Page 27 of Blue Collar Hotties

She’s dressed in a long sleeved dress today, made from a thick, clingy fabric that comes down to her mid-thigh. It’s black and white, checkered like a chessboard. Her dark hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and her thick eyeliner makes her look extra feline. Like Cleopatra.

She’s gorgeous. So perfect it makes my insides sing. That girl is a walking work of art, and no one else seems to have noticed.

Well, people are idiots. Their loss.

My heart thunders as I spread one hand over the chilled glass. Can Lenore see how badly I want to touch her? How much Ineedher already, even though we only spoke for the first time yesterday?

If I climbed down the scaffolding and rode the elevator up through the office, would Lenore welcome me with open arms? Let me kiss her, touch her, rub all over her body until our scents mingled together?

Or would it break this delicate spell we’ve woven between us? I can’t risk it.

“Stand up,” I say, jerking my chin to illustrate. Maybe she can hear my voice, muffled by the glass, or maybe she just gets me. Either way, Lenore wobbles to her feet, smoothing her dress down her thighs.

She’s wearing plain black flats with gold buckles on the toes. I nod at them and she kicks them off without hesitation, her bare feet so delicate on the ugly brown carpet.

Her eyes are bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed pink. That perfect chest rises and falls beneath her clingy dress, and Christ, I might not survive this. Might just die of a heart attack, right up here on the eighth floor, when all she’s done is kick off her shoes.

“Spin,” I say, circling one finger in the air, and sure enough, Lenore turns for me on the spot. Nice and slow and teasing, watching me with those fever-bright eyes over her shoulder. Giving me a show; letting me see her from all angles.

My hand balls into a fist where it rests on the glass.

Her laugh is silent, but Iseeit. See her chest hitch and the sound burst past her lips. A chuckle rumbles out of me too, warming my chest on the way through.

When she turns all the way back to face me, I’m lost for a moment. Because what else can I ask of her? What else can I mime through the glass? A hundred things leap to mind, of course they do, but I’d never demand them of my angel. Not without warning; not after only one day. I’d rather cut off my own ear than scare this girl away.

But when I hesitate, when I take too long to give another order, Lenore goes rogue. She takes matters into her own mischievous hands, gathering the hem of her dress an inch higher. An inch higher. Then another inch, the fabric gathered slowly into her grip.

My tortured groan echoes across the rooftops.

Lenore smiles, and it’s like being scorched by a ray of sunshine.

She drags the dress up slowly, slowly, the fabric brushing over every dip and curve of her body, and my heart stops beating when she tugs it over her head, then drops it into an unceremonious pile by her feet.

I don’t hear the dress hit the floor, but I see the sketches lifted and tossed, fluttering away on invisible air currents. Bet that dress is warm to the touch. Bet it smells like her.

Lenore watches me, dressed in nothing but a yellow lace bra and matching panties. The lamplight paints her skin gold, casts strange shadows across one side of her body, and I can’t look away. Can’t even blink.

My heart lurches back to life, thudding painfully against my ribs. The icy wind tugs at my hair, flaps my shirt against my body, but I don’t feel it anymore.

I’m burning up out here. Burning alive.

A single fingertip coasts across her collarbone, the nail painted emerald green. It swoops down, down, tracing a line across the center of Lenore’s chest, and my neck is stiff as I wheel around, checking there are no nosy neighbors who can see my girl right now. No late office workers or bored renters in their apartments, staring at Lenore instead of their TV screens.

Nope. We’re pretty high up here, and the nearest windows are all dark, or have their curtains drawn against the cold evening. She’s safe.

All mine.

I turn back to the window, cock pressing so hard against my fly that my zipper’s gonna leave one long, slender bruise.

While I wasn’t looking, Lenore lost the bra altogether. Now she’s standing there, almost completely bare, with those puffy nipples and that creamy skin and that happy, blissed out smile—like this is a dream come true for her, too. Like she loves our shared moments as much as I do.

It’s jarring how innocent she seems, even standing in a shadowed office in nothing but yellow lace panties. When she mouths my name, cupping her own breasts, she’s so fucking sweet.

Her eyebrows pinch together as she rubs and squeezes. As she pinches and twists and kneads, working herself up for my eyes and my eyes alone, her thighs restless as they rub together.

My breath fogs the glass. If I get any closer, my nose is gonna squish to the side.

I rap harshly on the window.

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