Page 66 of Rooster

I tease the edge of his sweats, wanting to go even lower but also enjoying the suspense.

"Mmm," he groans when I dip a single finger past his waistband. "Careful."

I pull my hands back, wanting him to lead wherever this may go. I step back, take a seat, and grab the towel he so thoughtfully added to the basket to wipe my oily hands on.

"My dance?" I ask, grinning up at him.

"Don't laugh at me," he says as he pulls in a deep breath. "This is going to be awful."

"There's absolutely no way."

"Famous last words," he says, but he's still smiling as his hips roll.

I sit back and enjoy the show, trying my best to look as if I'm enjoying it but not express just how turned on I am.

His body moves slowly, the beat of the music sensual and all-encompassing.

When his thumbs dip into his waistband, shifting the fabric some, I just know I'm seconds away from panting like I've been stuck in the desert with no water for the last month.

His smile is seductive and genuine all at the same time, and I feel like I've won the lottery having all of his attention to myself.

"Ready for these to come off?"

His laughter echoes around the room when he earns another enthusiastic nod from me.

"Wanna help?" he asks, stepping toward me to the point that I have to open my legs to give him room.

His abs are inches from my face. If he weren't covered in baby oil, I don't know that I could resist running my tongue over the ripples of muscle.

He reaches for my hands, guiding them down his body until they're resting on his waistband.

He chuckles when I hook my thumbs into both his sweats and the band of his boxer briefs. His hands cover mine, stopping them.

"Slow down," he whispers. There's an edge to his voice that tells me he wants what I'm offering, but at the same time, he wants to prolong this moment.

I look up at him as I reposition my thumbs into only his waistband. His head is bent, and his chin is curled into his chest as I lower his sweatpants. A lot of good it did not pulling his boxer briefs down too because there's no hiding the thick ridge of his cock that's now inches from my face.

His chest rises and falls, his breaths seeming more difficult, and it thrills me that I could be turning him on just as much as he's affecting me right now.

I run my hands down his muscular thighs, removing his sweats as I go, and I love the delicious scratch of his leg hair on my palms.

"You seem to be enjoying this," I whisper.

"Immensely," he returns, bending at the waist so he can pull the sweats off completely.

I fully expect the dance to continue, but he doesn't straighten up once he kicks the pants away. Instead, he bends with his hands on the chair at my thighs and brushes his lips along my throat.

The warmth of his breath on the delicate skin of my neck makes a wave of goosebumps cover my arms.

"So glad I got the backstage pass," I whisper, needing a moment of humor because there's nothing comical about how this man makes me feel.

The crazy thing is I don't want to just hop on his dick. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for a ride on what's hiding in his boxers, but I can also see myself lying on his chest and watching television. There's something about that level of intimacy that scares me a little.

"Fuck you're perfect," he says, his mouth sweeping from my neck to my lips.

The kiss is electrical, waves of energy passing between us.

His tongue matches mine, the swirl of it perfect and intoxicating. When he moans, I swallow the sound, feeling it race down my throat and settle right into the middle of me.

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