Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Tonight?” I squeal, my mouth gaping.
Our faces whiten in sync when he nods, then mine loses all its natural coloring when he admits, “I took a deposit. It is long gone, so I can’t back out now.”
“Caleb,” I chastise him like he’s a child.
“I know, Jessie. I know. I’m just desperate to contribute. I need to pay my way. I hate relying on anyone but me.”
Since his reply resonates with me more than I’ll ever admit, I step back for a moment to assess the situation before trying another avenue.
After a deliberation nowhere near long enough, I say, “Show me what you got.”
Caleb almost chokes on his spit while stammering out, “What?”
I stand from the chair, drag it into the living room, yank up the speaker dial, then take a seat. “Show me what you’ve got. Your moves. Your magic. Give me your best hip thrusts.”
I snarl at him like my clit isn’t thumping out a hearty tune when he mutters, “I’ve already given you the best show I’m capable of, Jessie. I don’t have any more to give. You drained all the creativity out of me.”
My ego soars, but I play it cool. “Show me your routine, asshat. The special treat that will have brides-to-be tipping extra without touching you.”
He makes as face as if to say, “Oh,” before doing as requested.
Sweet Clementine, I murmur to myself when his shirt is the first thing to go. Because all our extracurricular activities have occurred in public, I haven’t seen his ripped stomach and tattooed pecs since the last time he danced.
He has the body of a dancer. Ripped in all the right areas, enhanced with tattoos, and glistening like we’re doing something more risqué than working out an ideal stripper routine for a man who hates being touched.
Even knowing he’s a novice doesn’t alter the facts. His routine is provocative and entertaining, and has me on the verge of whipping out my purse to hunt for some dollar bills. He moves with such animalistic grace he makes stripping seem like an art.
Through a rowdy scream, I giggle when Caleb’s pants join his shirt on the floor. They appear shredded just like his white wife beater, but unlike the shreds of cotton around his feet, they’ll be back to normal after only the quickest aligning of Velcro strips.
“You better have gone the full hog, Caleb,” I shout over the music, my voice super girlie. “Your butt better be using your underwear as floss!”
I boo like I’m disappointed when his twirl exposes a scrumptious ass covered by white cotton trunks. In reality, I’ve forgotten all about our earlier run-ins. Nothing but having a good time is on my mind.
“Booooo. You suck. I want a refund since I see more skin at the beach.”
Imaginary money is tossed at Caleb’s feet when he hoists his underwear up his backside. There’s enough skin to prove he doesn’t have asshair issues like Warren and to expose his fascination for ink isn’t solely reserved for portions of skin he can see. He has a very nice tat covering most of his left butt cheek that’s bouncing around like my horny insides.
“Now we’re talking. Shake your moneymaker.”
Aware he’s giving me the performance of my life, Caleb looks cocky and confident as fuck… until he gets close enough to me I can flatten my hands on the lower half of his ripped abs.
I’m tempted to seek my mother when I caution, “If you don’t want to be touched like that, you shouldn’t be stripping.”
When he grips the back of his head to grind his scarcely covered crotch an inch from my face, confident he has what it takes to distract me from my mission, I squeeze his ass cheeks like my smoothie machine did half a dozen oranges this morning.
My grope freezes his hip pump mid-grind.
“They’ll do that more than once.”
I rake my nails across his pecs.
“And that.”
Determined to prove a point, I exhale harshly before palming his package like popping people’s privacy bubble is a favorite pastime of mine.
“And that.”
With his jaw as tight as the cruel clutch on my heart from the panic flaring through his eyes, Caleb drifts his head to the right before steering it to the left. I assume he’s seeking the closest exit, so you can picture my shock when he snatches Octavia’s scarf off the coffee table and moves to stand in front of me.
“Up.” His voice is super gruff, and it drives me wild.
Wild enough, I jump to his command.
“Do you really think a bit of material will stop them?” I ask when he binds my hands in front of me. “It merely means two hands have to get in on the action.”
When I attempt to touch him again, he snatches up my wrists, spins me around the chair, arches my back, then weaves the loose end of the scarf through the slats of the chair.