Searching for Always(66)

His gaze pinned her tight, allowing her no escape. Her top was mostly unbuttoned, showing off a huge amount of smooth cleavage, and a bad-girl leather jacket topped the whole thing off. Even her hair was different, the long strands curled in big waves that tumbled over one eye, spilled over her shoulders, and hit her hips.

With no makeup and casual clothes, the woman was gorgeous. Dressed tonight? She was Eve, Helen of Troy, and Kim Kardashian all rolled up into the hottest bundle he’d ever seen.

Her appearance screamed sex, from her pouty red lips, to her come-hither eyes, to her fuck-me boots. There wasn’t a shred of organic cotton in sight, and in that moment, all the blood rushed to his other head and he was toast.

Ignoring the noise and urging of the crowd, he stared helplessly at her, hard as a rock and completely intoxicated.

Her teeth pulled at her lower lip. Her breath made a catchy little moan, and when she finally spoke, her voice came out husky, like she’d spent the night in his bed screaming his name and had nothing left. “What are you doing here?”

“Gen said you wanted to talk to me.”

She blinked. “No. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I think I was set up. They think I’m a stripper.”

A giggle escaped her lips. Fascinated, he wanted to hear the sound again. She hiccupped. “Kennedy hired a cop stripper. Kate freaked and begged me to take her place.” Her head tipped up to look at him. “I’m her wing woman,” she said proudly.

Damn, she was adorable. “So you’re gonna take the stripper on for the sake of your friend?”

Her eyes heated, roving over him like a hungry she-lion. “Yeah. I am.”

Stone ached all over. He’d give over a damn appendage just to touch her right now. “You’re a good friend. I kinda wish I was the stripper right now.”

Her tongue snaked out and wet her bottom lip. Those eyes heated and took in his uniform with more than a hint of lust. His dick wept. “You look like a stripper,” she whispered.

He moved closer. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

The women roared their frustration, begging him to do something. The blonde looked like she was about to start ripping off his clothes herself for giving her a bad deal. Nothing mattered except the woman in front of him who tortured his body and mind on a daily basis.

“What should I do?”

She reached over, placed her hands on his face, and dragged his head forward. Her breath rushed in his ear.

“Take it off.”

He growled low, ready to grab her, toss her on his shoulder, and take her to bed. Oh, she was brave with the alcohol and her friends and wanted to play now, huh? Did she have any idea he was a master?

“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned. “Payback is a bitch, little one.”

She had the nerve to nip at his earlobe and touch her tongue to the inner shell of his ear. He hissed in agony, and she pulled back a few inches. Smiled. “So you’ve said before. Unless you’re all talk and no action?”

He wasted no more time. She squealed as he tossed her over his shoulder, his hand on the gorgeous curve of her behind, and dumped her right into the chair.

The women screamed with encouragement. He blocked her escape by standing right in front of her, so her gaze was in line with his rapidly growing erection. The music rolled out its sexy rhythm, and Stone decided to teach her a lesson of a lifetime.

He began to take it all off.


ARILYN WAS KIND OF drunk, but not drunk enough to realize he’d called her bluff and raised the stakes.

The man was a walking, talking sex god.

Her body became completely magnetized around him, humming and softening as if she recognized him as her master. Those seething inky eyes demanded deliciously bad things she craved to give him. His black hair was messy and tousled, emphasizing his carved features, sexy goatee, and full lips. His whole aura beat out one mantra. Primitive Male.

But the uniform pushed him past the edge of droolworthy into laminated list territory.

He was wearing a dark navy blue shirt with long sleeves and a padded vest with his name stitched on the upper right side. He was intimidating enough in a baseball jersey and jeans. But with the leather belt slung low on his hips, filled with an array of gadgets that stole her breath, Arilyn was crazed to touch him. Her gaze took in the gun holster, cuffs hanging to the side, and some type of stick in its holder. God, it was like an erotic fantasy come to life. The tight fabric molded to every meaty muscle, his chest stretched to capacity in crisp, clean navy blue, Stone Petty was a package any woman would die to unwrap.

He towered over her, his gaze never leaving hers. As the music pumped, his fingers paused at the top button of his shirt, stroking slow, listening to the screams of the crowd, and then flicked it open lightning quick.