Free Fair Game by Jasmine Haynes Page B

Just a hint of rosy nipple peeked out.
    “There. Satisfied?” She challenged him with one hand on her hip, and a slight purse to her lips.
    “Most women would have undressed completely, then put the bustier on.”
    “I’m not most women.” She arched a brow, shot him a glare. But that pulse beat at her throat, fast and strong. She got off on sparring with him.
    “Well, now I’m telling you to take your pants off.”
    Josie glanced quickly at the curtain.
    “Nervous?” He was well aware that his voice might carry beyond their cubicle. If the saleslady stood at the head of the hallway leading into the dressing area, she’d hear every word. It turned him on, made him want to push Josie past the hint of inhibition in her glance.
    “Of course I’m not nervous.” When she loosened her belt and unzipped her pants, he knew she damn well wasn’t going to back down from any challenge he issued.
    She flipped off her low-heeled pumps—she’d worn them without socks or nylons—then bent, sliding the slacks down her legs. Gorgeous long legs, smooth lickable skin, the globes of her ass framed by a high-cut white cotton thong. When she stood, the stitched flower at the waistband matched the one on her bra. Holy hell, the woman was perfect. Lithe, toned, enticing.
    He said nothing, simply handed her the thigh highs.
    Peeling back the small bit of tape, she upended the package and shook it. Fishnet spilled out into her hand. She held it a moment, stroked a finger along it. “You know, I’ve never worn these things before.”
    “I’m glad you’ll wear them first for me, then.” She was green satin and white cotton, now he’d make her decadent, naughty fishnet. He was going to enjoy this transformation.
    “Put your foot here.” He patted his knee.
    She eyed him, as if wondering what he could possibly be calculating. He’d never met a woman who so easily expected an agenda in whatever anyone else did. Or maybe she just let her suspicion show more than most.
    Then she put her foot on him. Her warmth spread up his leg straight to his groin. Her scent intoxicated like a shot of tequila thrown back in one swallow. She accordioned the stocking in her fingers, slipped the tip over her toes, then slowly slid it up her long, long legs. At the top, she patted the lace into place and put her foot back on the carpet.
    “Lovely,” he whispered, his eyes on her panties as the cotton grew damp. She had perfect thighs, perfect everything. “The other one.”
    She repeated the procedure. By the time she was fully encased in fishnet, he was hard, ready, amazingly recharged by the scent of her, the sight, the need to taste that sweet triangle between her legs.
    “Which panties do you want me to try on?” she asked, when it appeared he couldn’t say a word.
    Kyle perused the row of colorful lace and silk on the hooks. This one, that one . . . ? He glanced to the thong she already wore, then pointed at the center of the pink flower. “That. I like the contrast of white cotton, bare ass, and fishnet.” A decadent combination. Hot woman, demure lady.
    Then he tipped her pump to the side with his foot. “Too bad you weren’t wearing high heels. Nothing like stockings and spike heels.”
    “Sorry,” she said dryly. “What you see is what you get.”
    Damn, how much he wanted what he saw. He rose from the chair to stand behind her. Her hair smelled of spice and citrus.
    “I like it,” he whispered, capturing her gaze in the mirror. “A lot.” Grazing his finger along the top of the bustier, he teased her, then slid a hand down the smooth satiny front to the elastic of her thong. “More than a lot.”
    He brought his body flush to her back, his cock riding the low curve of her spine. He dropped a kiss on her luscious nape, then watched the trail of his hand in the mirror.
    “What are you doing?”
    He tickled beneath the elastic waist. “Same thing you did to me.”
    She captured his wrist. “No way. This was my gig. I got