Page 98 of You're so Bad

“Nah. But I do like to dance.”

And sing. And drive women insane with need—and also just plain insane.

He swings up onto the table and starts dancing on top of it, so I bring my feet up and turn toward him, laughing. He stalks across the table like a beast—and even though the table is also a beast, made out of a thick, heavy slab of wood designed to hold weight, it creaks under him. When he starts thrusting in time with the music, his dick inches away from my face, I laugh at first. I’m not laughing for very long, though, because raw need unspools inside of me. The next time he does it, I reach for the band of his shorts.

“No touching the talent, pretty lady,” he says, his arms clasped behind his head, showing off his biceps.

“Isn’t touching the fun part?”

“It’sallfun, Tiger.”

“I promise it’ll be more fun if you take them off.”

He starts swaying his hips, his arms moving through the air, and it truly is more than one woman’s ovaries can take.

“I’ll take my shorts off if you do the same.”

“I like it when you’re impatient for me,” he says with a smirk. But he must be feeling it too, because he adds. “Your shorts and your shirt.

“Deal.”

“You can leave your apron on, though.”

I laugh, because it’s about as unsexy as an apron can get. Long and wide and made of a fabric that might as well be burlap.

“You’ve got yourself a bargain.”

I stand up on the table too, earning another creak, and shake my ass as I shimmy out of my shorts. Might as well prove to him that he’s not the only one who can conquer at this game. It’s not easy taking off my shirt while leaving on the apron, but he threw it down, and I’m going to rise up to the challenge.

He swears under his breath as he takes off his shorts and underwear. He’s hard and thick, andI want him.Pulling me to him by the pocket of my apron, he kisses me. “You’re sexy in burlap,” he says into my lips. “I like the way it just barely covers your nipples.”

The song shifts to “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Getting Rick-rolled isn’t exactly sexy, but neither of us care enough to change it.

His lips find my neck, followed by his teeth, and one of his hands dips between my legs and then starts playing with my clit.

“What do you say? We gonna break this table, Tiger?”

“Let’s give it the old college try. Lie down for me.”

He looks up from my neck, his eyes flashing. “You’re finally gonna take me for a ride, huh?”

Heat floods my body, centering between my legs. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He lowers down, his eyes on me, and lies back. He looks like an offering on my table—a sacrifice. That thought sends worry through my veins before need chases it out, because his dick is pointing at me, just asking me to lower down onto it.

I straddle him right below it, teasing him—and myself—by rolling my hips.

He takes it for a minute or so, his hands caressing me under the apron, but then puts his hands on my hips and lifts me up.

I laugh, the sound gusty. “Now who’s impatient?”

“Both of us,” he says, grunting when I position him and then slowly lower down, taking him inch by delicious inch. The feeling ripples through me. My lips part, and he reaches up and touches them. I suck in his finger as I move against him, taking him at my speed.

“You feel so impossibly good,” he says, panting slightly. “You do whatever you want to me. Take your pleasure from me, baby.”

It’s maybe the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me, so of course he has to follow it up with, “I always dreamed about getting ridden by a woman in a burlap sack.”

“No…you haven’t.”

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