Free Strife: Part Two (The Strife Series Book 2) by Sky Corgan

 
     
     
     
     
     
    PEPPER
     
     
    Tattoos. He's covered in them. His arms, his chest, his stomach.
    Everything is done in black except for a tribal tattoo seemingly coming right out of his pants. I can imagine that the end of it leads to some detail pointing to his dick. It's the type of tattoo an arrogant prick would get—a guy who knows he has a delicious body. I try to focus on all of the other tattoos because that one is just too naughty. Roses and stars and writing in languages I can't even pretend to guess at. I'll never understand why people get tattoos that no one else can read. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of showing them off?
    I stare blatantly, trying to distract myself from what my body is beginning to feel for him. If I look at him curiously, as a work of art instead of a very sexual human being grinding on me, then maybe I can stop feeling.
    Brodie takes his shirt off and tosses it on the sofa beside me. To be honest, I'm a bit surprised that he didn't throw it at me, but I'm glad he didn't. I'm embarrassed enough as it is because I know that despite all of my internal fussing, I kind of want him. It's definitely not a bad thing, but one I certainly never really expected to experience with a client.
    That's just it, Pepper. He's a client. It's just sex. Only sex. Don't think too far into it.
    I exhale deeply, keeping my eyes forward as he moves and gyrates. Perhaps noticing my feigned lack of interest, he takes my hands and places them on his chest. That causes a tingling down below that makes me want to withdraw, but I don't out of fear of offending him. It's okay if he rejects me, but I'm not allowed to reject him. My job is to delight in everything that he does, but it's so difficult when my mind and emotions are a jumbled mess.
    He trails my hands down his torso, letting me feel the planes and valleys of his muscles. An image of tracing an ice cube down his stomach and watching it melt flashes through my mind, probably from some romance movie or music video I watched long ago. His skin is so warm, so smooth. I feel a wave of nervousness travel through me to my fingertips, causing me to tremble slightly the closer that my hands get to his dick.
    This is driving me insane, this aching want for something normal. I'm caught between enjoying being here and hating that I'm just his whore. Why are we even bothering to play this seduction game? It's not real. None of this is real. I just want to fuck him and go home and crawl into my own bed. Who cares if my apartment stinks of mold? I can't just sit here and pretend like this is okay, like it's not bothering me that at the end of the night he's going to have sex with me and then cast me out. I just want it to be over.
    Sucking back my emotions, I reach for his belt. He stills, and I can feel his eyes bearing down on me. It's time to really get this party started. I'll show him that I'm ready, leave nothing to the imagination.
    He stands there patiently while I finish unbuckling his belt. I look up at him. As suspected, his eyes are hooded. The lust is there, I just need to get him to act on it.
    I trace my top lip with my tongue, slowly pulling his belt out of the belt loops. My moves are delicate and planned, every action meant to cause a reaction within him. My eyes flit to the front of his pants to see if he's getting turned on. He is.
    When I reach for the button on his pants, he pulls away from me, walking around the coffee table and leaving me dumbstruck again. What is up with this guy? Does he want to fuck or not?
    I try not to be bitter as he continues to dance, leaving me a pouting mess on the sofa. I cross my arms over my chest, his belt still clutched in my hand. To further show my discontent, I stare at his crotch, not caring much about the strip tease anymore.
    As if determined to catch my attention again, Brodie turns around, and I hear the faint sound of his zipper going down over the music. He casts a glance at me over his shoulder,