Get Your Sexy On. Kimberly Kaye Terry

      Mac pulled her closer and slanted his lips over hers, completely covering her mouth. After what had transpired between the two of them during her lap dance, he’d been as horny as his seventeen-year-old randy nephew.

      Despite what happened in the club in front of that asshole, Damian Marks, Mac knew it had been more than a dance, more than a grind, for her as well.

      He’d felt her slight body tremble, quivering, as she danced in his lap, grinding her body against his cock, and had witnessed the complete ecstasy in her eyes as the orgasm burned through her.

      He’d been seconds away from coming as well—to hell with whoever was looking. For once, he’d been as caught up in a woman, a moment, as the woman he’d been pleasuring. Even if it had been in public, in full view of anyone who happened to glance their way.

      Damn.

      He didn’t know if he’d ever been that turned on. Not since he’d been a grown man, at any rate. Had it not been for his concern for her, his desire to shield her from gawkers, he wouldn’t have given a damn who saw what he was doing to her in the club. What she had been doing to him.

      And now he planned on finishing what they started.

      He pushed her down on the sofa and covered her body with his, not giving up the connection of her lush, beautiful lips with his.

      He tunneled his fingers through her hair, pulled her head tighter, closer. “Why are you still wearing this?” he asked, pulling on the wig.

      “I can take it off.” She sounded hesitant, almost shy. With a brief nod, he asked her to remove the wig.

      She pulled out several pins and removed the wig. She wore her dark hair short. The thick curls softly framing her face made her look younger than she did in the heavy makeup and fake hair she wore while dancing.

      “God, this is the wrong time to ask this, but how old are you?” He held his breath. Shit! If she wasn’t legal, no matter how much he wanted to make love to her, there was no way in hell he’d have sex with a minor.

      Her startled laughter rang out. “No fears. I’m definitely over the age of consent. I can show you ID if you need it.” Despite his raging hard-on, Mac felt like laughing at her quip.

      “No, I’ll take your word for it,” he said, and pulled her full, bottom rim between his teeth and sucked it, pulled on it, bit it, licked it, and shoved his tongue into the moist cavern of her mouth.

      “Damn, your mouth is sweet.” He broke away from her. He’d wanted to take it slow with her, as slow as he could. But he couldn’t. He needed to feel her, naked and writhing, beneath him.

      Mac watched her closely as he unbuttoned her blouse and unclipped the front closure of her bra. He stifled a groan when her small, creamy brown breasts, slightly lighter in complexion than her face, tumbled free, and her dark cherry budded nipples stood erect and proud, begging for his touch.

      He cupped one of the perfect mounds in one hand and stroked a hard, calloused thumb over the protruding nipple, fascinated by the way it stretched and elongated the more he manipulated it.

      “Hmmm,” she groaned, and his gaze flew to her face.

      “You like that?” he asked gruffly, and she nodded, eyes closed.

      “Yes,” she answered, her breath coming out in soft puffs of air.

      “You’ll like what I’m going to do next, more. Lift your hips.”

      She lifted her small hips and Mac slid her jeans, along with her panties, down her legs in one smooth motion, exposing her.

      He tossed the clothes on the floor without looking, keeping his eyes locked on her bared body. One of her legs dangled off the side of the sofa, the other was perched on one of the cushions, leaving her open to him.

      He’d seen her dancing, nearly naked, for a week, yet it hadn’t prepared him for what she’d look like nude.

      Although small, her breasts seemed large in comparison to her waist, but her hips and thighs flared out, toned and smooth.

      Instead of being shaved smooth, as he suspected she would be, she had a small thatch of hair covering her pussy. It was centered, in a perfect line, down the middle of her mound. Short enough that he could see her tiny clit poking out.

      Mac’s index finger feathered over her tuft, seeing if the curls were as soft as they appeared, before separating the lips of her vagina. It turned him on that the skin of her inner lips was a darker brown than the skin on her body.

      He dipped his fingers inside and screwed his fingers inside her drenched slit. He withdrew them, soaked with her juices, and licked her cream away.

      His own breath was becoming as labored as hers when his gaze traveled to her face and he saw the stamp of arousal there. His nostrils flared as the heady smell of her arousal wafted up to his nose, engulfing him in its heady embrace.

      He wondered how many men she’d done this with. How many men had she danced for and allowed to take her home, allowed to stroke and lick her?

      How many men had tasted a bit of sin?

      “What—what’s wrong?” she asked.

      He felt her immediate unease and schooled his features away from the anger he felt tightening his face. The hesitancy, the aloneness he’d detected in her from the moment he’d first seen her on stage, was starkly at odds with the side of her personality that allowed her to strip her clothes and dance for a bevy of strangers on a nightly basis.

      Mac was uneasy with the duality in her nature. He also felt uncomfortable with his anger.

      The urge to find the score of nameless men she’d shed her clothes for, exposed her beautiful body to, and knock their teeth down their collective throats raised a red haze of anger, clouding his vision and his mind.

      He clenched his teeth and forcibly shoved the need out of his head and concentrated on the woman in front of him.

      “Nothing’s wrong. You’re beautiful.”

      “Thank you,” she returned huskily. He knew he hadn’t said enough to reassure her. She needed reassurance that only he could provide.

      He wasn’t an eloquent man. He didn’t know how to communicate to her, the need he had, the newness of it, the connection he’d had with her from the moment he’d seen her on stage—something he didn’t understand.

      “You can trust me.”

      She needed the flowery words, but he didn’t know how to express the intensity of his attraction to her.

      Damn, he hoped she trusted he would take care of her, if only for this night. She didn’t need to fear him.

      Her pink tongue swiped the generous swell of her lower lip. His heart clenched when she gave a hesitant smile. “Yes,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I trust you.”

      He groaned, leaned down, pressed himself against her, and captured her lips within his. Minutes passed as he sucked and caressed her lips, until both of their breaths were ragged.

      Reluctantly he released her mouth and trailed lingering kisses down her throat; his dick hard, pressing instantly against her bared core. He laved her neck, swirling his tongue in the hollow of her throat.

      One hand found and cupped the soft swell of one breast, tugging at the erect nipple. The other hand trailed down her body, searching for and finding the minute thatch of curls guarding the entry at the apex of her thighs.

      He tunneled his hands past the furred vee, separated the lips of her vagina, and alternately stroked down each side. She was hot and creamy, her sweet dew sticky, covering his fingers, and Mac groaned, imagining the feel of it saturating his cock.

      He slipped one finger inside her tight, moist opening and massaged her plump clit, rubbing the hard, blood-filled tip until she whimpered, crying out from the pleasure he gave her.