Chapter 17 Boone #2
I fish out my phone from my pocket and pull up a slow, sensual song that she can move to. And as soon as the music begins to play, she does.
She starts in a slow circle around me, her fingertips ghosting over my shoulders, brushing my arms, teasing me. Her touch is featherlight, and every pass around the chair has me craving more.
My eyes are locked on her every movement, and where else could I possibly look when she’s in the room?
Rosie may not think she’s got my attention, but I plan on showing her that since she danced into my world, there’s been no one else I’ve looked at. No one else that I’ve wanted.
I don’t see a future past her. It’s only her.
When she pauses at my front, she leans over, her hands drop to my thighs, thumbs tracing along the inner seam of my thin sweatpants. Her palms press against the thick muscles there, moving upward, stroking closer to where I’m already hard, waiting for her to touch me.
“You’re so big…” she whispers, her voice soft and awed as she looks down at my lap.
“It’s for you,” I say, my focus only on her. The gentle curve of her nose. The soft velvet of her lips. The sweet inflection of her voice that she reserves just for me when we’re alone away from the cameras and her family.
She turns slowly, drops her hips, presses her back to my chest as her hips begin to roll. The slow, circular motion of her ass grinds against my lap in lazy figure-eights. She looks over her shoulder at me, her pupils wide.
“Is that okay?”
My hands are clenching the arms of the chair, trying to maintain control. Her dance has barely started, and she’s already killing me.
I can’t resist it anymore. I can’t resist her.
I brush her hair aside, exposing the nape of her neck as I lean in close. My lips graze her skin as I murmur, “It’s more than okay. But is this club rules tonight? No touching? Or am I finally allowed to touch my wife?”
She laughs softly, her hips rocking forward before pressing back against my cock again, harder this time. “Touching is allowed tonight,” she whispers, her tone teasing, “but there might be a cost.”
“You can take my whole damn salary and everything in my savings account,” I rasp, my hands digging into her hips.
The moment that I touch her, it’s like a live current snaps tight between us. It’s electric. Our connection unavoidable and certain.
I grip her, steady and sure, guiding her against me, needing her to feel exactly what she does to me as I pull her closer, tighter, until she’s pressed fully into my lap.
She smells like roses and heat. Her touch, her scent, the way her breathing is heavier with me, it’s everything I needed. Her body fits me like she’s always belonged there, and it scrambles every rational thought I have left.
When she lets out a quiet, breathy moan, something in me gives way completely. Any idea I had about keeping my distance dissolves. I’m already gone for her. Lost in the way she feels, the way she moves, the way she’s made herself at home in my head without even trying.
She lifts off my lap and turns until she’s facing me. “Sit back.” Her hands press into my bare chest as I follow her lead.
I lean back in the chair, watching as she arches her chest up, reaches behind her to grip my knees for balance, then drops her hips in a roll, grinding down against the length of me, before doing it again. And again.
Fuck me.
For someone who calls herself a beginner, Rosie knows exactly what she’s doing. Her body is a dancer’s dream. It’s strong, supple, little curves in all the right places, and every movement is controlled and focused.
She doesn’t look like a girl who’s stumbling through a new routine. She looks like a woman, comfortable in her sexuality and aware of how to use it to make a man go wild.
Her thighs flex as she rides me, her hips working in a rhythm that’s undoing me piece by piece.
She’s stunning. A goddamn masterpiece. And I’m about ten seconds away from coming in my pants just watching her.
My hands squeeze her hips tighter. My control is slipping, and all I want to do is reach underneath the hem my shirt and feel her bare, smooth skin. I want to see her breasts. To suck on those pert nipples until she’s moaning my name.
She lifts herself just enough for her chest to brush my face, and I lean in, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her and pressing my face into the softness of her chest.
Her strong thighs flex as she bounces lightly on my lap, lifting and falling with perfect rhythm. She’s still moving like she’s dancing, but this is quickly changing from a lap dance to hotter, mesmerizing, dry hump.
She moves like the dancer she is, controlled and graceful, but there’s something more beneath it. She’s an expert in turning me on, and I’m barely hanging onto a shred of my sanity.
Our faces are close, her breath is coming fast and shallow as she works her hips against me, rolling and grinding with every swipe of her core. My hands slide under the hem of my shirt she’s wearing, finding soft, warm skin that feels like silk beneath my palms.
I run them higher, up her thighs, until my fingers nudge the band of her underwear.
“Thought I told you to wear nothing but my shirt?”
“I wasn’t going to go pantie-less.”
“Why not?”
She shakes her head, not answering, just rolling her hips harder against the ridge of my cock, her grin fading into a bitten-off, breathy moan.
She knows what she’s doing to me. And whether she’s naked underneath my shirt or not, she might as well be. There’s no mistaking the way she’s turned me on and how badly I want her.
“Do you see what you do to me, Rosie?” I whisper against her ear, my lips brushing her neck in a whisper soft kiss. “Do you still think you’re inexperienced at turning a man on?”
She doesn’t respond, just keeps moving, her body pressing and sliding against me in ways that snap the last shred of my control. Her breasts brush my face again, and it’s too much. I reach down to twist and snap the band of her underwear.
The fabric gives easily, turning to useless scraps in my hands, which I toss to the floor without a second thought. My hands go back to her hips, gripping tight as I slide one finger between her thighs straight into her wetness.
“Boone,” she gasps, her hands squeeze my shoulders to steady herself, but she doesn’t stop.
The next lift of her body brings her slick pussy back to meet me, and I linger there, dragging my thumb across her clit and index finger over her opening.
Her whole-body shakes, knees pinching together on my hips like she’s trying to stay upright but needs more. When she sinks down onto me the next time I do it again, brushing her wetness across her clit.
“All this for me?” I ask, dropping another soft kiss to her neck. Then I pull back and bring my fingers to my lips, wetting them with my tongue before sliding back down to circle her clit.
“Boone,” she moans, her hips faltering for just a moment before resuming, this time less like the teasing dance and more like she’s chasing the high she needs. “Don’t stop.”
“Sounds so pretty when you say my name.”
She moans it again, harder this time when I finally slip a finger inside her. She clenches around me instantly, the tight, wet heat of her walls squeezing.
“You feel so good,” I growl, adding a second finger, moving in deeper, harder, while my thumb circles her clit.
I wanted to take my time, make sure she was ready for my long, rough and calloused hands, but the sounds she’s making are telling me she’s close, and the desperation I’m feeling means slow is off the table.
Her moans mix with my groans as her hips grind against my cock, the friction making me throb and leak, my balls tightening as her wetness and mine soaks through my sweatpants.
“You want to come, don’t you?” I rasp, my fingers fucking up into her fast and hard.
She nods desperately, her movements erratic, no longer fluid or controlled but raw and needy.
“Good,” I growl, slipping a third finger inside her. She cries out and her walls clench hard around me, her whole-body trembles as she grinds down, her slick heat drenching me with every thrust.
“When you come,” I demand, my voice hoarse, “you say your husband’s name.”
“What…?” she whispers breathlessly.
“You say your husband's name when you come.”
She moans louder as I press harder against her clit, relentless now, driving her over the edge.
My free hand slides under the fabric of my shirt, finding a breast, squeezing it firmly before pinching her nipple just right—hard enough to make her gasp, soft enough to make her crave more.
And then she’s there.
“Fuck, Boone… fuck…” she cries out, her hips locking onto the ridge of my cock as she pulses around my fingers. Her walls grip me so tight I feel every throb as I milk her orgasm, pushing her through the waves with praise. And the way she squeezes me pulls me under with her.
My balls tighten, my spine tingles, and I lose control. My cock jerks inside my sweatpants and I come… with my wife’s name on my lips.