Page 60 of Claiming Atlas

I groan and scoot my chair back from the table a bit.

“What’s wrong?” Miss November sits to my left, and her voice is a bit closer than I would like. I want to reach out and see how much distance is between us, but if I accidentally graze her thigh or something, she might take that as an invitation.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me? I should be all over this chick. She could drop down to her knees right here and suck me off in front of all these people and no one would even know. I shouldn’t be wishing she were Kayla. I shouldn’t be so hung up on a girl I already spent the night with. This is not who I am.

Sloppy seconds are what I leave for other dudes, not what I go back for—

“Mr. Reynolds?”

I look up, but can’t see shit. “Yes?” I sound as irritated as I feel. There better be booze delivered soon. And by soon I mean ten minutes ago.

“I have that champagne you ordered.”

“What...?”

The hand on my shoulder nearly makes me jump up and swing at the guy until my brain catches up to my senses and I realize it’s not the server’s hand I feel.

I smile and lick my lips, then reach up and slide my hand over hers.

The champagne I ordered. Ha ha.

I guide Kayla around my chair and she sits on my lap quietly.

“Ooh,” Miss November says. “Can I get some champagne too?”

I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

The server takes the blonde chick’s order and Kayla brings her lips to my ear. “Be good,” she whispers. “No touching.”

I chuckle. She’s about to drive me fucking wild, isn’t she?

God, I hope so.

“Did you say something, Atlas?” Miss November asks from just a foot or so away.

Kayla runs her hand over my cock as she stands, and I clear my throat. “No, sorry. Just a tickle in my throat.”

The voices around us have picked up as people get used to the darkness and continue their conversations from earlier, none of them privy to the goddess that currently stands between my legs. I think they put bread on the table, but who can eat at a time like this? Kayla moves her ass closer to me, and I hate that I can’t see it, hate that I’ve never cared about any lap dance quite like I care about this one, yet I can’t fully appreciate it.

She’s going to repeat this for me later. With every damn light on in my hotel room.

She slides her ass down my lap, and my cock twitches, rising to the occasion. She turns around and brings her breasts to my face, moving them slowly back and forth. My hands itch to grab those perfect mounds, so I clench my fists at my sides. She brushes the soft skin of her cleavage across my face, and when she slides her hand through the back of my hair, I lean my head back to revel in her touch.

I’m not supposed to touch her.

But I’ve never been very good with rules.

She slides her legs on either side of me to straddle my lap, bringing her mouth so close to my ear that when I slide my hand over one round cheek and claim that ass like its mine, her soft intake of breath sends a wave of pressure into my dick. I squeeze again, waiting for her to chastise me, challenging her to tell me to keep my hands to myself...

But she doesn’t. Instead, she settles in more firmly on top of me.

Her breathing picks up speed, soft and quick in my ear as she grinds slowly in my lap. Is she also remembering the way she slid that soft pussy over my cock last night? I massage her ass with both hands now, and bring my nose to her throat to inhale deeply. I fucking love the way she smells.

And I finally realize why.

She smells like that trip I took to Maui when I was seven.

Coconuts... and the sea... and family. Home.

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