Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 96(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 64(@300wpm)
Despite being seated, my entire body feels weak when he straddles the chair I’m sitting in and starts to dance, his glorious bare chest just inches from my face, his hips moving like they have a mind of their own.
When I was here for the regular show, I saw women on stage getting lap dances. At the time, I envied them, but I also felt like I’d be too embarrassed to enjoy the performance if I were in their position.
I’m not embarrassed now. Maybe it helps that everyone else in the room is focused on the stage and cheering for the costume contest. It’s like I’m getting a private dance, but I don’t think I’d care if others were watching, because this man and his moves have me enthralled.
The way his body swivels … I can easily imagine another way for him to put those motions to use. And when he pumps his hips, thrusting them forward—give me strength!
The mad scientist—or as I’m going to call him now, the sinfully sexy scientist—takes my hands in his and encourages me to touch him. His hands covering mine, he presses my palms against his chest and slides my fingers down over his rock-hard pecs and across his pebbled abs, all the while rippling his torso in a way that’s utterly hypnotic.
His skin is warm and smooth, and the muscles beneath are solid and strong. I could spend days happily touching the front of his body, but he has other ideas.
He slides my hands over the ridges of muscle at his waist, around to the back, and then downward, until I’m cupping his ass cheeks through his snug gray pants.
He thrusts his pelvis to the left, to the right, and then directly toward me, and I start to wonder if there are any men costumed as doctors in the house, because my heart is threatening to give out.
As his hips gyrate, light from above illuminates the bulge in his pants. It appears that I’m not the only one being turned on by this dance.
Dark shadows define the shape of his erection, which grows larger as I watch. My mouth goes dry, and when I glance up, his goggle-covered eyes are aimed at me, a smirk playing on his lips.
I’ve been caught looking, and I’m sure it’s clear how much I like what I see.
He takes my hands again and brings them back around to his front, slowly inching closer to the large bulge as his hips continue to thrust and shimmy. When I look up at him, his head tips back just as he draws my fingers over the hard shaft in his pants.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He releases my hands once they’ve reached the intended destination, and I’m free to explore on my own. I slide my hand along the length of him until I reach the ridges of the head of his stiff cock, and my pussy clenches so tight it’s nearly painful.
His hand returns to guide me, one stroke, then another, and I’m getting wetter as he gets harder.
Abruptly, he stands, lifts me from the chair, and takes my place. He sits, pulling me onto his lap so that I’m facing him, my legs straddling his, my dress riding up so high that my red lace panties are exposed.
He’s distracted for a minute by my spiderweb stockings, his fingers playing over the tops of them, slipping under, then smoothing over my thighs, making me shiver even though I’m plenty warm.
When I start to wriggle with need, he pulls my hips tighter to him, rubbing my pussy over his erection. I’m so worked up, I nearly come at first contact.
He grinds me against him once, twice, three times, then slides me back a couple of inches, making room for his hands to push my dress up further and dip into the top edge of my underwear.
I should care that this stranger is about to touch me in my most private spot in the middle of this crowded room, but I don’t. I can’t. Not when it feels like this.
And I’ve just touched him, so it’s only fair.
But I touched him through his clothing, and his fingers are now brushing over my bare skin, and he’s about to find out how very wet I am.
He’s had a mischievous expression throughout most of our encounter, but when he reaches my wet folds, his mouth goes still, intent, and I watch that focus turn to awe as he presses a finger inside me.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I have a fuzzy awareness of the announcer speaking from the stage, but as this man claims my pussy with a second finger, my universe narrows to just him and me.
He lets his palm graze my clit, and when he sees my reaction, he puts his fingers to the task, finding just the right spot to make me squirm with pleasure.