Page 20 of Broken
Three shirtless guys in leather pants hovered next to her. Two stood too fucking close, and the third knelt at her feet caressing her thigh-high boots. These men were window dressing who were seconds away from getting swapped out for the main act.
Me.
They’d scatter like dust when he stepped in to claim what was his.
Her.
Raking his gaze over her, he soaked up the spectacular view. Her auburn hair was pulled into a high ponytail, leaving her neck exposed. She’d worn a black leather bra and matching shortie shorts, her thigh-high boots revealing a hint of ivory skin where the boots ended and the shorts began. The swell of her tits made his cock stir while streaks of desire pounded through him.
He’d missed her hot little body. She was rocking out her skimpy outfit, but she was much, much better stripped naked, her body on his while she rode him for her own pleasure.
Jesus, she looks phenomenal.
She raked her gaze down his chest, pausing at his crotch, stopping at his dress shoes. Then, she eye-fucked him all the way back to his mussed hair on the top of his head. A sliver of a smile tugged at the corners of her luscious mouth. A mouth he wanted wrapped around his firming cock.
Without breaking eye contact, she spoke to the men. All three guys jerked their heads in his direction.
His feet firmly in place, he slipped his hand into his pants pocket and waited. If she wanted to spend the evening with him, she needed to make amends.
One sultry step at a time, she skulked toward him, the sway of her hips only adding to her appeal.
She tilted her head up. “You’re late.”
He’d forgotten how much he loved her voice—a little deeper than most women—and how she spoke with a controlled confidence.
“You’re fucking lucky I showed at all,” he growled. “Ditch your tagalongs.”
“They just wanted to admire me up close,” she murmured. “I’m here for you.” As she caressed his lower lip with her fingertip, her breath hitched. “You wanna play in an exhibition room or a private one?”
She’d played on stage, but he never did. It was one thing to be a member of a kink club and play in private, but a very different thing for the COO of Armstrong Enterprises to get dirty in a room where anyone could video him and post the scene, or blackmail himnotto post it.
“Private.”
Reaching up, she sunk her fingers into his hair, raking her fingernails across his scalp. The intensity in her touch skyrocketed his desire.
“You let your hair grow,” she said. “Very sexy. Now, I’ll have something to hang on to when you fuck me senseless.”
Adrenaline powered through him, and he inhaled a slow, deep breath. She had this way of undoing him with just her words.
“Room,” he hissed. “Now.”
“No small talk first?”
“We just had it.”
Her lips twitched. “Still mad at me, huh? I can’t wait for you to show me how angry you really are.”
Unable to resist her any longer, he snaked his hand around her waist, pulled her close and kissed her hard. Their tongues met in an explosion of energy, the desire ripping out of him in an ardent groan.
He broke away, and she sucked down a jagged breath.
“Wow,” she whispered. “Fuck, I missed that.”
“Show me,” he rasped.
Rather than grasp his hand and take off, she moseyed toward the corner to collect a leather duster, then, at the exit, she turned back.
One deliberate step at a time, he made his way over. Claiming what was his, he took her hand. Her fingers entwined his, and she stepped close enough that her shoulder brushed his, sending another spike of energy shooting through him and landing in the hardened rod between his legs.
