Читать книгу Get Your Sexy On - Kimberly Kaye Terry - Страница 15

Sienna’s back stiffened against Mac’s chest with his abrupt question.

Yeah, he had no damn right to ask her the question he had, but that hadn’t stopped the words from flying out of his mouth.

Mac held her close, his breathing calming. The fine tremors she’d elicited from him when he’d first stroked into her were easing, finally, with his release.

“You have no right to ask me that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You have no control over me. My body is my own, to share with whom I please.”

She was right; he had no right. But the thought of her allowing another man to rock into her hot, sweet pussy was an image he wanted scrubbed from his mind.

When she tried to move from him, he pulled her tight, his hold strong. He refused to allow her to run away from him.

“Answer me,” he demanded, ignoring the truth of her words, intent on getting her to answer his question.

The silence stretched out, until he thought she would refuse to answer. When she did reply, he had to strain to hear her words.

“No, I don’t,” she answered, her voice clipped. When she offered no further words of explanation, he turned her body around, impatient, forcing her to look at him.

“Why me?” He framed her soft face with his hands and stared down at her intently.

She worried her bottom lip, scraping the lush rim with her small white teeth. She stared up at him, uncertainty in her dark eyes.

“I don’t know. Right place, right time…right man,” she answered flippantly, but Mac saw past the words and the careful, neutral expression. He was trained to read feelings no matter how well someone tried to hide them.

Instead of challenging her, he let the question go. He leaned down and captured her soft lips with his, lingering, pulling her bottom rim into his mouth, before slowly releasing it.

She raised her hands to cover his, cupping the sides of her face.

“Does any of that matter?”

Mac opened his mouth to speak, ready to give her a swift rebuttal, but he clamped his mouth, just as suddenly.

He didn’t want to get wrapped up with this woman. Yes, he wanted her, had wanted her from the first time he’d seen her on stage. And after the lap dance she’d performed, there had been no way he’d be able to leave her alone until he’d slaked his lust for her.

And that’s all it was. Pure lust.

He captured her lips with his, kissed her until both of them were breathless, before releasing her.

“No, it doesn’t. Only the here and now.” His gaze traveled down her small nose and lingered on her sensual full lips. Lips stained red from his kisses.

Mac cupped the back of her head and led her to his chest, lying back against the plump pillows near the headboard of the bed. After a hesitant moment, she laid her head on his chest, her soft curls tickling his nose when he rubbed his chin back and forth over the top of her head.

“You should wear your own hair when you dance. It’s beautiful.” He fingered a lock of hair between his fingers. It was thick and smooth in texture. “Why don’t you?”

“I wear it short, and most of the customers like long hair, adds to the fantasy.” She laughed, a short, humorless-sounding laugh.

“Doesn’t add to my fantasy. You’re beautiful. Would still be beautiful even if you were slick bald.”

Sienna’s answering laugh was more genuine this time. “Thank you.” Her fingers toyed with the hair on his chest as she continued speaking. “Also, it adds to the anonymity. All they see on stage is a body. When I wear the wig, it helps to disguise me even more,” she disclosed.

Mac was quiet. Over the last week, he’d seen that she didn’t dance for anyone but herself.

“How long have you danced?” He lifted her body, until she was laying on top of him, her head resting comfortably beneath his chin.

“Jac…I had been living in a real dump, couldn’t afford anything decent after I moved to DC. I struggled for a few years, working odd jobs here and there, along with working as a waitress to make ends meet.”

Mac caught the slip. She was about to utter the same name Damian said earlier in the evening. The name Marks choked out, which had made cold fear appear in her eyes.

“I’ve been dancing at the Sweet Kitty for four years,” she finished.

“How old were you when you ran away?” He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She leaned away from his chest and peered into his eyes, intently, in the dark.

“Who said anything about me running away?”

“Didn’t you run away?” he asked, leaving it up to her to share or not.

A fraction of silence before she answered, “Eighteen. I was eighteen when I left.”

Mac stroked his hands over her hair as she spoke, silent, listening intently.

“I left home as soon as I turned eighteen, hadn’t even graduated from high school. But it was time. So, on my eighteenth birthday, I left.”

“Did your family ever look for you?”

“I don’t have much family to speak of. Lived in foster homes most of my life,” she told him. The admission didn’t surprise him. “Didn’t see any use in hanging around a place I wasn’t wanted. As far as anyone looking for me? No.”

“Wouldn’t your foster parents notify your caseworker?”

“Why would they? They still got their check from the state for me until I turned eighteen. Once the checks ended, they didn’t give a damn one way or another. I’m sure they got another kid to fill my bed.” She laughed without humor.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured.

“It’s life. I learned at an early age life wasn’t fair. You work the cards you’re dealt, don’t rely on anyone but yourself, and don’t get caught up, don’t get hurt that way.”

Mac ran one hand down her back, caressing her soft, satiny skin.

He’d always thought he was a hard son of a bitch, detached. He’d helped raise his kid sister, did his stint in the army, got banged up, and tended to play his emotional cards close. Or so he was always told. He wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type. He now wondered who was the most closed off emotionally—he or the beautiful woman who lay on top of him.