I wanna be the girl who struts out on stage and totally FLOORS a guy like Reese...and then walks away with his heart. This is the last half of chapter one, when Reese sees Kennedy for the first time in fourteen long years.
...
I’m thinking of making my
excuses and leaving when the music changes yet again, stopping me. The sexy thump of Madonna’s Justify My Love strikes me as an
interesting yet odd choice for a dance, and it draws my attention back to the platform.
From the left side of back
stage, a girl emerges. She walks slowly
along the runway. The spotlight follows
her and I see that she’s wearing a man’s dress shirt and tie. And nothing else.
Her legs are long—with the stilettos
she’s wearing, even longer—and perfectly toned. Dancer’s legs. Strong.
Graceful. Sinful.
Each step she takes is a sexy,
sensual movement of them. Slow. Deliberate. I sit up a little straighter in my seat. I’m immediately catapulted from mildly
interested to extremely intrigued and I don’t really know why. I’ve seen hundreds of dancers do hundreds of
dances. But I’ve never seen this one.
And something about this one has
all my senses on point.
As she draws closer, I can see
that her rich brown hair is covered by a hat that sits at a cocky angle on her
head. In her hand is a shiny black
cane. When she gets to center stage, she
stops, swinging the cane once before propping it out in front of her body. In one excruciatingly measured movement, she
stiffens her legs and bends forward, showing off the length of her perfect thighs
as they ease into the curve of her perfect ass.
Before I’m finished looking,
she straightens, twirling the cane up over her head and taking one end in each
hand. She arches her back, forcing what
looks like some luscious tits up and out. Then, still moving slowly, she eases the
cane down the front of her body.
Each action is smooth and unhurried. Each movement is sexy and fluid, her body melting
from one into the next in perfect time to the music.
I glance up at her face. Beneath the shadow of her hat, all I can see
is her mouth. But damn, what a mouth it
is! Her lips are painted bright red and
are probably the lushest ones I’ve ever seen. They’re what I’ve always called dick-sucking
lips—plump, pouty and perfectly formed to slip down over the head of my cock.
Not having been overly enthused
about coming tonight or about the entertainment,
I’m surprised that my dick twitches when she pulls her lower lip between her
teeth and bites down. But damn if it
doesn’t.
I feel a groan build in my
chest when she drops slowly to her knees, sliding the cane away from her body
like she’s doing a push-up, slinking down onto her stomach. After a few beats, she abandons the cane and
eases over onto her back, her hips turning last, like a cat that’s getting
ready to stretch. I can almost feel the purr.
Legs flat on the stage, she
runs her hands from the tops of her thighs to her stomach, pulling the hem of
her shirt up just enough to give a teasing glimpse of what she’s wearing
underneath before moving on to her breasts and throat. Her nimble fingers work loose the tie,
dragging it slowly from around her neck.
Purposefully, she twists her hands, winding the silk around her
wrists.
For a few seconds, it’s just me
and this girl. Alone in this room. With nothing between us but this music. And that damned tie. All too clearly, images of me tying her up
with that scrap of red material flit through my mind, making me throb behind my
zipper.
Languorously, she stretches one
leg straight up into the air, the other lying flat on the stage. She reaches up and grabs her ankle, skimming
her bound hands to her knee, pulling that leg toward her face. Her thighs widen into a perfect split that
reveals little black, satin panties.
When I see them, all I can think about is kneeling between those legs
and kissing that silky material.
I see her lips pucker as she
puts one chaste kiss on her knee. I’m enthralled. But it’s when I see her tongue flicker out
that I feel like I could punch a hole through the bottom of the table with my
hard-on. There’s something about her
that’s so understatedly sexy. It’s like
she doesn’t even know we’re here, like she’s lost inside her own head. And God,
how I’d love to be part of what she’s imagining!
I feel a hand on my arm,
interrupting the scene. I’m instantly
aggravated by the intrusion. I jerk away, not even bothering to turn around
until I hear a voice.
It’s my brother. And he’s determined to get my attention. Finally, I turn, not even trying to hide my agitated
glare.
“What?”
“Can you take us back
home? Sloane’s not feeling well. Something she ate earlier maybe.” He gives me a meaningful look. It takes me a
second to fully disengage from the girl that had me so rapt, but eventually
(reluctantly) I do. And I remember that Sloane
didn’t drink her shot of tequila. Then I
remember why. Hemi told me she’s
pregnant, but that they haven’t told her family yet, so he asked me not to say
anything.
“Oh…right,” I respond a bit too
sharply. “Yeah, I can take you.”
Hesitant to leave just yet, I
glance back toward the front of the room in time to see that the dancer is on
her knees again, throwing off her hat. A
mane of silky chestnut curls falls down.
I only get a brief flash of her face. Her hair swirls around to obscure her
features. But not before I get a glimpse
of one pale green eye. And the way it widens when it meets mine.
Instantly, I’m transported back
in time. Years and years ago. To the
soft grass of a clearing in the woods.
And the smooth skin of the girl beneath me.
I remember those eyes. That mouth.
I remember a slightly ganglier, less mature version of this woman’s
body. How it felt to touch her, to hold
her. How she laughed, how she tasted. How it ended.
And how I could never forget.
Holy god!
It’s Kennedy.
