Page 23 of The Bachelor

Damn him.

He knew how hard this was going to be for me—that was why he wanted it.

He thought I was going to fail.

I wished more than anything that I had three more glasses of wine in me, but he’d taken away the first, and I knew he’d done that on purpose too.

Such a little shit.

He glanced at his watch before he took a drink. “I’m waiting.”

Regardless of how challenging this would be, I wasn’t going to fail.

If he wanted me naked and coming, then that was exactly what I’d give him.

I tried to fill my lungs as best I could and stood, figuring that would be the easiest way to take off my clothes.

There was no reason to rush at this point, so I found the beat in the music. Trying to get lost in the rhythm, I slowly slipped off my blazer and heels, dropping the jacket beside me, and left on the tube top while I unbuttoned my jeans, lowered the zipper, and peeled them off my legs. Since the shirt was tight enough to act like a bra, I had nothing on underneath, and below was just a lacy light-pink thong.

As I took everything off, I didn’t look at him. I didn’t have the courage. He was too beautiful, too experienced, too honest in his assessment—things I didn’t want to see.

But I looked now.

And what stared back was a heat.

A fire in his eyes.

In his cheeks.

Lips.

I took a seat on the couch and pushed all the way back into the deepest part of the cushion. While I gazed at him, I dug for that bravery I used during work whenever I presented a new concept to one of my large clients.

I knew my body, my own touch.

I didn’t know what it was capable of when it came to a man, but I knew what I liked.

What I could do to myself.

So, I ran my fingers down my chest, pulling the material with me as I dipped, gradually revealing my cleavage and nipples, and as the hem lowered to my ribs, I finally freed my breasts.

Now that I was topless, his stare warmed even more.

Does he like what he sees?

Is he turned on?

I tried not to get too far into my head as I pulled the wrap down my torso, hooked my fingers into the sides of my thong, and brought it with me as I traveled past my thighs and knees and over my toes.

I spread my legs, showing him what was between them, except my palm was there, gently tapping that sensitive spot at the very top.

“Fuck me, Oaklyn.”

Those three words told me he wanted to take me in.

He wanted to see what this proposition really looked like.

And even though that thought made my entire body blush, made me want to jump behind the couch, I moved my hand, revealing the rest of me. I then separated my legs even more, pressing my heels into the edge of the cushions beside me.

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