gently ran his index finger down her neck to one pink tip. His callused fingertip circled it slowly, around and around until she thought she might scream. “Adam…” He pinched her gently, and when she didn’t flinch, he applied more pressure until she was twisting on him in sensual agony. Just when she thought that was the absolute best, he captured her other nipple with his mouth.
His tongue and teeth teased her, tormented her, tortured her. She was a prisoner of his hot, wet suction. Her nipples swelled even further under his expert caresses.
Exquisite sensation jetted between her legs, and her black thong grew damper. He hardened even more. She rubbed frantically on his erection, desperate to ease her ache.
As if he’d read her mind, he hooked a finger under the front of her thong and pulled it free. He insinuated his finger between her folds, driving through the soaking curls until he found his destination. He pressed her clitoris and she gave a short scream.
He grinned and her breast dropped from his mouth. He brought a hand to her leg and skimmed up and down. “I love these stockings.” He stopped at the wedge of bare thigh above the seam. “But they’re not as soft and smooth as you are.”
“Oh, Adam.” His sweet touch and his sweeter words overwhelmed her, and she turned her face away, a swath of hair protecting her emotions from his gaze.
She didn’t have long to reflect before his finger rubbed her again. He circled her clit gently, then with more pressure, seeking every drop of her response.
Tension built under his hands, her thong adding its own sexy brand of friction where it rubbed between her bottom cheeks. She ground on him and clutched at his chest, his nipples hardening under her touch.
He made a choked-off groan. “Please, Bridget, make me stop before it’s too late.”
The sensual power she’d captured strutting around in her lingerie rose again. She was the one who could make him come fully dressed. She was the one who was taking control of her own sex life.
She cupped one breast. “Suck on me.” And he obeyed.
His eyes closed as he eagerly feasted on her. His hands stroked her soaking wet flesh and grabbed at her ass like they were grabbing for a life preserver.
He moaned in a low voice as she rocked on him. His arousal whipped hers to an unbelievable level. She tipped her body forward, and with her free hand reached behind her to grasp his balls.
His eyes flew open. She squeezed and caressed them through his thin wool pants. And since he was panting too hard to suck her nipples anymore, she decided to plant kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck….
Her own tentative touches combined with his fingers and the thick cock under her twisted into unbearable tension. His balls pulled tighter under her hand. He gave one last savage thrust upward and she snapped like elastic stretched to the limit, pleasure rocketing from her clit to her breasts and deep into her core.
She gave quiet cries of pleasure and triumph. For years, Adam had been her schoolgirl fantasy as she’d furtively brought herself to release, but the reality was much, much better.
Adam yanked her close and rubbed his cock on her, his face pulling into taut lines. “No, Bridget, stop, ahhh…” But she gave his balls one last squeeze and he came hard, gasping and squirming, his breath hot and fast against her aching breasts.
Bridget slumped against his shoulder, his heart thudding under her touch. For a minute, she just cuddled, then stroked his silky chest hair. She’d longed to do that since his first visit to the farm and she saw him tossing hay bales without wearing a shirt. But their tender moment didn’t last long. She knew the second he started regretting what they’d done.
He squirmed underneath her, and not in a happy way. “Oh, man. Oh, man.” He hooked his hands under her arms, careful to avoid her breasts, and she climbed off him.
She sprawled onto the futon next to him, feeling like a pinup with her garter belt and boots still on. Now if she got Adam into the bedroom, they could go for round two.
He hopped up from the futon and made a beeline for the bathroom, not the bedroom. Well, that was okay. He did need to clean up and maybe they could take a shower together.
Pulling herself off the futon, she strode across the living room. Give her a whip, and she’d match Jinx. Except for the pierced nipples, of course. She tapped on the bathroom door. “Adam?”
He didn’t answer, so she tried the door. He’d locked it? “Adam, are you okay?” She jiggled the doorknob.
“Fine.” He didn’t sound fine. “Bridget, I need a pair of pants.”
“Oh. Okay.” She went into her bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair was beyond mussed, but there was a gleam in her blue eyes and a rosy blush to her skin. If she refused to get him pants, would he stay?
Although a naked Adam trapped in her apartment appealed to her very much, she rummaged through her dresser and found an old pair of gray sweatpants that were too long for her. Maybe they’d fit him.
She returned to the bathroom and knocked. “Here you go.” He opened the door far enough to grab the pants and then locked it again.
Suddenly feeling chilly and not much like a pinup anymore, Bridget went into her bedroom and pulled on her fluffy sky-blue chenille bathrobe. The fabric brushed her sensitized skin and she shivered.
She heard the bathroom door open and hurried out. She fought back a giggle at his outfit. The pants were still too short and showed a chunk of bare, hairy leg above the tops of his black socks and dress shoes. When she saw his face, though, she stopped laughing.
He looked absolutely grim. “What’s the matter?” She already knew the answer.
“What’s the matter?” His eyebrows shot up. “We just did all this, and you ask what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It felt pretty good.” Good was an understatement. Hedonistic, ecstatic, orgasmic—yeah, that last one covered it.
“I lost the bet.” His expression grew even darker. “Now you know just what power you’d have over those poor slobs at Frisky’s. If I were your customer, I’d wipe out my savings, max out my credit cards, sell a kidney to have you naked on top of me.”
“Wow.” That was quite a compliment. Too bad he looked as if he were donating his kidney. Without anesthetic.
He grabbed her forearm. “Think about your family.”
“Are you going to tell them I’m a stripper?” If he did, she might have some explaining to do about sewing lingerie, but that was all.
“No, I don’t want to hurt them.” He assumed a noble expression. “You’re their baby girl.”
She grimaced at him, exasperated. “All the dancers at Frisky’s are somebody’s baby girl.” Except for Electra, who was possibly someone’s baby boy.
“Then think about yourself. Those strippers will only drag you down to their level with their bad habits—alcohol, drugs.”
“In the first place, the dancers drink watered-down liquor at work
