I told you, I finished my shift. I was headed home.”
    “Without panties?”
    She lowered her hips and dragged her now dampened flesh across his thighs, never losing eye contact. “I only wear the g-string when I dance on stage.”
    He closed his eyes and forced his head back against the padded headrest. His stomach muscles clenched against her midsection. His knuckles whitened against the chair’s arms.
    She moved her head back around to check the position of the camera, silently hoping for once that the machine had malfunctioned. The red light continued to blink, almost as if it scolded her for taking things so far. With an aggravated sigh she eased from his lap and turned to face him. “Are you packing?”
    He released a tortured laugh, almost a curse. “I’m assuming you mean my weapon and yes, always.” His brow furrowed. “Why?”
    She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I figure you’re a good enough shot to cripple the camera.”
    His full, rich laugh warmed her heated skin even further. “The watchdog at the door wouldn’t hesitate to kick my ass.”
    She eased her legs over him again. “And we sure wouldn’t want anything to happen to your fine, tight ass.”
    His gaze nearly burnt her as she braced her hands on each side of his shoulders and positioned her swollen breasts just over his mouth. Her hips resumed the circular motion over his groin.
    His gaze fell to her chest. A low growl left his throat.
    Now empowered by his needy response, she eased her chest lower until her stiff nipples grazed his bottom lip. “See something you like, Detective Rawlings?” She purposely moved her tongue across the outer shell of his right ear as she issued a whispered taunt. “It’s a shame you can’t touch.”
    She moved her hips against him again, this time strengthening the motion to allow her breasts to sway just out of his tongue’s reach. He tilted his head to one side then reached between them to lower his zipper.
    Suddenly she wasn’t sure who was more tortured.
     
    Jake swallowed hard and questioned his sanity while he damn near crumbled the bones in his fingers with the force of his restraint. Who in his right mind purposely put themselves through this kind of agony? His cock stretched to remind him what a crazy idea this had been.
    He gave it a good, hard squeeze and then bit back another curse. Watching a lap dance was an arousing experience in itself, but the woman draped across his chest in this particular instance made it a thousand times better – or worse.