extra oxygen into the gaming areas. Brenna’s skin prickled, soft but powerful sensations echoing through her body, making her want to get lost in it all.
Yet her attention was drawn back to the stage when Blush broke into a new song with a steamy, sexy beat. Unfamiliar with it, she assumed it was an original. And like the last song—like many of their songs, it seemed—it was about sex.
Through a pumping chorus, the band repeated the words “best hands” again and again, leaving Brenna to conclude that must be the title. The blonde sang about the hands easing their way across her skin, about fingers dipping into private places, and eventually about the hands reaching, reaching, for ecstasy. The whole crowd soon focused on the young woman, who began to move against the mike stand as she had before.
Brenna realized that not only was she watching the singer ease the microphone between her legs, thrusting gently with the beat of the song, but she was watching it with Damon. They were witnessing it together, experiencing it together. In fact, they were experiencing it with every person in the room. More blatant sex on display.
fascinated. Yet as time passed, she grew less repulsed than she’d been last night—and more
The whole club seemed to pulsate with the beat now, and Brenna continued moving her hips back and forth, surrendering herself to the intoxicating strains.
She should have been alarmed when she felt Damon’s hands mold to her hips, but she wasn’t.
It was too incredible to be touched by him, even just in that small way, pleasure spreading rapidly through her.
And then, then—oh yes!—he was pressing into her from behind, enough for her to realize he was going hard against her ass. It felt like a dream, a fantasy, but it was shockingly real.
Low in her ear, he rasped, “Dance with me, Brenna. Move with me.”
It would have been smart to step away, or to tell him to remember they were professionals here, doing a job. That this was a mistake.
Yet she simply couldn’t. More than just the song was intoxicating her. More than the alcohol she’d consumed. She was drunk on Damon Andros, and she had been for the last twenty-four hours. And she’d tried to play this smart, be bigger than her lust—but now it was consuming her.
So she moved with him, drank in the heat of his body as he leaned closer, felt the power of his hot erection against her rear.
Had anything in her life ever felt better?
She didn’t think so.
She didn’t think any physical sensation had ever pulled her in so quick, so deep, leaving her helpless to fight it.
Together they swayed as the blonde on the stage purred the provocative lyrics that added fuel to their fire. Brenna never looked at him after that, simply kept her eyes straight ahead, feeling it all, trying to survive it, trying to believe it, and wondering what would happen now.
But she knew what would happen, of course. The song would end. The song would end and they’d stop moving together and they’d pretend things were normal again, that he hadn’t touched her, that she hadn’t experienced the deep, raw pleasure of his stiffened cock against her ass.
And it was just as she drew that conclusion…that something else entirely took place.
The warm masculine hand curving over her right hip eased upward, over the gauzy fabric covering her stomach and higher, higher, coming to rest beneath her breast, his thumb arcing up onto the rounded flesh while his fingers played about the bottom of her bra. The intense delight combined with intense need to make her sway more sensually, her breath turning labored, her cunt throbbing madly.
Which is when his other hand snaked downward onto her thigh—and up under her skirt.
That quick, that smooth. His fingertips eased between her legs, caressing the silk there.
Her breath hitched and she involuntarily moved in a whole new way, beginning to undulate, as if she were having sex. She met his touch in front and pressed
Yet her attention was drawn back to the stage when Blush broke into a new song with a steamy, sexy beat. Unfamiliar with it, she assumed it was an original. And like the last song—like many of their songs, it seemed—it was about sex.
Through a pumping chorus, the band repeated the words “best hands” again and again, leaving Brenna to conclude that must be the title. The blonde sang about the hands easing their way across her skin, about fingers dipping into private places, and eventually about the hands reaching, reaching, for ecstasy. The whole crowd soon focused on the young woman, who began to move against the mike stand as she had before.
Brenna realized that not only was she watching the singer ease the microphone between her legs, thrusting gently with the beat of the song, but she was watching it with Damon. They were witnessing it together, experiencing it together. In fact, they were experiencing it with every person in the room. More blatant sex on display.
fascinated. Yet as time passed, she grew less repulsed than she’d been last night—and more
The whole club seemed to pulsate with the beat now, and Brenna continued moving her hips back and forth, surrendering herself to the intoxicating strains.
She should have been alarmed when she felt Damon’s hands mold to her hips, but she wasn’t.
It was too incredible to be touched by him, even just in that small way, pleasure spreading rapidly through her.
And then, then—oh yes!—he was pressing into her from behind, enough for her to realize he was going hard against her ass. It felt like a dream, a fantasy, but it was shockingly real.
Low in her ear, he rasped, “Dance with me, Brenna. Move with me.”
It would have been smart to step away, or to tell him to remember they were professionals here, doing a job. That this was a mistake.
Yet she simply couldn’t. More than just the song was intoxicating her. More than the alcohol she’d consumed. She was drunk on Damon Andros, and she had been for the last twenty-four hours. And she’d tried to play this smart, be bigger than her lust—but now it was consuming her.
So she moved with him, drank in the heat of his body as he leaned closer, felt the power of his hot erection against her rear.
Had anything in her life ever felt better?
She didn’t think so.
She didn’t think any physical sensation had ever pulled her in so quick, so deep, leaving her helpless to fight it.
Together they swayed as the blonde on the stage purred the provocative lyrics that added fuel to their fire. Brenna never looked at him after that, simply kept her eyes straight ahead, feeling it all, trying to survive it, trying to believe it, and wondering what would happen now.
But she knew what would happen, of course. The song would end. The song would end and they’d stop moving together and they’d pretend things were normal again, that he hadn’t touched her, that she hadn’t experienced the deep, raw pleasure of his stiffened cock against her ass.
And it was just as she drew that conclusion…that something else entirely took place.
The warm masculine hand curving over her right hip eased upward, over the gauzy fabric covering her stomach and higher, higher, coming to rest beneath her breast, his thumb arcing up onto the rounded flesh while his fingers played about the bottom of her bra. The intense delight combined with intense need to make her sway more sensually, her breath turning labored, her cunt throbbing madly.
Which is when his other hand snaked downward onto her thigh—and up under her skirt.
That quick, that smooth. His fingertips eased between her legs, caressing the silk there.
Her breath hitched and she involuntarily moved in a whole new way, beginning to undulate, as if she were having sex. She met his touch in front and pressed