Get Your Sexy On. Kimberly Kaye Terry

protest with a hard look, the man calmly lifted Sienna off his lap, tucked her under his arm, and led her away to a darker, more secluded area of the club.

      Quiet, unnerved by not only his presence but his overall masculinity, Sienna allowed him to lead her. He sat down and held out a hand. Hesitantly she placed her hand in his and looked into his deep, light gray eyes. Although she knew he was asking her to dance for him, it seemed as though he wanted something more.

      By taking his hand, she was agreeing to give him what he wanted.

      “I’m sure one of the other girls would be much better at this than me. It’s been a while for me,” Sienna whispered, her eyes trained on the sensual full curve of his hard mouth.

      Her gaze traveled over his angular face, taking in his deep-set gray eyes, framed by short, thick lashes, before traveling down his aquiline nose, sensual, hard full mouth, ending at his squared chin, which held the faintest hint of a cleft.

      His thick sable-brown hair was cut close to his finely shaped head, tapering to almost skin past his ears. If not for the slightly longer length on top, he could be a poster boy for the U.S. Marine Corps.

      “This isn’t something you do often?” he asked, sitting farther back in his seat, settling her on his lap.

      “No, I don’t. At least not in a while. I dance on the stage, occasionally do the smaller stages, but that’s it.”

      She forced the words out of her mouth, straddling his hard thighs, trying her best to concentrate on dancing for him, and not get caught up in the erotic fantasies she’d had going on about him over the last week.

      “What’s your name?” he murmured, catching her off-guard with the question.

      “Sinful Feathers. Sin.”

      “No. Your real name.”

      She began to dance, slowly gyrating her hips, rolling her buttocks along his jeans-covered, hard thighs.

      Sienna never gave her real name to anyone at the club. It was such an intimate thing—as crazy as it sounded, considering she regularly shed her clothes for scores of men.

      “Mine’s Garrett. Garrett McAllister. Friends call me Mac.” He gave his name, although she hadn’t asked.

      Just as she used a spin on her real name to give her emotional distance, she’d never wanted to know the names of the men she danced for. She needed the space, and with this man, she definitely hadn’t wanted to know his name. She didn’t want to feel as though this were anything more than it was. A dancer providing a service for a client. Nothing more, nothing less.

      He waited for her to respond. Instead, she turned her head away from his piercing gaze and continued to move her body in time to the music.

      She glanced around the room, feeling as though everyone were staring at them.

      No one was giving them any more notice than any of the other dancers performing one-on-one for the male clientele.

      “It’s just you and me, Sin, it’s just the two of us, alone. Forget about everybody else.”

      “I can’t.” She choked out the words, turning reluctantly to face him. “I can’t just forget they’re there, watching.” Sienna felt as if everyone were watching her as she straddled his hard thighs, riding him. She carefully avoided his hardening shaft thumping against her belly.

      “Yes, you can. It’s just you and me.”

      She didn’t know Garrett McAllister at all. Over the last few years she’d worked at the club, she had men who’d come in faithfully, but none of them had ever made a dent in her shield. She had never longed to know any of them, as she did with this man. It made no sense. God, it made no sense.

      But she wanted to know him. She yearned for him. In ways she never had for any man. Even more so than she had for Damian, when she’d first met him, before she learned of his true nature.

      She’d noticed him the first time he’d entered the club. He and the black guy he came in with. They’d sat to her left, never making any catcalls, never coming up to the stage—yet she’d felt his stare. Among a roomful of men, she’d been aware of his intense gaze on hers. Each night, she’d thought he’d be waiting for her.

      Nervous, afraid that he would be there, she’d left the club as soon as she’d collected her money for the night and had cashed out. Disappointed, despite self avowals to the contrary, she realized he’d never been waiting for her.

      Her nipples rasped against the rough material of his blazer, spiking in arousal. Her vagina clenched, coming into scorching contact with the bulge lying beneath his zipper, despite her intent to avoid it. The music playing was a slow, sensual beat. Sienna reveled in the rhythm and closed her eyes.

      “Yes,” he rasped, easing her body closer to his, touching her, although it was forbidden to do so. “Just like that. There’s only you and me.” With his words, Sienna gave in to what her body demanded she give him.

      No longer was she performing a service, a lap dance. Instead, helpless, she feverishly worked her body against the long, hard length of pipe lying hot and thick between her legs.

      Grinding her body against his, she lost touch with her surroundings and, with it, her inhibitions loosened.

      “That’s good. That’s real good,” he encouraged. “Don’t think of anyone. It’s you and me. And what you’re doing to me.” He uttered the words in a guttural tone, unashamedly referring to his hardened penis centered between her thighs.

      She felt the heat of embarrassment; lust and passion flushed her cheeks, yet she continued to ride him. Everyone in the club had to know of the cream now flowing from her. She felt the ease of it, down past the lace of her thong, traveling her thigh and saturating his lap.

      The burdening weight of a hundred pairs of eyes seemed to mock her. She tucked her head against his chest in shame. “No,” she whispered.

      “You can,” he insisted gruffly.

      Again, ignoring the club rule of no touching, he placed both hands on her waist and centered her directly on his massive erection. “Now rub that sweet snatch all over this dick, and make me come, baby. Make me come,” he demanded.

      He then did the unthinkable. He snaked his tongue out and gently swiped at the seam of her lips.

      Sienna forgot about who might or might not be looking at them. Daringly, she stuck out her tongue and engaged in a short duel with his, lapping her wet tip against his before retreating it back into her mouth.

      With those words, that short kiss, and the hot feel of his shaft knifing against the seam of her vagina, Sienna felt the unmistakable beginnings of an orgasm shake her quivering body.

      “Oh God, I can’t believe this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t do this. I—”

      He pressed one finger against her lips, while the other kept her steady, riding him. “Sssh, it’s okay. I’ll protect you. Just come for me. Let it go,” he whispered, and adjusted her body, positioning them away from any chance onlookers.

      The music faded, smoothly blending into the next song; this one slower, the rhythms heavier, more sensual. A soft cry escaped her lips. Sienna closed her eyes, allowing the music to take over.

      “No, open your eyes. Look at me,” he demanded, and captured her lips, again, in a short, soft kiss.

      “Oh God—” she whimpered, yet obeyed his dictate.

      Sienna ground against him, tight swirls with her hips, curled her spine and smoothly popped her buttocks up and down in his lap. She didn’t know what was affecting her so strongly—the music, the dark, or the man she was riding. Or a combination of all three.

      Whatever it was, she was lost in the moment. She completely gave in to the sensations coursing through her body, the feelings this man had helped to create.

      She