Page 95 of Stroked Hard
Letting him kiss my neck just a little more, I say, “You look good yourself. I always see you in workout clothes, so I didn’t know you owned such stylish apparel.”
“You think I’m stylish?” he asks, his lips doing naughty things to my ear, his hands caressing my back. “Well, hell, I’ll always wear these clothes then, even when diving.”
“Not sure other women would appreciate the lack of Speedo,” I point out, his hand running over my ass and dangerously close to the hemline of my dress where his fingers play with it.
“Fuck other women, I only care about you.”
“If that’s the case,” his hand slips under my dress and starts traveling upward again—such a naughty, naughty man—“if I’m the one who gets to pick what you wear on the diving platform, then I pick a rainbow thong.”
Without hesitation he says, “Done,” just as his hands connect with my bare ass. A groan rumbles up through his chest and into my ear where he’s playing with my lobe between his teeth. I wasn’t expecting foreplay in the entryway of my apartment, with my door still open, but I can’t seem to stop him. “Fuck, you’re not wearing underwear, are you?”
“Do I ever?” I ask, tilting my head to the side, allowing him better access. My hands are now holding onto the belt loops of his pants, trying to steady my balance.
His breathing his harsh; his fingers dig into my ass. Erotic electricity bounces between us, and I’m instantly wet from the feeling of his hard cock against me.
“Melony.” He heaves a tortured breath. He starts to move his hand to my front, searching out my clit, but I stop him by the wrist. His eyes shoot to mine, pain and pure torture clear in his expression. “You’re kidding, right? You’re not going to let me touch you?”
Mustering every ounce of courage I can find tonotlet this man take me back to my bedroom, I say, “Tonight is about you romancing me, remember?”
“Yeah, I do.” He looks dead serious, with a twinge of desperation. “Let me romance you with my tongue and then we can get on our way.”
“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head, clearly destroying all of Hollis’s hopes and dreams. “Noah Calhoun wouldn’t stick his tongue in a girl’s pussy the first second her saw her.”
“Noah Calhoun was also in his prime when The Beatles were born, so licking a lady’s pussy wasn’t a way of greeting.”
“Like it is now?” I ask sarcastically. “Pretty sure I don’t see men bending at the knee to greet a woman with one swipe at the clit.”
“Like I said, men are idiots.” His smile is impossible.
Stilling his hands, I say, “Come on, show me your moves outside the bedroom. Woo me, Hollis.”
Sighing in defeat, he steps away and adjusts his pants, clearly trying to tame his bulge. Quickly, he runs his hand through his thick faux hawk and then twists the front strands ever so slightly, messing them up. So. Hot.
His soulful eyes glance up at me as he holds out his hand. “You look gorgeous, Melony. Are you ready for our date?” The dark, sinister voice he was using while his fingers pressed into my ass is gone, and a more contemplative Hollis greets me now.And yet I don’t see disappointment in his eyes.
Feeling bad that I squashed his dreams, I lean into him, pressing my breasts against his chest and speak into his ear while gripping his scruffy jaw. “If you do a good job wooing me, I might just let you finish what you had planned.”
His face morphs, his eyes burning into me. “Challenge accepted.”
Oh hell, I’m way in over my head. From the look of determination in his eyes, I know the last brick of the wall I resurrected over my heart is going to fall. Hollis is about to destroy every preconceived notion I have had of men.
And honestly, I want him to. I so desperately want him to.
***
Fun fact: don’t ever challenge Hollis Knightly. He will win.
I’ve learned that over the course of getting to understand this man. When you lay down a bet, you’re going to lose.
That’s why I’m on the verge of turning into an exhibitionist and putting on a show for all voyeurs to watch.
The night didn’t start out innocent by way of ass grabbing in the apartment hallway, but it fizzled into a regular date when we got into Hollis’s Prius. Well, I shouldn’t really say regular date. By no means has Hollis taken me on a regular date. When he said he was going to romance me, he wasn’t kidding.
In the car, we talked about the Olympics and his competition. It’s a known fact that Hollis is a cocky bastard—he doesn’t hide that—but when he spoke of his upcoming competition—that’s how he referred to it, although it seems a little bigger than just a competition—he was confident in his abilities to take home another gold. He wasn’t overtly cocky, or waving his gold medals around saying he was the best in the world. He spoke with assurance of his abilities and the training he’s put in. It was downright sexy hearing him speak of his sport.
At dinner, he pulled out my chair for me. I didn’t expect anything less on that end, but what I didn’t expect was for him to move his chair closer to mine so he could hold my thigh the entire time. Not my hand, but my thigh. His thumb gingerly stroked my skin as he spoke. It came so naturally to him, that the movement was flawless but consuming on my end. There were many times I couldn’t even concentrate on what he was saying because his thumb was distracting.
Conversation was easy. Dinner was exquisite, especially when he chose to feed me parts of his, wanting to share in the flavors. It was romantic with the view of the ocean, the candlelit atmosphere, and the sexy-as-hell man sitting next to me, giving me his undivided attention, eating up every word I spoke, never once looking at his phone that remained in his pocket.HEwas engrossed in everything about me.
