Free StrokeMe by Calista Fox Page A

“nightclub” needed to put some thought into the essence of that
word. Why on earth would they have such toe-tapping swing music from a
sixteen-piece band if they didn’t allot a large enough space for danc—
    “ Oof !” The strange little squeak rushed out of her
mouth on a hard puff of air as someone slammed into her from behind.
    Annabelle’s body pitched forward as she stumbled on her low,
sensible heels. A thick arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and yanked her
back. A very large body nearly curled around her much smaller one as a deep,
intimate voice asked, “Are you okay?”
    “Ah, yeah.” She could barely breathe. Not because the arm
was wound so tightly around her, holding her steady, but because that deep,
intimate voice oozed down her spine like hot lava. Making every inch of her
tingle and burn. Making her cunt clench, that poor, long-neglected part of her
body sending out a desperate plea for attention. To be filled and stretched and
stroked. To be—
    “I didn’t mean to plow into you like that,” he said, his arm
still holding her captive.
    Annabelle’s backside was pressed to his front and she could
easily ascertain he had a hard, hunky body. She imagined the stranger holding
her had a handsome face to go with the hot bod and sexy voice.
    He added, “I jumped out of the way to avoid a couple dancing
and ran smack into you.” His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear.
“Sorry.”
    “No problem,” she managed to say. Her pulse raced and her
heart thundered. When was the last time a man had held her tight and whispered
in her ear? Clearly it’d been too long, because she’d responded
instantly to even the slightest bit of male attention.
    Then again, the attention wasn’t quite so slight. The hand
attached to the arm not wrapped around her waist gripped her hip, holding her
in place, keeping their bodies melded together.
    “If I let go of you,” he murmured in her ear, his voice
teasing her in a way that made a little prickle of desire tighten her nipples
and a not-so-little spark ignite a fire deep in her pussy. Her clit tingled and
her toes curled in her new Prada shoes. “Will you walk away or will you dance
with me?”
    Good Lord, Yvette had been right. Something wicked could happen
at any moment!
    The old Annabelle would have politely declined the
invitation and went in search of her friend, who’d long since disappeared into
the sea of overly dressed, party-bound people.
    The new Annabelle said, “I’ll dance with you.”
    He loosened his grip on her, which she found disappointing.
She’d enjoyed the close contact, the intimacy of the moment. But then he turned
her in his arms and she stared up at what was not just a handsome face. It was
a devastatingly handsome face. One that stole her breath again and made
that spark deep in her pussy turn into full-blown fireworks.
    An indiscreet moan fell from her gaping mouth. Her fifty
bucks was worth this one glorious moment alone. Finally— finally !—she
experienced physical and sexual stirrings that proved she wasn’t the frigid
country-club prude Yvette—and, admittedly, Annabelle herself—had thought she’d
become!
    “I’m Eric,” said the gorgeous man who still held her in a
loose embrace. A soft lifting of one corner of his mouth created a very sexy
grin that made her already racing pulse soar off the charts.
    “Annabelle.” The only word she could manage because she had
to fight back the natural compulsion to drool. She’d never seen anything quite
like Eric. It was a bitch tearing her eyes away from his perfectly sculpted
face, his emerald eyes, his full, extremely kissable lips. He had sandy brown
hair that was short, but strategically mussed. Like some lucky woman’s fingers
had just been tangled in it as he’d kissed her, long and deep.
    Eventually, Annabelle dragged her gaze away from his face.
It slipped to his broad shoulders and wide chest. He wore a pewter-colored suit
with a dove-gray shirt and