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.
Her belly dropped.
He repeated the motion with the second button. His refusal to dance for them only made everyone crazier. Dollar bills started flying through the air and chants of “Take it off!” vibrated in the air. He ignored the other women, focused intently and only on her.
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
In this crowded room, he stripped for her eyes. A line of naked flesh appeared in the gaps. Arilyn caught the hues of light brown skin, and a patch of dark hair swirled over cut, chiseled muscles. Hungrily, her gaze followed the tempting path until his shirt gaped open, giving her a tantalizing peek.
She wondered how he tasted. Wondered how it would feel to run her tongue over that intriguing line of hair and follow it downward.
“Do you want me to open my shirt, Arilyn?” His question burned her ears in more of a command. Even with the deafening noise, she heard him clearly, as if they were alone in a darkened room on a quiet night. Her body began to shake, and she gripped her martini glass tight. Oh, how she wanted. Bad, dirty, wonderful things. She was helpless to fight.
“Yes.”
His lower lip lifted. Those dark eyes pinned her to the chair as capably as the handcuffs hanging on his belt. With slow, deliberate motions, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slowly parted the material.
The women went wild.
“More, more, more!”
Her mouth went dry. Her fingers itched to run over that gorgeous broad chest, tracing every carved muscle. Feeling the strength and power under each flex of movement, the