Page 32 of Assassin's Obsession

But I promised not to fuck her and if I get her naked, I'm not sure I can keep that promise.

Reaching for one of my hands, she pulls it toward her. "If you take off your gloves, you can feel me."

There's no holding back the groan her invitation pulls out of me.

"You want me to touch you?" I ask, to be sure.

"Yes."

Fury fights with desire.

Desire wins. This is my woman. And whether she knows the man she's inviting to touch her perfect flesh is me, or not, I'm the only one that ever will.

I peel one of the gloves from my hand and pause. I'm not putting it on this sofa when I have to put it back on later. Of course, tonight is the one time I'm not wearing my cargo pants with extra gloves in one of the pockets.

Sitting here I can feel the DNA of others crawling over my skin despite the barrier of my clothes.

Candi puts her hand out. "Give it to me."

I do before removing the other glove and doing the same.

She walks over to the chest and takes out a new paper towel before laying it on top and then putting the gloves on top. She's so fucking perfect for me.

Her strut is confident as she walks back across the room, but there's no mistaking the nerves reflected in her eyes, the vulnerable way she bites her bottom lip, the way her long nails curl into her palms.

She doesn't stop until she's right in front of me though, her body undulating to the music.

The air grows sultry with want around us, the vulnerability replaced by desire in her gaze. There's a pulse pounding in her neck to match the one thundering in my chest.

She wants this.

I fist my hands on my thighs to stop myself from reaching for her. She's not ready for my hands on her, no matter what she says. But she will be.

Leaning back on the couch, I spread my legs to give her room to dance between them and then beckon her with a backward jerk of my head.

Her pupils dilate with excitement as she steps forward, bending at the waist so her gorgeous tits sway in front of me. Then she spins around, her arms lifting so her hands can slide under the silky brown hair. She lifts it away from her nape, giving me an unfettered view of her curvy ass as it jiggles with her movements.

Nothing about Candi is fake. Not her tits. Not her ass and when that bountiful flesh shimmies in front of me, all I want is to touch. Who she believes I am be damned.

Then she steps forward and bends down, giving me a glimpse of naked pussy lips barely contained by a thin strip of white satin.

She's wet and the satin clings to her lips, hinting at the slit I want to bury my cock in.

The sound that comes from my throat is pure frustrated need.

Her hands slide around her ankles from the inside, the grip holding her in place as she whips her hair in a move I've seen a thousand times from other dancers. But with her, it's always different.

Fantasies of jacking myself off with her long ponytail morph into burying my hands in her long locks as I fuck her mouth.

I groan. "You're so fucking sexy, Candi."

She straightens and looks at me over her shoulder. "I'm glad you think so."

Are those words for me, or for the stranger she agreed to give a private lap dance?

Shoving the irritating thought aside, my eyes devour the sight of this beautiful woman moving so sensually for my eyes only.

The song playing goes into a staccato beat and she spins back, kicking her leg high, swinging her stiletto covered foot in an arc over me.

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