Page 41 of Beauty and the Bosshole
His eyes lighten as I do a little shimmy. Then his thumb traces tiny circles on the side of my neck just behind my ear, and it translates into lovely tingling between my legs.
“You’d look great on that pole,” he says, licking those magnificent lips, his cologne nipping at my nose and making my nipples harden. “Matches your dress. Like you were made for each other.”
Heat zings over my skin as that feral look in his eyes returns.
“I don’t dance,” I say, chastising myself for saying anything about the damn pole. “Like, really, I could use that pole to hang on in a storm, but not to dance.”
“Oh, baby.” His lips warm the shell of my ear, forcing my head to fall back into his hand. “I’ll be the pole you hang onto in a storm from now on. Just dance for me. I’ll send two million to the kitten rescue. Double what we agreed on, for just one dance.”
My eyes snap wide.
Two million.
How many kittens and cats could be saved with that money?
Before my brain can stop me, I nod. “Two million. As soon as the dance is over, you send them the money, how ever you do that. Debit or credit?”
I scratch at the side of my head, realizing just how much of a fish out of water I am in his world of wealth.
I’m his wife. So, isn’t it our world of wealth now?
That thought intrudes on my happy moment. Am I really his wife? I mean, a man like Reese would surely have lawyers drawing up pre-nups if this was truly a marriage, right?
I do my best to push away the clouds raining down on my happy, if somewhat naïve and oblivious, moment.
“I’ll worry about the logistics, just get that sweet ass of yours on that pole.” He lets go of my neck, reaching toward a brass panel on the side wall of the limo, pressing a few buttons until music is blasting all around us, and the LED lights pulse and flicker in time with the pumping base of the music.
Reese’s hands slip to my waist, easing me onto the five-inch strappy stilettos as the Hummer glides smoothly down the freeway toward the hotel. Vegas streaks by outside the windows, but Reese is focused on me. Leaning back in a full man spread, he snaps his tongue over his teeth as I shuffle in precarious steps toward the pole until my fingers loop around the cool metal. I instantly feel a sense of security with the solidness of the pole in my hands.
“Stunning wife. The kittens appreciate you. And so do I.”
The music shifts into a pumping, soulful rhythm, and I’m thankful for the small favor of the slower tempo.
I test the waters with a slow turn while gliding my hands higher on the pole until my body is stretched, and I arch my back, pressing my ass toward the side windows.
Reese looks mesmerized, encouraging a sudden surge of power to bolt through me. I take a side step, easing my chest into my pole, leaning and pumping my hips to the beat of the music, all while watching my new husband come undone.
One of his hands lazily rests on top of the zipper of his pants, palming what I know is that glorious, hard length I’ve already come to crave.
“Take the straps off,” he orders, clearing his throat. “Slowly, wife. Nothing with you will be rushed.”
Warmth surges through my core, settling in an undulating ball in my belly as I turn my back to him, my hands gripping the pole as I slide down. With my knees bent, I release one hand hold and ease the thin strap of the dress down my shoulder, tipping my head back to see Reese opening the front of his trousers.
“Fuck.” His voice mixes with the vulgar, rapping lyrics as the Hummer takes an easy turn, slowing as Reese’s eyes are drawn for a moment toward the window. “Fuck,” he says again, only the word means something far different than when he said it the first time.
Fuck is such a versatile word.
His pants are zipped in a blink. “Come back here,” he barks, doing his best to stand in the confined space, unlike what my short stature allows.
He’s half bent over as he reaches for my hand, easing me back into the seat next to him. Slapping the little media panel on the door, he cuts the music off, leaving my ears ringing in the silence. My heart pumps double-time from both the thrill of being on a pole for the first time and from the dangerous darkness in Reese’s eyes.
“This motherfucker,” he grinds out between clenched teeth as the vehicle takes another sharp turn. Out the window, I see a warehouse with five armed men in black suits standing outside, their guns drawn and pointed at the limo. “Fucking Leon.”
“What’s happening?” I manage as fear floods my body.
Something is wrong.
“Seems our flat tire and the convenient limo waiting for us was a set-up.” Reese reaches over and tugs the strap still dangling down my arm up onto my shoulder. “It’s business, baby. Just stay next to me. No matter what happens, do not leave my side.”