“Now,” Jessica said, her voice breaking me out of panic mode. “Let me show you how to move. I’ll make sure you blow him away.” She winked and grabbed the pole.
Pitch black covered the interior of the room. My heart beat so hard in my chest I assumed that no matter where Owen had chosen to sit, he could hear it thumping.
I stood at the back of the stage, my muscles quivering with adrenaline—the fight or flight instinct heightening my senses. I clenched my eyes shut despite the darkness in the room, mentally kicking myself. It’s just a little fantasy.
Chills raised on my exposed legs, the cold air from the vents high above me tickling my skin. The stilettos, thankfully, were quite comfortable and not much taller than the pumps I normally sported. I sucked in a shaky breath, thinking about how often I had entertained this idea before. How I’d always wanted to try it. Thought about it more than I would ever admit to anyone. I wondered how much I would enjoy it if it really was my fiancé sitting out there, waiting on the lights and music to come on? Would I be this nervous if it wasn’t my best friend instead? If I was like every other honest resort guest here?
No. I’d be totally into it.
If it was someone I loved? My fiancé or husband or partner? I’d strut my stuff across this stage and go to town on the pole. But it wasn’t…it was Owen…and I’d dragged him into this.
Get a grip. You don’t have to fuck him. Just dance. Just like last night.
I nodded to myself, eyes still shut tight.
Besides, you do love him.
That much was the truth. I loved Owen deeply. He was the only man I still trusted.
Focus on that. When you open your eyes, you will not be nervous. You will rock his world. You will own this.
The music Jessica and I picked out filtered into the speakers, light at first and then louder as the soft glow of the red-colored lights slowly came on.
I snapped my eyes open and tipped the fedora up so I could see better.
Owen, never to disappoint, was front and center, leaned back in his chair like he was meant to be there. His massive frame made the chair somehow look tiny and I took every ounce of pleasure watching his eyes go wide when he set them on me.
Feeding off his shock, I took confident steps down the runway portion of the stage, swaying my hips to the beat with each stride.
A nervous smile shaped Owen’s lips as I gripped the pole with one hand, slowly shaking my ass as I worked my way down and up and back again. I’d never seen him so flushed and I’d watched him go twelve rounds more than once.
I arched an eyebrow at him, grinning despite trying to remain serious. I closed my eyes, focusing on what Jessica had told me. Pretend your hands are his. Put them where you want him.
My free hand traveled over my breast and down my side, skirting over my center quickly and down my thigh, while my other hand held onto the pole so I didn’t fall flat on my ass. I wrapped a leg around the bar, arching my back and rolling my hips against it—imagining for those moments that it was him, that I wanted him so bad I could do nothing but grind against him and beg for it.
Hot blood pulsed through my veins, the rush of adrenaline now surging to my head and making me dizzy. Or that could be because I was spinning around the pole like I knew what I was doing. I trailed my fingers across my neck, freeing the tie from around it, and gripped both ends, riding the tie instead of the pole.
Owen’s mouth dropped open, his previously barely contained laughter vanishing. I held his gaze as I slowly moved up and down, committing fully to the powerful rush of having his undivided attention. I was sure I’d never get a shot to do something like this again, so I quickly decided I’d milk every second of it.
Carefully working my way down the steps, I popped a button on the shirt with each step closer I got to Owen. The final one coming loose just as I reached him—just like Jessica had told me to do. I was nothing if not an A+ student.
Owen licked his bottom lip and the struggle to not look at the black lacy bra I wore was evident. He lost the battle, sneaking a glance as I situated myself on his lap. I rode him lightly, popping up and down to the quickening beat of the music. Grabbing the fedora, I placed it on his head and tossed my hair over my shoulder, arching backward and coming back up slowly.
He was still as a statue. Still enough to make me question every move I made and contemplate retreating back upstage and doing the gangnem style until enough time had passed to make a believer out of Jessica.
I stood up, the rush slightly fading at his reaction.
What did you want him to do? Fall into the fantasy a bit more, I supposed. Maybe I had gotten too into it. From the heat pulsing between my thighs, I most certainly had.
Before I could fully back away from him, he lightly touched the back of my knees, stopping me. My heart leaped into my throat but I shoved him backward with a firm push.
“No touching,” I said, waving my finger at his face. “Bad boy.”
A low growl sounded from his chest, so low I could’ve imagined it. I rolled my hips again, flipping around and letting the shirt slip off my back slowly, leaving me in nothing but the black panties, bra, and stilettos. I tossed the shirt over his face and turned back around, sinking onto him fully this time.
He quickly threw the shirt on the ground, his eyes widening again, and this time mine did too. He was rock hard beneath me. Owen Grady, infamous playboy, ferocious boxer, was hard because of me.
Holy shit this is fun.
I moved in an agonizingly slow motion circle on top of him, barely letting my silk touch the rough texture of his jeans where he was solid against me. Owen pressed his lips together, dropping his head back. The submission sent me flying with excitement and I slammed down on top of him, the change in pressure forcing him to snap his eyes back to me.
The tempo of the music increased, so did my riding him.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Each quick beat I popped my hips against him, bucking in rhythm, losing myself to the sensations hitting me from all sides. The rush, the power, the want.
I gripped his shoulders—which were strong and solid and familiar—using him as leverage as I arched backward and up at a faster pace than before.
Hot damn he felt good beneath me.
Moving my hands to the back of the chair for a better grip, I leaned backward in a fast drop. I arched my hips upward, shamelessly dragging out the friction against him, but I miscalculated the distance, and the two opposing actions clashed with gravity—which hated me—and before I could blink, I fell, still clutching the chair as I tipped us both.
My back hit the hardwood with a loud smack two seconds before Owen came down on top of me, his massive body near crushing. The chair jolted the back of Owen’s head as it came down last, causing him to yelp and flinch at the same time.
A full body flush raked every inch of my skin for an entirely different reason than my hot and heavy dance. My stomach turned, my mortification the equivalent to an ice-cold shower.
Could this get any worse? I wanted to melt into the floor or mentally kill the lights.
Owen gently pushed back a mess of my hair from my face before he burst out laughing, the motion shaking me beneath him.
Yep. It can get worse.
I pushed at his chest, and he quickly rolled off me, covering his forehead with his forearm, still chuckling.
“Not funny!” I regained my footing and clicked toward the dressing room.
“Presley,” he called after me. “Wait!”
I ignored him, tears of embarrassment stinging my eyes. Slamming the door behind me, I sucked in a deep breath. How could I have gotten so lost in the motions? And how the hell had that made me feel sexier than I ever had in my entire life? Was it just the striptease? Or was some of it due to my customer?
“How’d it go?” Jessica asked, her back turned to me as she adamantly read a magazine from the chair in front of the vanity.
“I fell,” I answered her honestly.
>
“Are you injured? Do I need to call the medic?” she asked, standing but still not turning around.
I grabbed the robe she’d hung on the door and wrapped it around me. “You have a medic on staff?”
“Several. Do we need one?”
“No.” I facepalmed myself, reliving the sound of the chair smacking Owen in the back of the head. He was well enough to laugh his ass off at my expense so he sure as hell didn’t need one either. “Not unless you have one who has a cure for mortification.”
6 Owen
“Are we late?” I asked when we reached Grant who occupied a booth in the far back corner of the restaurant. He was neck deep in a half-slab of ribs, though to his credit, he didn’t have a drop of sauce on his face.
He dropped the rib he worked on and quickly wiped his hands off on a napkin. “Not at all,” he said, extending his free hand to indicate the open half of the booth.
Presley—who hadn’t spoken to me since last night—hesitated, her eyes jumping from Grant’s side of the booth to the implied open seating for the two of us. Damn, that stung. I had tried to talk to her back in our room after…well, after she’d given me one hell of a lap dance, but she ignored me—claiming she’d been sleeping when I called her out about it at breakfast this morning. Those were the only words I’d gotten out of her before she bolted to the shower where she proceeded to hide until we had to go to our first “session” with Grant. Which was now.
Finally, she relented and slid inside the open space, me right behind her. My leg brushed hers under the table and a hot, slamming want rushed through me—my brain reminding me of all the glorious ways in which she’d teased me during the fantasy.
I shifted in my seat, forcing myself not to think about how shocked I’d been when I’d seen her, how I would’ve never guessed in a million years that a striptease was something she wanted to do. The surprise was more than welcome and realizing that fact scared the hell out of me. As did the major hard on I’d sported as a result. I’d been to plenty of gentlemen’s clubs before and hadn’t had so much as a flicker of interest—but with Presley up there? Fuck.
“Thanks for joining me here,” Grant said, reclaiming his previously tossed rib. “I know this isn’t a typical setting for an open conversation, but I hate the clinic feel sessions have when conducted in a closed room with couches and shit.” He said the word “session” like it was negative.
Presley lightly pushed away the hair that had fallen on her face. “It’s definitely more comfortable,” she said, smiling at the waitress when she approached.
She still hadn’t made eye contact with me. It made all the muscles in my shoulders and neck knot themselves together. I know I’d been a dick for laughing, but I’d been in the process of thinking about sinking myself deep inside my best friend…and then I got hit with a fucking chair. Served me right for losing the control I thought I had, but it was hilarious at the same time. I would’ve explained that to her if she’d given me a chance.
After we ordered our lunch, Grant re-wiped his hands off before resting them on the back of the booth. His eyes jumped between the two of us, and he waggled his eyebrows. “How was it?”
Presley spit the water she’d just taken a drink of back in her cup, clearing her throat.
I chuckled under my breath, terrified if I laughed at the wrong thing again I’d get the silent treatment this whole fucking trip. My stomach sank at the prospect, and I dared to place my hand on her back, smoothing out the tension I felt underneath my fingertips.
“Fine,” she said.
Grant hissed. “Was I off base?”
She arched an eyebrow at him and a new wave of heat made my skin tighten. I didn’t like the way she looked at him—like she could convey an answer silently as if they were that close. They weren’t. We were.
“Ah,” he said like she’d explained everything.
“Presley was perfect,” I blurted out, my nerves desperate to regain her attention.
What the hell is wrong with you, man? Get a fucking grip. She’d had dudes hitting on her since our freshman year of college, and I’d never batted an eye. Well, not unless they were complete dirtbags, which half of them were, but that wasn’t the point. I’d never been this bothered or this frustrated with my position in Presley’s life.
“That’s an interesting choice of words,” Grant said. “Did you feel perfect, Presley?”
She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip and I nearly fucking growled. That was her tell, something I never should have noticed but had learned regardless. Her signature move for when she had a flash of desire—like whenever her favorite actor would come out in the movie shirtless. I used to give her such hell over the move—now it drove me crazy.
Fuck, you’re losing it.
“I loved the setup, Grant. And Jessica was amazing.” Presley reached out and accepted her club sandwich from the waitress. “Thank you,” she said, though I don’t know if she was thanking the girl who brought our food or Grant for getting her fantasy right.
I stabbed my steak, wishing I could track down a bag and take out the aggression building up in my hands.
“I see,” Grant said, returning to his food. “Why don’t you tell me about how you met?” he asked between ripping hunks of meat off the bone.
She looked at me, finally locking those blue eyes onto mine and it was like a fucking well-placed combo—a dead center hit in my chest. After a moment, her eyes softened, and her lips turned up at the corners.
“I was assigned to cover one of his amateur matches on campus,” she said, taking a bite of her club.
“Afterward she chastised me for not smiling after I’d won.” I chuckled, the image of her petite frame outside the ring, a notepad in her hand, popping her hand on her hip when I wouldn’t answer a question with more than two words.
Grant laughed and pushed his empty plate away. “And then what?”
“He made me follow him to the after party to get the answers I wanted.” She rolled her eyes. “It took all night, and by the end of it, I’d forgotten I was writing an article on him.”
The memory hung fresh in my mind. “You were wearing that soft blue sweater with the eyeglasses on the front.” I motioned to my chest to paint the picture.
Her cheeks flushed. “How can you remember what I was wearing?”
Because I didn’t take it off. I’d decided that night she was out of my league—despite the panties I continued to drop even back then. We became friends instead, and I got to take pleasure in the discovery of having a female friend I had no intention of fucking. It was glorious. I could tell her anything without having to worry about the romantic side, and in reality, she ended up being the best friend I’d ever had—male or otherwise.
“You said I needed to work on my public image for when I made it big.” I grinned. I hadn’t believed her, but she assured me she had an eye for people who would make it and that I was one of them. That’s how we started spending so much time together. She schooled me on etiquette and charming the cameras.
“Well, you desperately needed my help.” She turned to Grant and scowled. “He was all frowns and Hulk fight, Hulk win. Before me, he had no sense of showmanship—which, he learned later—is a must if you want to get media coverage.”
Grant pointed at me. “Looks like it worked.”
I smirked at Presley, enjoying the natural back and forth we returned to. “Nah, she just didn’t realize I was only acting. I just wanted her around more.”
She slit her eyes at me, totally unbelieving, but it was true.
“How long before you realized he was the one?” Grant asked, and I held my breath. Why hadn’t we rehearsed this? Because you laughed at her after she took her clothes off for you, you asshole.
Presley wrapped her arms around herself, gently stroking her arms like she was cold. “New Year’s Eve, last year.”
My eyebrows shot up as I wondered why she’d chosen that memory to fake the start of our relationship.
/> I’d spent the night with her, blowing off a date to hold her while she bawled her eyes out. That was the day she’d caught David cheating on her. In their bed. Which had been exactly one day after I’d caught him cheating on her at a bar and ran my fucking mouth—not that I’d ever let Presley know that fact.
The thought sent adrenaline through my veins, and I clenched my hand into a fist. If he’d ever shown his face around her again, I would’ve ended him. Luckily for him, he’d hauled off with the tart he’d been fucking behind Presley’s back.
“Was that your official first date?” Grant asked, leaning so far back against the booth he could’ve been in a lounge chair.
She blinked rapidly, her eyes glistening. “No. That came a few weeks after. We’d been friends for so long…but that was the night I realized I loved him.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, remembering the way she’d fit tucked against me in my bed. She’d stayed with me for weeks after the event as she hunted for a new apartment. I’d slept on the couch, but that first night, when she’d cried so hard I thought she’d lost a piece of her soul? I’d clung to her like I could give her the strength that came naturally to me—like I could hold her together when she was crumbling apart. I promised her he wasn’t the last man in her life. That someone would come along and sweep her off her feet and make her forget that asshole ever existed.
“Nothing like a New Year’s Eve kiss with your best friend.” Grant implied, and Presley quickly nodded even though that wasn’t the truth. We hadn’t even watched the clock, let alone the ball drop. No, I’d held her, stroked her hair, and let her spill buckets on me. Because that was what she had needed. Just like this—she needed me for this gig, and here I sat.
I slipped my hand into hers beneath the table, watching her eyes as the hint of pain crept back into them. The pain that had only recently started to vanish. Something I worked hard to help her with every single day.
She squeezed my hand, and I breathed in deep like I hadn’t taken a full breath when she’d given me the silent treatment. The gesture filled me like an empty hole, and I realized something I’d never considered before.
Inhibitions Page 6