Читать книгу Bare Necessities - Marie Donovan - Страница 8

“TELL ME AGAIN WHY you insisted on bringing me home?” Bridget unlocked her front door and flipped on the light. Adam reached for her suitcase to carry it in but she glared at him and grabbed it herself.

“We need to talk.” Adam followed her into her apartment, his cheek throbbing. He hadn’t been there since her moving day. That heavy-ass Ping-Pong table held her sewing machine and several scraps of shiny material.

“Talk about what? How you got into a brawl with a stripper and were ejected by the bouncer?”

“Hey, I was not brawling with her. I lost my balance and she kicked me.”

“You’re lucky Jinx didn’t crack you with her whip.”

He shuddered. Totally not his scene. “That is one scary chick.”

“What were you even doing there? I thought you finally grew up and stopped going to strip clubs.”

“I did. And how do you know I used to go?”

She curved her face into a look of mock puzzlement. “Was it Colin or Dane I overheard bragging? Probably Dane, since he’s single, and Colin isn’t. Didn’t you used to take Dane to clubs when he came to Chicago for business?”

“Damn. Those brothers of yours have some big mouths on them.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. So go home, and put some ice on your cheek.” She pointed at the door.

Adam was halfway out the door when he stopped. Very slick. Her excellent offensive attack had almost distracted him from his own questions. He turned back to her. “I was dropping off a coworker on my way home when I saw you arguing with that bouncer. What the hell were you doing at a strip club?”

She paused from hanging up her coat. “The logical assumption would be that I am dancing at Frisky’s.”

He couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing.

“Why is that so hard to believe? You don’t think I’m sexy enough?” She glared at him. Uh-oh.

“Come on, Bridge. You, a stripper? You always wear the baggiest clothes possible and blush beet-red if anybody even glances at your—” He gestured abruptly at her breasts, too embarrassed to even say the word.

“Maybe I’ve changed since I moved to the city. Maybe certain things don’t embarrass me anymore.” She moved to her futon and picked up a shiny lime-green bra. “Don’t you think this would make a perfect stripper top? Not that I would be wearing it all that long, anyway.” She grabbed a matching thong off her worktable.

“Whoa, are you serious?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re dancing at Frisky’s?”

She held the green bra to her chest and shimmied a bit. “What do you think, Adam?”

“Oh, my God.” He looked, really looked around her apartment for the first time. A chrome clothes rack held a black corset thingie, a Day-Glo pink bra and panties, and a white vinyl tube top. No, that was a mini-mini-miniskirt. Bolts of silver, red and gold spandex fabric stood in a corner. But the kicker was a pair of six-inch clear plastic high heels with straps. Nobody wore those except strippers. “Did you dance tonight?”

She tossed down the bra. “Did you miss my performance, Adam?”

He laughed nervously and took off his coat. It was getting hot in her apartment. “Come on, I followed you into the club and I never saw you onstage.”

“You’re the strip-club expert, Adam. Don’t dancers have private clients or do private parties?”

He plopped onto her futon. “Oh, Bridge. What will your family say?”

She just laughed. Here he was, picturing her parents’ shock and horror and her brothers’ anger and disappointment, and she laughed? She had changed since she moved to Chicago, and not for the better. “It’s not funny.”

“Adam, you worry too much.” She plucked the pink bra off the hanger and rubbed her cheek over the shiny fabric. She’d look great in the pink with her fair skin….

“No!” He’d been imagining her in the pink bra and nothing else and hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“‘No’ what?” She gave him a puzzled look.

He jumped up from the futon and walked over to her. “No, you can’t do that. Since your family isn’t here, I’m going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?”

“I don’t know—do you need money? I can loan you some.”

She looked shocked. All right, so he was tight with his money. Then she smiled and trailed the pink bra over his chest. His heart beat faster. “Tell you what. You’re a gambler, big guy. You gamble on corn, soybeans, cattle. Let’s make a bet.”

“On what?” That smile was making him nervous. That and imagining how her breasts would look in the pink bra, her nipples hard against the tight fabric. Were they pink, too?

“On you.” She drew out the last word, teasing him. “Since you consider yourself my friend, you can give me an unbiased opinion on whether I’m good enough to make it at Frisky’s. If you say no, I won’t continue my budding career as an exotic dancer.”

“What? You want to do a demo for me?” His throat grew tight, and he reached to loosen his tie, only to remember he’d stuffed it into his jacket pocket hours ago.

“Do we have a bet or not?” Her blue eyes bored into him. She wasn’t the shy little farm girl who’d blushed when they first met. And now she wanted to take her clothes off in public for strange men?

He couldn’t let that happen. “It’s a bet.”

“Good.” She pushed him toward the futon, and he sat uneasily. It reminded him too much of the couches at Frisky’s.

She walked over to her CD player and bent over a stack of CDs, her breasts pushing against the front of her dark-blue blouse. Her firm ass was nicely outlined in the swishy black skirt.

He shifted uncomfortably. If her fully clothed curves were already getting to him, what would he do when he saw more?

She pressed the start button and stood. Marvin Gaye’s song “Let’s Get It On” started. Oh, no. Marvin was singing about holding back his feelings for a long time. Adam had tried, really tried to do the same, but now Bridget was swaying in front of him to the soulful music and all those smashed-down feelings and desires bubbled up.

She gave him a small smile and unclipped her hair. Waves of honey, coffee and gold tumbled around her shoulders. She shook them out and he gripped the futon’s edge to steady himself, imagining those strands running through his fingers.

She squared her shoulders and looked like she took a deep breath. For courage? “Bridge, if you don’t want to do this, we can cancel the bet.”

Her confidence seemed to come roaring back. “First of all, don’t call me ‘Bridge.’ It’s a man’s name.” She reached for the top button of her blouse. “And I am definitely not a man.”

No, she wasn’t. Her fingers traveled down the column of buttons in an excruciatingly slow pace, giving him a peek at a black bra and flat belly. Then she shrugged her blouse onto the floor.

Adam’s fingertips went numb digging into the futon, but that was the only thing numb. At the sight of her black-lace-clad breasts, his disobedient cock came to life.

Her skin was milky pale in contrast with the black lace, lush mounds of plump perfection curving above the bra. Even from where he sat in silent agony, he saw her nipples tighten against the fabric.

Her gaze dropped to his lap and her eyes widened in pleased surprise. He knew he’d lost the bet right then, but the fox side of him guarding the chicken coop wanted her to keep going.

And she did, swaying as she unfastened her skirt and dropped it to puddle around her ankles. He stared at her—from her sexy boots to her black lace garter belt, black sheer stockings and black lace panties. Oh, he loved black lace garter belts and black sheer stockings and black lace panties.

She kicked the skirt free and did a sexy little twirl, confirming his worst suspicions that her matching panties were indeed thong panties. Her ass was white and firm after years of physical labor and his fingers itched to dig into it.

She reached for the stocking hooks and he surrendered. “All right, all right, you win! You would make an absolute fortune at Frisky’s.” He would be her best customer. “But you just can’t. Please, Bridget.”

A broad grin crossed her face. “Not so fast. We’re not done yet.”

“Not yet?” It came out as a whimper.

“I don’t think a striptease counts for the whole bet.” She stalked toward him in her boots and lingerie and stopped between his widespread knees. He stared at her in a daze. Marvin was still crooning like crazy. “After all, the girls make most of their money on lap dances. Let’s try it.”

Adam’s mind blanked. A platonic lap dance from the woman he’d lusted after for years? And just this evening he’d claimed not to be a masochist.

BRIDGET LOOKED DOWN at Adam, her hands on her hips. She’d thought she would feel awkward or embarrassed prancing around in fussy lingerie with her breasts and hips jiggling all over, but it was just the opposite. She was an all-powerful sex goddess, judging from the glazed expression on Adam’s face. That, and the erection his finely woven wool pants couldn’t hide.

No more little sister. She took a deep breath and knelt on the futon, straddling his lap.

Marvin segued into “Sexual Healing” and Adam groaned. “Bridge…”

He still didn’t get it. “Bridget,” she corrected, swaying over him. Although she wasn’t touching him, the heat from his erection kindled a matching heat in her belly. And parts lower.

She shimmied closer, cupping her breasts and bringing them closer to his face. Her nipples were achingly hard, and she rolled them between her fingers through the lace.

His chocolate-brown eyes dilated at her daring and he swallowed hard. She reached behind her and slowly unhooked her bra, her gaze never leaving his. He gulped as her breasts spilled from the cups and she tossed the bra aside.

She paused for a second, letting him drink her in. Her nipples had always been extralarge, too, and she had tried to mask them for years with special adhesive covers or firm liners in her bras. But no more. Adam extended a finger toward one hard peak but stopped, still obeying the lap dance rules of no touching.

“Go ahead,” she cooed. “You can touch me.”

He looked up from her breasts, his expression serious. “If I do, I won’t be able to stop.”

“I won’t want you to stop.” And with that declaration, she sat firmly on his lap, his cock pressing between her thighs.

Their intimate contact broke his deadlock. To her surprise, he didn’t grope her breasts, but instead grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a kiss.

His mouth was hungry and gentle all at once. She responded eagerly, her tongue sweeping over the seam of his lips. With a groan of surrender, he finally opened to her, his tongue sliding along hers in a provocative dance. After so many years of lusting after Adam, their kiss was exactly what she’d hoped for and more than she’d dreamed of.

He pulled her even closer, and she ran her fingers through his hair. The black waves were hot silk under her fingers, and he made tiny noises as she massaged his scalp.

He broke free and ran kisses down her cheek and behind her ear. He clutched her to him, her bare nipples catching on his oxford dress shirt. She unbuttoned it with shaky fingers and spread the lapels wide. His chest was hard muscle and she rubbed her nipples through the black curls there.

He was heavenly. She ground against him, all finesse and pretense gone. His hands tightened on her back and he licked her collarbone. Was he reluctant to touch her breasts? Had he known how shy she’d been about them?

She pulled back and cupped them in her hands as an offering of trust. “Go ahead.”

Instead of diving right in, he smiled at her and gently ran his index finger down her neck to one pink tip. His callused fingertip circled it slowly, around and around until she thought she might scream. “Adam…” He pinched her gently, and when she didn’t flinch, he applied more pressure until she was twisting on him in sensual agony. Just when she thought that was the absolute best, he captured her other nipple with his mouth.

His tongue and teeth teased her, tormented her, tortured her. She was a prisoner of his hot, wet suction. Her nipples swelled even further under his expert caresses.

Exquisite sensation jetted between her legs, and her black thong grew damper. He hardened even more. She rubbed frantically on his erection, desperate to ease her ache.

As if he’d read her mind, he hooked a finger under the front of her thong and pulled it free. He insinuated his finger between her folds, driving through the soaking curls until he found his destination. He pressed her clitoris and she gave a short scream.

He grinned and her breast dropped from his mouth. He brought a hand to her leg and skimmed up and down. “I love these stockings.” He stopped at the wedge of bare thigh above the seam. “But they’re not as soft and smooth as you are.”

“Oh, Adam.” His sweet touch and his sweeter words overwhelmed her, and she turned her face away, a swath of hair protecting her emotions from his gaze.

She didn’t have long to reflect before his finger rubbed her again. He circled her clit gently, then with more pressure, seeking every drop of her response.

Tension built under his hands, her thong adding its own sexy brand of friction where it rubbed between her bottom cheeks. She ground on him and clutched at his chest, his nipples hardening under her touch.

He made a choked-off groan. “Please, Bridget, make me stop before it’s too late.”

The sensual power she’d captured strutting around in her lingerie rose again. She was the one who could make him come fully dressed. She was the one who was taking control of her own sex life.

She cupped one breast. “Suck on me.” And he obeyed.

His eyes closed as he eagerly feasted on her. His hands stroked her soaking wet flesh and grabbed at her ass like they were grabbing for a life preserver.

He moaned in a low voice as she rocked on him. His arousal whipped hers to an unbelievable level. She tipped her body forward, and with her free hand reached behind her to grasp his balls.

His eyes flew open. She squeezed and caressed them through his thin wool pants. And since he was panting too hard to suck her nipples anymore, she decided to plant kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck….

Her own tentative touches combined with his fingers and the thick cock under her twisted into unbearable tension. His balls pulled tighter under her hand. He gave one last savage thrust upward and she snapped like elastic stretched to the limit, pleasure rocketing from her clit to her breasts and deep into her core.

She gave quiet cries of pleasure and triumph. For years, Adam had been her schoolgirl fantasy as she’d furtively brought herself to release, but the reality was much, much better.

Adam yanked her close and rubbed his cock on her, his face pulling into taut lines. “No, Bridget, stop, ahhh…” But she gave his balls one last squeeze and he came hard, gasping and squirming, his breath hot and fast against her aching breasts.

Bridget slumped against his shoulder, his heart thudding under her touch. For a minute, she just cuddled, then stroked his silky chest hair. She’d longed to do that since his first visit to the farm and she saw him tossing hay bales without wearing a shirt. But their tender moment didn’t last long. She knew the second he started regretting what they’d done.

He squirmed underneath her, and not in a happy way. “Oh, man. Oh, man.” He hooked his hands under her arms, careful to avoid her breasts, and she climbed off him.

She sprawled onto the futon next to him, feeling like a pinup with her garter belt and boots still on. Now if she got Adam into the bedroom, they could go for round two.

He hopped up from the futon and made a beeline for the bathroom, not the bedroom. Well, that was okay. He did need to clean up and maybe they could take a shower together.

Pulling herself off the futon, she strode across the living room. Give her a whip, and she’d match Jinx. Except for the pierced nipples, of course. She tapped on the bathroom door. “Adam?”

He didn’t answer, so she tried the door. He’d locked it? “Adam, are you okay?” She jiggled the doorknob.

“Fine.” He didn’t sound fine. “Bridget, I need a pair of pants.”

“Oh. Okay.” She went into her bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair was beyond mussed, but there was a gleam in her blue eyes and a rosy blush to her skin. If she refused to get him pants, would he stay?

Although a naked Adam trapped in her apartment appealed to her very much, she rummaged through her dresser and found an old pair of gray sweatpants that were too long for her. Maybe they’d fit him.

She returned to the bathroom and knocked. “Here you go.” He opened the door far enough to grab the pants and then locked it again.

Suddenly feeling chilly and not much like a pinup anymore, Bridget went into her bedroom and pulled on her fluffy sky-blue chenille bathrobe. The fabric brushed her sensitized skin and she shivered.

She heard the bathroom door open and hurried out. She fought back a giggle at his outfit. The pants were still too short and showed a chunk of bare, hairy leg above the tops of his black socks and dress shoes. When she saw his face, though, she stopped laughing.

He looked absolutely grim. “What’s the matter?” She already knew the answer.

“What’s the matter?” His eyebrows shot up. “We just did all this, and you ask what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It felt pretty good.” Good was an understatement. Hedonistic, ecstatic, orgasmic—yeah, that last one covered it.

“I lost the bet.” His expression grew even darker. “Now you know just what power you’d have over those poor slobs at Frisky’s. If I were your customer, I’d wipe out my savings, max out my credit cards, sell a kidney to have you naked on top of me.”

“Wow.” That was quite a compliment. Too bad he looked as if he were donating his kidney. Without anesthetic.

He grabbed her forearm. “Think about your family.”

“Are you going to tell them I’m a stripper?” If he did, she might have some explaining to do about sewing lingerie, but that was all.

“No, I don’t want to hurt them.” He assumed a noble expression. “You’re their baby girl.”

She grimaced at him, exasperated. “All the dancers at Frisky’s are somebody’s baby girl.” Except for Electra, who was possibly someone’s baby boy.

“Then think about yourself. Those strippers will only drag you down to their level with their bad habits—alcohol, drugs.”

“In the first place, the dancers drink watered-down liquor at work so they don’t get tipsy and hurt themselves. And the only thing they inject into themselves is lip collagen.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Half go to school, the other half dance to support their kids. Sugar is working on her business degree and Jinx told me she’s working on her master’s thesis in comparative lit at Chicago University.”

He shook his head. “Forget about my weakness for you, Bridget. You know this is a bad idea. Promise me you won’t dance at Frisky’s until we talk again.”

He had a weakness for her? Well, vice versa, Adam. “I don’t know….” She pretended confusion until she saw his anxious expression. “All right, I promise. I won’t wear sexy lingerie and take it all off at Frisky’s for a man who’ll beg to see my bare breasts swaying in front of his face. And I definitely won’t wear my garter belt and stockings to give anyone a lap dance so that he’s squirming under me from sheer arousal.”

He swallowed hard. “Fine.” His voice squeaked and he tried again. “Fine. Thank you, Bridget. You’re an old-fashioned girl. You don’t belong doing any of that.”

Oh, yeah? Bridget gave him a tight smile. The next time she saw him, this old-fashioned girl would do things the old-fashioned way and take him all the way.