Page 118 of Ewan

I didn’t expect to witness such a performance.

And for sure, I didn’t think this woman would hug that pole with her sculpted legs like it was an Olympic sport.

I’ll be damned.

She was soft and smelled nice when I had her in my arms. She cuddled like a kitten, not a lioness.

That smile on her face does me in.

It’s blank––any fool can see that––but I hope she’ll have it when she is on her back and I enter her slowly.

My hard-on twitches, and I do the honorable thing and adjust myself under the table.

That’s what I get for being critical about the men who touched their dicks under the tables. Now I’m one of them.

Good thing I had the inspiration to ask for a booth that is not in the line of sight of anyone dancing on the stage.

I didn’t want her to spot me.

Hell, no.

That would’ve spelled being a creep and a loser, a combo not many women are fond of.

I adjust my package, but my cock only swells before stirring again, stiff as a twig, and as I reach under the table and cup my groin, I feel the throbbing tension, and I can’t take my hand away.

My touch rests on my erection––a terrible idea––while my eyes move over her body and her face.

Her eyes.

Look at her damn eyes.

Again, where was this woman?

Had she been a stranger I saw in a bar, a restaurant, or a hotel, I would’ve had her then and there.

There is something about her.

Does the people she works with know this woman?

Of course not. And I won’t rat her out. I do questionable things myself, so who am I to judge?

Still, I wish Elisa could see Miss Scarlett.

The good teacher. Colley’s crush.

She is a good teacher. She’s also a good woman. And she’s alsothis.

Her lips grab my attention more than they should, and as I study them, crazy images flash in front of my eyes, and I feel their softness against me as if my fantasy is happening in real time.

And then their warmth and the lipstick smeared across my veiny hard-on, and her tongue slowly moving around the head of my erection while my blood zips through my veins.

Propped back in my seat with an untouched drink in front of me, hidden in the dark, I cup and squeeze my bulge and do the unthinkable, massaging my erection.

As bad as this is, it also feels good.

She smiles––the object of my affection––and I get more tension in my groin.

How could I mess it up so badly with her, and why did I have to overthink everything?

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