Page 49 of Stroked by (Stroked)
I toss the phone on the couch and walk to my front door, praying it’s not Bellini. She loves showing up unexpected at night to “talk.” Her talking involves complaining about how her beauty is too much for the general population to accept, and that’s why people are so mean to her on Twitter and Instagram. Little does she know, it’s her actual personality that makes her so ugly.
Hoping there isn’t a rich blonde on the other side, I open the door and nearly drop my jaw to the floor when I see Paisley standing in front of me, twisting her hands in front of her nervously.
Surprised and excited, I extend one hand up the door jamb and lean against it. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How can I help you?”
Her eyes scan up and down my body, taking in my bare chest and towel-wrapped waist. Before she speaks, she clears her throat. “I forgot to give you some papers Bellini wants you to sign for the show.”
“Well, by all means, come in.” I step aside, allowing her space to walk under my arm and into my entryway.
The minute she’s in my house, I shut the door behind her and close in. She holds the files in front of her chest, eyes wide, and her lips wet from licking them.
Her back is pressed against the door and she looks almost frightened to be in my presence. Not in the way that I scare her, more like she’s scaring herself with her decision-making.
“Here.” She pushes the files between us, arms outstretched, creating a large gap. Grabbing the files, I toss them on the console in my entryway and close in on the space between us, not caring one bit about the paperwork she brought over.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I press my hands against the door, capturing her body between my muscled one. My hands rest by her narrow but toned shoulders, and I examine her reaction. My bottom half is pushed out just far enough that she has a good view of my flexing chest and barely covered torso.
It’s time to break down that cemented heart she’s erected around her feelings.
“Did you forget to hand me those files at the photo shoot because you were too busy staring at my dick, or was it because you wanted to see me tonight after staring at my dick for so long?”
Her eyes widen even farther. “I wasn’t staring.” She stumbles with her words.
I call her out. “Bullshit. I saw the way you looked at me, nibbling on that delectable lip of yours, eyes trained on my cock. Do you think I was posing like that for the camera? Fuck, no. I was giving you your own personal show, Paisley. And from my viewpoint, I knew you appreciated it.”
She is speechless as her chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
I lean my head forward, the scruff of my cheek pressed against her smooth skin, my lips mere millimeters from her ear.
“Tell me I’m lying. Tell me you didn’t stare at my body that entire photo shoot.”
“You’re . . . you’re lying,” she says nervously, her hands at her side, her purse now on the ground.
“I don’t believe you, Paisley.” My breath is heavy against her ear as I say, “Just do it.”
She keeps her head forward, her chest moving rapidly, her sweet breath tickling my shoulder.
“Do what?” she asks.
I move my lips even closer so they dance with her ear. “Remove my towel. I know you’re thinking about it. I can feel it in the way your body reacts to mine, the way your fingers itch at your side. Remove. My. Towel.”
She doesn’t move, so I nip at her earlobe, causing a soft moan to escape her lips. Satisfied, I do it again, then move my lips to her neck, where I can feel goosebumps spread across her skin.
Kissing her softly, just a whisper of my lips caressing her, I say, “You’re making me lose my mind, Paisley. You’re all I can think about; all I dream about. You’re fucking with me on a daily basis. I’m not the same man when you’re around, and I’m half the man I normally am when you’re gone. I need you, Paisley.” I kiss her neck again and round my head to the front where she is forced to look me in the eyes. In a gruff tone, I say, “Take my towel off.”
Her eyes search mine, rapidly looking back and forth from one to another. Just when I think she’s going to push me away, she places her hands on my waist, her fingers slowly working their way under my towel. I hold my breath and wait, praying there will be no headbutts, flicking fingers, or abuse of any kind. Only pleasure.
Chapter Thirteen
**PAISLEY**
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s closing in on itself, my lungs are collapsing, and little palpitations keep restarting my heart. I’ve never felt so alive. How is that even possible?
Reese is staring down at me, waiting for me to pull off his towel, begging me with his eyes to undress him. This isn’t what I expected when I came here. I was hoping he wasn’t going to be home. But to my dismay, he was, and fresh out of the shower, looking sexy as hell, muscles rippling with each and every movement he makes.
Did I stare at his package during the entire photo shoot? Pretty much. Except for the few seconds when took in his built body, the way his abs rippled, or how his tattoo going down his left arm captured the essence of his persona. The entire time he stood there, hand grabbing on to his neck, straining in the sexiest way possible, my stomach flipped with lust.
