Stripped Down (19 page)

Sweet fucking Jesus.

I was out of my depth. So out of my depth.

So, why did I allow him to push me toward the stage and set me on the edge of it? I didn’t know.

I did know that it felt as though everyone else had disappeared. As he slid his hands up my thighs to my ass to pull me against him, it felt as though we were alone. As his cock pushed against my pussy, we were alone, nothing and nobody else to intrude on it.

Except we weren’t and there were other people and everyone could see us.

I should have stopped him when he pushed me fully onto the stage.

I didn’t.

I was used to an audience.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t much care. I wanted it, whatever it was. His body cried out to mine as he spun me across the stage with the finesse of a professional dancer and pinned my spine against a pole.

Instinct took over. One of my hands grabbed the top of the pole, the other grasped below my ass, and I stilled, waited. It was almost as if I were waiting for a cue, for a duet, but that was ridiculous, because I knew otherwise. I was but a pawn in his erotic dance, the thing to be tantalized and teased but never pleased.

He could kiss my ass.

I would be the queen in his dance.

I was no pawn.

I knew my way around this pole, and I didn’t care if this was his show. He’d deliberately brought me there when he could have brought any woman up. It could have been the alcohol talking, and shit, it probably was, but I wanted to play too.

Beck met my eyes. The rest of the club melted away in their indigo, hypnotic shade, and I held his gaze with all the strength I could muster.

It didn’t matter.

He grasped the pole above my hand. His other hand grasped it below my other. And he flattened his body against mine. His cock teasingly pressed against my stomach, and I fought with my breathing to keep it regular.

Shit.

I was in trouble.

He moved. Slowly. In perfect beat with the never-ending song. His body flexed against mine and his hard cock teased my clit in a way that was almost too much to bear. My legs opened. My chest heaved. My lips parted.

I was addicted to what he gave me.

His danger. His impulsiveness. His temptation.

Addicted.

I was addicted to every single second of it, I realized, as he moved shamelessly against me. I gave in to my own need and ran my hands up his solid body, touching every dip and curve of his stomach, pulling him against me, shamelessly taking what he’d offered me.

I didn’t care.

It was illegal for a man so fine to do such dirty things to me... And, to think, he still had his pants on.

“Take them off,” I breathed.

It was brave. Oh so brave. But I felt brave. I felt brave and brazen and free. I felt like the Cassie I’d buried so hard. The vixen I’d hidden for so long, the woman hidden beneath the mother.

And this night was the change.

I felt it.

I felt it the moment the words left my lips.

I felt it the moment Beck stepped back and unbuttoned his pants.

I felt it the moment said pants fell to his ankles.

I felt it the moment he came back to me, grasped the pole, and pressed his dangerously delicious body against me.

“Like this?” he rasped into my ear, relentlessly thrusting his hips against me.

“Yep,” I rasped right back, taking a deep, sharp breath.

Just like that.

I’d never been so turned on in my entire life. I’d never been danced against so erotically, never felt so wanted. And...dirty.

Not bad dirty.

Sexy dirty.

My heart thundered against my ribs, its frantic pace rapidly spreading adrenaline through my body. The worst part was that, now, he knew what he was doing, and hell, I knew what he was doing. I knew what I was doing.

I was screwing myself.

But, as Beck moved so sexily that it should have been illegal, I didn’t much care about any of that. Or anything at all.

“What’s the matter, Cassie?” he asked, flexing so his erection just brushed my stomach. “Too turned on to think?”

Answering him was a mistake, but...“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“I don’t need to,” he said right into my ear as he ran one hand around my thigh, grasped it tight, and then pulled my knee up and held it at his side. Now, when he moved his hips, his cock thrust against my pussy, and I gasped. “I know your pussy is wet right now without touching it, but if I did, you’d probably come on the spot.”

His fingers trailed up the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to making me do just that.

But he stopped, dropped his hand, winked, and stepped back. The lights dropped, and just when I stepped back from the pole to get off the stage, Beck grabbed me and pulled me across the stage. Before the lights came back on, he hurried me down the steps at the end and pulled me into the crowd, completely unbeknownst to the women around us. As the other male dancers rushed past us to get onto the stage, Beck pinned me against the wall using his entire body. His lips crushed onto mine in a hard, hot kiss, and his fingers dug into my ass as he pulled my hips toward him and pressed his against me.

“Say what you want about us, but this isn’t over, Cassie Cruz. Not by a long fucking shot.”

He released me the second the final word left his mouth, and by the time the lights came back on, he was gone.

And I couldn’t breathe.

Cassie Cruz.

That’s what he’d called me.

His last name.

I didn’t feel all that drunk anymore.

I
gasped at the heated look in his eyes as he covered me with his body. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. The memory of him dancing flashed through my mind, and I bit my lip as the end of his cock brushed against my exposed pussy.

I was wet. Jesus, I was so damn wet, and I could barely breathe as he closed his mouth over one of my nipples and sucked gently, teasing it with his tongue. My legs found their way around his waist, my hips tilting up toward him in a plea.

I needed him. All of him.

He chuckled and reached between us, kissing me as he wrapped his hand around his cock and pushed the hard head against my wet opening.

And then I woke up. Hot and sweaty, tangled in the sheets, a frustrating ache between my legs. I sighed heavily and threw my arm over my eyes as my breath escaped.

How cruel. I couldn’t have woken up a few minutes later, could I? Nope. I couldn’t have come in my sleep and then woken up.

Mother. Fucker.

Why was I even dreaming about him? I had no place dreaming about him, and sure as hell not like that. I had a problem if that was the case, and apparently, it was.

So I had a problem.

The most immediate one? The fact that I couldn’t switch this goddamn ache in my clit off. There was only one way to get rid of it, but I didn’t exactly want to masturbate while thinking about Beck, even if he was the cause for it.

I glanced at the clock. I had to see him in just a couple of hours. What would be worse? Turning up with an unfulfilled desire rocking around in my vagina or the knowledge that I’d sated said desire while thinking of him?

Honestly, both were pretty shit options, so I made a snap decision. If I shut my eyes and the dream was still there, I’d get myself off. If it wasn’t, I’d get up and get into the shower to wash it all away.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.

Shit.

It was still there. In my mind’s eye, I could see Beck leaning over me, kissing me, fucking me slowly and deeply with his hard cock.

I squirmed, clenching my fist. I couldn’t believe I was about to do this.

Still, I forced my hand to unclench and slid my fingers over the curve of my hip to the waistband of my panties. The throb in my clit was intense, fueled by the anticipation, and I held my breath as I pushed my fingers beneath the fabric.

Shaking my inner awkwardness off, I parted my thighs and tentatively rubbed my finger across my clit. I inhaled sharply at my own touch, willing the dream back to my mind.

As I imagined Beck’s thick cock sliding in and out of me, his fingers digging into my skin, and his mouth by my ear, I circled a fingertip on my clit. My other hand slipped beneath my sleep tank top and cupped my bare breast. I rubbed my nipple as I played with myself, circling faster and faster, my breath hitching, my pleasure heightening as Beck fucked me harder and harder in my mind.

Then I came. I bit down on the inside of my cheek as my body went rigid with pleasure and the orgasm flushed me with heat.

No quicker had the high disappeared than I felt ashamed of what I’d done.

Jesus.

How was I supposed to face him now? How was I supposed to learn the tricks behind the bar if all I could think about was the fact that I’d gotten myself off to the thought of him?

Ugh.

I was a fool.

I rolled out of bed and grabbed my robe from the back of my bedroom door. I tied it around my waist as I walked out. Almost immediately, I was greeted by CiCi, who was at her bedroom door, rubbing her eyes.

“Mommy? I heard a noise.”

Shit the bed.
“I banged my toe on the dresser when I got up,” I lied. “Did I wake you?”

Sleepily, she nodded.

“I’m sorry, little one.” I bent to kiss the top of her head. “I’m getting in the shower real quick. Why don’t you go and lie back down until I’m done?”

“Can I lie on the sofa and watch TV?”

“Sure. The apples are on the bottom shelf in the fridge if you get hungry.”

She smiled, clutching Cookie to her chest. “Yum.” She darted past me, and I shook my head as I walked into the bathroom.

Amazing. She had been wide awake as soon as I’d mentioned food. Who’d have thought such a thing?
Insert sarcasm.

I showered quickly, paying extra attention between my legs, like I thought I could wash away what I’d done.

Damn it. I was a woman and I had sexuality. Hadn’t I just been telling myself two days ago that embracing it was the right thing to do? Hadn’t I loved being Cassie-the-person and not Cassie-the-mom?

So, why was I now so ashamed of masturbating? I could totally pretend it had been over Ryan Reynolds or something.

Yep. There it was. I had no longer masturbated over Beck, but Ryan Reynolds.

Oddly, pretending I’d done it over a man who had no idea I existed rather than a man who’d made me come several times before was easier to deal with.

In related news, I no longer had a clitoris. I’d decided I was now the dubiously proud owner of a clit-whore-is.

At least parenting hadn’t killed it, I reasoned, and I was still capable of having a wet dream a fifteen-year-old boy would be proud of. Or a porn star. Wet dreams were essentially mental porn movies, after all.

Oh my god.

I’d created a mental porn movie over my accidental husband. And my boss. And my temporary thorn in my side.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Could I call in sick?

No.
Ryan Reynolds. Ryan Reynolds. Ryan Reynolds
. I wondered if Blake would mind. Then again, she was married to him, so she knew he was masturbation material. Even if he wasn’t. For me.

I needed a Xanax.

Thankfully, somewhere between my mental rambling about my clit-whore-is, wet dreams, and Ryan Reynolds—a perfectly reasonable mixture of thoughts when you lined them up—I’d managed to get dressed and almost dry my hair. Fortunately for the condition of my hair, I was feeling lazy, so it got to finish drying naturally while I hoped I wouldn’t end up resembling Chewbacca by lunchtime.

It was a high hope, but a hope all the same.

I padded downstairs, a fresh set of clothes for CiCi in my hands, and entered the front room to a fresh hell. She was lying on the sofa with her legs against the wall, watching the TV upside down, Cookie clasped to her chest... And fucking fairy wings spread out across the sofa cushion beneath her back.

Dear. God.

“What are you doing?” I asked her, my eyes lingering on the fake wings. “Let’s move our butts, Thumbelina. School doesn’t wait for fairies, no matter how cute they are.”

She huffed and rolled to the side as the end song of Jake and The Neverland Pirates rang out. “Nobody ever tells Tinker Bell that.”

Yeah, well, Tink was a stroppy little bitch in the original movies. “Tinker Bell’s older than you,” I settled for. “Get dressed. Did you eat yet?”

“An apple, a yogurt, and the rest of the blueberries.” She grinned after pulling her nightgown over her head.

Fuck me. That was almost a whole large pot of blueberries.

“So you’re fed until next week,” I muttered beneath my breath. “Get dressed, have a drink, then we’ll go. I have to work after you’re in school, so let’s not be late.”

Somehow, we weren’t late.

Between the emergency blueberry toilet visit or two, the fairy wings, and a stop into the store for some medicine for her new tummy ache, I had no idea how. It was a freaking miracle. Beyond a miracle, if I was honest.

And I didn’t think she’d be eating that many blueberries again in her life.