Page 95 of Arrogant Bastard

“You’re calling because you want me to come over now though, right?” he urges impatiently.

“Not yet. Can you come in fifteen minutes?”

He stays silent for a beat, and I know his patience is straining. “Okay. But this better be fucking good.”

I glance over at the pole. “It will be.” I take my finger off the button and hurry through the final preparations.

By the time he turns the handle and enters the room, I’m in position.

He freezes in the doorway, looks from my face to the pole to the floor-length cloak hiding my outfit, and back again. He takes a few more steps inside. His breathing alters, turning a little uneven. Without taking his eyes off me, he holds up a bottle of vintage Krug champagne and two glasses. “Courtesy of Debbie,” he murmurs in a low, gravel-rough voice.

I nod.

He stops next to the bed. “Would you like a glass?” he asks.

“Not just yet. But go ahead and pour yourself one.”

He takes a deep breath. His mouth works for a moment before he drags his eyes from me long enough to set the glasses down and deal with the foil of the champagne bottle. While he’s busy doing that, I allow my gaze to drift over him.

He must have taken a quick shower after my call. His hair is damp, and his feet are bare. The tailored pants he’s wearing aren’t belted, and his black silk shirt is completely unbuttoned. The sight of his ripped torso makes my stomach flutter.

The cork pops, and I jump. My gaze returns to his face, and his mouth is pinched tight as he pours the frothing liquid into the glass.

He flicks a glance at me. “Sure you don’t want one?”

I shake my head. “No, thanks.” I nod at the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He eyes the bed and then my dark red cloak and mutters, “Fuck,” before he drains the drink.

He discards the glass and steps onto the wide bed. With his gaze still pinned on me, he slowly slides down the headboard into the pile of pillows. “I’m not going to survive this, am I?” he mutters under his breath.

I smile, say nothing, and press a button on the remote in my hand. Low, throbbing music starts on hidden speakers. Another button diffuses the lighting in the room except the one above my head.

Killian watches me like a hawk, his hands on his thighs. As the sound of “Earned It” filters through the room, I toss the remote away and reach for the fastening on the cloak.

The second it drops, Killian jackknifes on the bed. “Jesus!” His voice is little more than a strained, shaky growl, but the effect of it burns straight through me. “Shit…Faith, you look…God you look…” Killian stops and shakes his head.

My outfit consists of a black leather bikini and a garter belt attached to full leather riding chaps. But the bikini bottom is a thong, and the chaps connect to six-inch, red-soled stilettos. As for the bikini top, one wrong move and the girls will pop out.

The rabid look in his eyes drives me to distraction. But I have a performance to give, so I press my siren-red-painted lips together, attempting to ground myself as I wrap my hands around the pole behind me. “It’s not GI Jane, but—”

“Fuck GI Jane,” he snarls thickly. “This…holy fuck, baby, is so much better,” he croaks.

I offer him a smile. “Then lie back and enjoy, Killian.”

For a moment I think he’s not going to do it. The look in his eyes tells me he wants to rush over and claim me. But the music is wasting so I slide down the pole, widening my legs as I sink onto my heels.

With another curse, Killian drops back onto the pillows. His eyes flick to the mirror above me for a second before they return, a little wilder. I slowly rise again, circling the pole before I take a firm hold and swing myself in a wide arc.

He sees the back of my outfit for the first time, and a hiss breaks free. One hand reaches for the thick erection pulsing beneath his fly. He grips himself through his pants and gives a strangled groan. I complete another arc, wrapping my legs around the pole before letting gravity draw me down. Through my bangs, I watch his breathing worsen, his lips parting as he struggles for oxygen.

I step away from the pole with my back to him, rotate my hips in a slow circle clockwise and then counter-clockwise before I lean over to grab the pole again. With my legs planted a few feet apart, the position gives him full view of my ass and the shadow of my sex.

I dip my torso even lower so I can watch him from between my legs. His fly is halfway open, and his lower lip is caught firmly between his teeth.

I’m a little nervous about my next move, but I fight the unease and pray my Muay Thai has conditioned me enough to do it. I plant my hands on the floor and kick up my legs. I maintain the handstand for a brief, blessed moment before I scissor my thighs around the top of the pole. When I feel stable enough, I pull myself up and wrap my arms around the steel. I’m so pleased with myself that I undulate my hips against the metal, simulating the ride I’d rather be performing.

“So beautiful. God…so beautiful…” His voice is barely coherent.

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