Rumor(28)

And Josh was blown away by her skill, her strength, her professionalism, but even more by how motherfucking hot she made him.

She strutted away, bent at the waist, and exposed her ass before performing some insanely dirty crawl across the stage that made Josh want to pop out of his jeans. The need to reach between his legs and stroke himself simply to relieve the pressure had one hand clenched around the arm of the chair, the other around his beer bottle. That was when he realized he’d hit his limit. Every muscle in his body screamed with tension, needing release.

As Grace gripped the stripper pole and flung her body upside down, spread her legs, and slowly spiraled to the floor with her gaze hot and unwavering on his, Josh hit his sexual-eye-candy limit and forced himself to stand. Forced himself to turn. Forced himself to put one foot in front of the other in a physically, mentally, and emotionally excruciating stride away from the stage.





Grace was breathing hard when the song ended for the seventh time. She pulled herself off the floor and gathered the garments she’d torn off during the dance—not as many as the other girls, but enough to give Josh a great view.

At first, she’d thought him watching her semistrip would turn him off, which she’d convinced herself was better for both of them. Then, as he’d watched her dance, his expression had shifted from skeptic-laced curiosity to white-hot, I-wanna-do-you-fast-and-hard-up-against-a–wall-right-fucking-now.

But, in the end, he’d walked out.

Story of her life, right?

Feeling confused, she descended the stairs with the club staff buzzing around, preparing for the doors to open. Hillary, Jaime, and Kaitlin had disappeared into the dressing room, but just as Grace was about to pass through the drape and into the hallway, Jasmine popped through, already decked out in her outfit for the opening dance.

“Hey,” Grace said. “Something wrong?”

Jasmine crossed her arms. “You tell me. I was coming to see just what you were doing out here to turn the mighty navy SEAL into an overheated, tongue-tied mess of nerves.”

Grace lifted a brow.

“He came back there red-faced and sweating, with his jeans sporting a bulge as big as a football. Then he tripped over the threshold on his way out the back door, where he stuck his head under the hose.”

She frowned hard. “Is he sick?”

“Yeah, honey.” Jasmine snorted a laugh. “I think it’s called Semen Retention Syndrome. Also known as blue balls.”

“Yeah?” she asked, still unsure.

“Hell, yeah.”

Grace’s worry drained, and a smile quirked her mouth. “Now he knows how I’ve felt all these years.”

Jasmine turned Grace toward the hallway by the shoulder and gave her a gentle push. “Get back there and negotiate some relief for both of you.” She started toward the bar. “I’ve got to go bribe—I mean negotiate—with the staff for the night.”

Grace’s heels clicked on the cement and echoed off the walls as she strode down the hall. In the back, the girls buzzed around the dressing room, gossiping, laughing, and bitching like always.

She found the back door standing open, but the grind of a power saw drew her gaze toward the storeroom. He hadn’t walked out. He was—in his self-described, heavy-handed way—showing her he cared.

As the staff tested the sound system, the muffled boom of music hummed through the walls. She wandered to an empty dressing table in a corner and picked up the padded chair. As an afterthought, she opened one of the drawers and slipped out an Allure condom—also used as business cards, with the dancer’s stage name imprinted on one side and the club name printed on the other—from the box there. In this case, it didn’t matter whose name resided on the foil. If Grace didn’t use it, the promo goodie would return to the drawer.

Looking at the shiny silver package in her palm made her think about Josh getting hard. Made her think about taking his rigid, hot cock in her hand. Made her think about stroking the condom on. And, ultimately, feeling him slide deep inside her.

Her whole body responded to the instantaneous fantasy—muscles tight, temperature rising, pussy aching.

Shrugging into her velvet cape, she tucked the foil square into the waistband at her hip and carried the chair toward the storeroom.

She wandered in and glanced over the hills and valleys of muscle along Josh’s back. He’d taken off his shirt again—praise the gods—and was leaning over a piece of gypsum board, guiding a circular saw through the sheet. A small plume of white billowed behind the saw, and a fine white mist coated his skin.

He finished the cut, turned off the saw, and glanced up. Through the clear goggles, his eyes widened, slipped down her body, then slid away.