Читать книгу Body Moves - Jodi Lynn Copeland - Страница 9

Maybe it had to do with his change in attire to casual shorts and a polo shirt and the carefree style the warm, salty breeze lent his dark blond hair, but from the moment Jordan looked at her private golf course as if he couldn’t wait to get on it, Danica had experienced an odd sense she’d met him before. It relaxed her enough to share details of her life she wouldn’t have previously told him. For the first time, she’d been comfortable with him.

Then he offered to pay her for sex.

She should have pushed his ass out of the golf cart. Only, he deserved to be treated far worse, even if it meant risking his resort patronage, so she’d put her hand in his lap with the intent to taunt him hard and then leave him stranded in the middle of the course, with only his erection to keep him company. She hadn’t counted on his cock already being stiff or her sex to contract in anticipation of feeling him pumping inside her slick body.

“Does kink cost more or less?”

His sober tone was gone. Now he just sounded aroused, the jerking of his shaft beneath Danica’s palm removing any doubt. Her lips wanted to smile. She let them curve while her fingers stroked his cock through his shorts.

“Less.” She lengthened her strokes. Just because the dickhead started out hard didn’t mean she had to give up her plan of making him want her and then leaving him stranded. If she made herself crazy with wanting him in the meanwhile…It was the price one paid for playing with a fire as hot as Jordan Cantrell. “It’s vanilla sex I make men pay through the nose for. I can’t stand to be bored when I fuck.”

The frank language quickened her heart and seeped juice onto her panties. Danica turned on the cart’s bench seat, bringing her left leg under her and her right knee up to rub against his shaft with each of her finger’s strokes. The angle provided him a view up her skirt to her damp panties, and his gaze took no time in wandering there.

His pupils dilated, his breathing picking up. The tight set of his lips suggested it took all of his control to keep his hands at his sides. Her miscreant pussy ached to give him the go-ahead to touch her for free.

Jordan’s gaze lifted, traveling slowly up her body until he eyed her mouth so intently her lips burned for his kiss. Instinctively, she swayed toward him.

“What would twenty get me?”

Danica jerked back on the seat, feeling as though he’d slapped her.

What happened to thinking she looked good? She spent hours shopping for clothes that strategically hid her disfigured body while playing up her twin assets of naturally full, high breasts. Appearance alone had to be worth a couple hundred, right?

She narrowed her eyes. “Last night you surprised me into giving you a free fuck. Do you really think I’d sleep with you a second time for less than what a good meal costs?”

“I was talking thousands.”

Thousands? Good God, when the man shelled out for sex, he shelled out for sex. It was almost impossible to feel insulted over that much cash. Almost.

She lifted her hand from his cock. “C’mon, Jordan. I’m not some whore you pick up on the street corner. If you want the good stuff, you’re going to have to pay for it.”

“What do you usually get?”

Now there was the way to insult her, by suggesting she made a practice of selling her body. When precisely had she stopped owning a medical resort and started owning an island brothel?

Danica resisted the urge to put her hand back in his lap to do some serious damage to his nuts. For what he was implying, he deserved to suffer to the max. She caressed the bulge of his cock with her knee. “It’ll cost you fifty for a week of unlimited access.”

Jordan’s eyebrows shot up. “Jesus, at that rate, I would think the expansion would have happened long ago.”

Ah-ah-ah. Hesitation. Couldn’t be having that.

Going with vengeance, she crawled onto his lap and straddled him. Her skirt bunched up, riding higher on her bare thighs as she rubbed her sex against the hard ridge of his penis. “No way, baby. Raw materials and labor are less expensive down here, but they still aren’t free.” She gyrated her pelvis, and her clit scraped against his pubis. Moaning with the intensity of sensation rocketing through her, she grabbed hold of the seat on either side of his head and circled a second, pussy-flooding time. “Do we have a deal?”

“I want the terms in writing.”

Danica ceased her circling. His words didn’t match the lust sizzling in his eyes. They sounded planned. Who the heck was she dealing with, an undercover cop attempting to bust her for illicit behavior?

Her belly tightened with the realization he could well be a cop, or some similar law enforcer. She didn’t know what Jordan did for a living, and his need to know about the resort went well beyond what should concern a patient. It would also explain why he’d been so quick to accuse the place of operating unethically.

She shut out her restless stomach to give him a feline smile. “And open myself up to libel. I don’t think so.”

“Then there’s no deal.”

If he was a law enforcer, she had nothing to hide. If he wasn’t, he deserved everything he had coming to him.

She leaned into him fully, teasing her breasts against his chest as she brought her lips an inch from his. She ground against his dick, inhaling the warmth of his breath, letting him feel her own on his face. Then she eased her mouth to his ear and whispered, “That’s too bad. I was going to show you my favorite move with a sand wedge. In case you’re wondering, it doesn’t have anything to do with golf.”

Danica pushed off the back of the seat, propelling her over-aroused body to the passenger’s side of the cart. She crossed her legs and eased her skirt into place along her thighs. Pretending her pussy wasn’t quivering for release, her clit throbbing for his touch, she pointed into the distance. “There’s a small clubhouse over the next hill. I never got rid of my dad’s clubs. They should fit you fine.”

Danica slid out of the golf cart, grabbed her nine iron from the bags hooked to the back, and moved onto the fairway. Jordan sank back on the seat, pinched the bridge of his nose, and groaned.

How the fuck was he supposed to concentrate on or enjoy his game when for the last twenty minutes, he hadn’t been able to figure out what was going through her mind?

Would she have slept with him if he agreed to her outrageous deal? Did she regularly give prospective clients sexual benefits as he’d first guessed?

She was sure as hell acting like it.

With each swing, it became clearer she didn’t care where her golf ball landed. Instead, she focused on driving him mad with the tantalizing wiggle of her ass and provocative thrust of her breasts. She was playing to his dick, and his dick was ready to play her right back.

Reaching her ball in the middle of the fairway, she lobbed what should have been an easy shot onto the green into a sand trap. “Oops.”

Oops his ass. That was no accident.

He’d been around Danica long enough to note and appreciate she moved in a manner as ergonomically friendly to her body as possible, squatting to pick up items below knee level. She didn’t squat to retrieve the rake lying in the center of the sand trap but bent at the waist and dipped so far down, her black skirt rose up her plump backside to expose pale purple panties.

The color was darker at the crotch. Jordan’s cock twitched with the idea she was dripping wet for him. He could toss her down in the sand and be inside her hot folds in seconds. The move might prove pricey. Would the details be free? “What is your favorite move with a sand wedge?”

Tossing the rake onto the grass, she winked at him. “Show me the cash and I’ll show you the move.”

Without her signature stating she agreed to trade sexual acts for money, he shouldn’t give in to a damned thing. But maybe if he agreed to this one small thing without written proof, the next time around he would be able to get that proof. And maybe, with his body rock solid and his testosterone going wild, he didn’t give a shit about proving anything but how mind-blowing it felt sliding inside her tight sheath.

He stood from the cart. Pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his shorts, he thumbed through the bills. “I have roughly five hundred. Will that cover it?”

Indecision flickered through Danica’s eyes. She considered the money a good fifteen seconds before lifting her gaze to his. A slow smile curved her lips, gradually becoming the openmouthed grin that showcased her tongue and teeth and made his heart and cock hammer in tandem.

She made her way to the rear of the cart, hips swinging in seductive time with each step. She traded the nine iron for her sand wedge and then came to stand in front of him. “Normally, I would say no. I like you, and I love the way your eyes are the same turquoise blue as the sea, so just this once I’m going to say yes.”

Her palm came out. Part of Jordan hoped she wouldn’t accept the money, but the second he set the bills in her hand, she scooped them up. The top buttons of her short-sleeve black-and-white striped shirt came undone with the twist of her fingers. The sides parted to just above her navel. Milk-white cleavage rose generously from a bra the same shade of purple as her panties.

Flashing a brazen smile, she stuffed the money beneath the strap joining the cups of her bra. “Sure you don’t want to throw in another five hundred and be the first to witness the alternative use for a three wood? It’s a one-time offer at that rock-bottom price.”

His dick jumped against his zipper. Things had passed well beyond the “getting to know her better” zone. If he had another five hundred on him, he knew he would be forking it over and not entirely for the sake of proving her immoral. Fuck, not even close to entirely.

Jordan nodded at the bills sticking out from above her bra strap. “I’d love to.” The edge in his voice was as hard as the rest of him. “That’s all the cash I have.”

“In that case”—her hands came to his chest, and she shoved him back onto the bench seat—“sit back and relax. Things are about to get good.”

Kicking off the golf shoes she kept stored in the clubhouse, Danica brought her bare left foot up on the side of the cart. The skirt skated an inch up her thighs. He held his breath for another five inches to follow. The skirt didn’t budge. The movement of her hands more than made up for it.

Gripping the sand wedge near the top of its aluminum shaft, she ran the rubber end along the inside of her thigh, traveling slowly, sensuously higher, until the rubber grip disappeared beneath her skirt.

The subtle rasp of rubber against cotton screamed through his ears. On a hiss of breath, her eyes went wide, darkening to solid smoky gray. The rasp came a second time, and her hips arched toward him, as if seeking out his face, his lips, his tongue. Her foot slid higher on the side of the cart. The skirt hitched up her thighs.

One inch.

Two inches.

Jordan’s heart beat a wild tattoo. His fingers curled and uncurled with the want to shove the skirt up to her waist and uncover the erotic show happening below.

The bucking of her hips stopped. She jerked the club from her skirt and leaned it against the side of the cart. He sucked in a hard breath. That wasn’t the goddamned show. She would not end it so fast. Not without getting off.

Five hundred had better buy him the right to watch her orgasm.

He didn’t have a chance to voice the words before Danica stepped back from the cart and removed her panties. They teased from beneath her skirt and came down her legs as a silky caress. She outstretched her fingers and stroked them along her pale, glistening skin, pushing the sodden purple lace to her ankles.

She bent fully to step free of the panties. Her breasts pressed together, one of the bills slipping to the grass and tumbling away on the breeze. It could have been a ten. Just as likely a hundred. He didn’t give a damn. All his attention was focused on her breasts, waiting, hoping, praying her ample tits would pop out of the top and she would somehow work them into her show.

She straightened. Her breasts moved back into place still secured within her bra. He was disappointed for the two seconds it took for her to retrieve the sand wedge.

Her foot returned to the side of the cart, the club’s rubber-coated handle between her thighs. The skirt had settled back into place with the removal of her panties, concealing even her upper thighs from his view. The skirt was no match for sound.

Jordan’s blood thrummed with the slurping sound of the handle entering her pussy. Danica’s chin lifted while her eyelids drooped. Her lips parted on a pant, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. “Ah…yeah,” she sighed. “There’s nothing like the feel of hot, hard rubber filling me up. Nothing like being fucked by this big bad boy.”

His cock pulsated with each upward thrust of the club. Each slick sound of her cunt accepting the thick handle inside. Each deliciously throaty gasp tripping from her blood-reddened lips.

He fisted the edge of the seat, clinging for control. “Lift up your skirt.”

The club stilled. Her chin came down. Their eyes met. The lust in her gaze was raw and burning. “How much?”

Whatever she wanted…if only he had the money. “I told you I don’t have any more cash on me.” The words growled out.

She considered his face a few seconds and then looked at his fisted hands. Her eyes gleamed. “Pet your dick while you watch me. Don’t let yourself come until I say so, and we’ll consider your debt paid in full.”

Jordan sent a look around. They were hidden from view up here, and she’d insinuated the course belonged to her alone.

With a nod, he uncurled his hands from the seat, unbuttoned his shorts, and carefully jerked down the zipper. He eased off the seat far enough to tug his shorts and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, jutting up hard, throbbing, and deep purple.

Danica’s tongue rimmed her lips as she eyed his erection. “Nope. No phalloplasty needed there.”

Keeping her eyes trained on his dick, she removed her skirt. He caught a glimpse of fire red curls glistening with her essence in the sunlight, and then the handle of the sand wedge was hovering centimeters from her swollen cunt. She returned her foot to the cart. Every ounce of air in her lungs seemed to screech out as a throaty cry when she guided the club handle inside her pussy.

He grabbed hold of his cock out of desperation, stroking it in a method meant to ease his aching need to explode. The sight of her juicy pink folds devouring the black handle was too erotic for words. Still, he tried in a voice so thick he could barely understand himself. “Christ, you’re beautiful. I would have paid triple to see this.”

She tipped her hips toward his face, opening her sex as wide as her stance allowed. Far enough for him to watch the rubber taunt her clit with each pass. Far enough to seep her cream along the handle and down the club’s shaft. Far enough to have Jordan’s dick ready to burst despite his agreement with Danica not to come without her permission and his attempts to waylay his orgasm.

“Do you want to help me?” she purred. “I let my past customers help. It feels so much better not knowing when the shaft’s going to move inside you.” She shoved the club handle deeper inside, her moan punctuating the words. “Whether it’s going to take you slow or fuck you so hard you can’t stop from screaming.” She decreased and increased the slide of the sand wedge, her pelvis shifting with each shove, her shallow cries becoming quiet shouts of ecstasy.

“How many past customers?”

She laughed loudly and huskily, in a way that said she was too far gone with passion to control the sound. “Too many to count. A place like this takes a lot of money to keep up.” The timing of the club went wild. Her hips gyrated riotously, juice streaking along her thighs in a seemingly endless flood.

The heady scent of her musk filled his senses and sizzled his blood. “Last chance to help, Jord—Oooh, God. Too late.”

Jordan’s fingers closed hard around his dick, fighting off his climax as he watched orgasm roll through her. Rapture claimed her features, parting her mouth wide, narrowing her eyes, flushing her cheeks crimson.

Her thighs gave a last tremble, and her pussy erupted, cascading cream along the thrusting club as she screamed her elation.

He thought jealousy had made him assume the worst about her. Thought she would never be the type to sell her body for the sake of bringing the resort new patients and keeping the old ones coming back. Clearly, he’d been mistaken. Clearly, she traded sex for a profit on a regular basis.

How did the other guys react to her hedonistic show?

Jordan wanted to be disgusted. Instead he was tongue-tied and so hard and aching to fuck her, it was all he could do to stay in the cart.

Danica pulled the club from her body. Her juices caught the sunlight, shimmering on the sand wedge’s black handle as she tossed it on the grass. She leaned toward him, carnal desire smoldering in her heavily lidded eyes. Her lips parted on a breathy sigh, nostrils flaring as she dug her fingernails into the front of his shirt and tugged.

Her want was primal, blatant. Too much temptation to let pass.

He forgot about his mission at the resort and relented to her tugging. She pulled him from the cart, pushing him down on his back in the grass, using the shorts and boxers wrapped around his thighs to trap him in place.

Not that he wanted to go anywhere. His cock pulsated for the hungry grip of her pussy. He opened his arms, expecting her to come into them immediately.

She stayed still, while her eyes journeyed down his body. Her gaze turned frosty as it met with his straining shaft. Venom clung to her words. “For a few minutes on the ride up here, I thought you might not be such a bad guy.” She jerked the bills from her bra and threw them at him. “I was wrong. You’re an asshole.”

Jordan’s breath hitched out as she snatched her skirt and shoes from the grass. Then she hopped in the cart and, flipping him the finger over her shoulder, sped away.