“What did you have in mind?” The question comes out deeper, raspier.
“What about a massage?” she asks, looking happy with herself for suggesting it.
Hmm, I’m not sure. Let me think about that.Would I like her to give me a massage? Would I like her hands on me? Yes, a thousand times, yes.But I can’t show her how excited that makes me. In fact, I should probably get in the shower as quickly as possible.
“Sure. That would be fine.” I aim for nonchalance, but I know I have a terrible poker face.
After quickly showering and taking care of business so I don’t embarrass myself, I walk back into the room in a pair of athletic shorts.
I’ve worked my ass off for the better part of my life in the gym and on the ice to get my body in prime shape. So, I’m not surprised to find Dakota openly checking me out.
“See something you like?” I smirk like the cat that ate the canary.
“How are you even real? I mean, I grew up around my brother’s friends who were professional athletes, and this,” she waves her hands up and down, gesturing toward my abdomen, “this is not realistic. I’ve seen the way you eat. There’s no way you can have the V that women drool over when you can take down an entire bag of kettle corn in one sitting. Does it hurt being so hot?”
That makes me chuckle.
“I’m being serious. Does it hurt having women throw themselves at you every day?” She shakes her head before muttering something under her breath.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“You weren’t supposed to, Golden Boy. Now get on the bed,” she commands.
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Mmm. I love it when you’re bossy.” That gets me a scoff in return.
Climbing onto the bed and being surrounded by her jasmine scent has my cock hardening within seconds, making it incredibly uncomfortable to lay on my stomach. What Dakota does next doesn’t help my situation at all. The moment the soft skin of her thighs makes contact with my bare skin as she straddles my waist, lust pulls at my spine, and I’m suddenly harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
She wiggles her ass on top of mine to get comfortable and asks, “Is this okay?”
Is this okay? Is she serious? This is fucking perfect.
“Yeah,” I ground out before clearing my throat. “It’s great.”
The sound of a bottle being squeezed in her hand fills the room. When her warm hands start working the knots in my shoulders, I can’t help the groan that slips out.
“Austen. That feels so fucking good.”
“Yeah?” she questions.
“Fuck. Yes,” I damn near moan the words in response when her knuckles knead into a stubborn spot on my shoulder.
After a minute she sits up, putting more weight behind her hands. And when she sits back down on my lower back, I am hit with the feel of her slick, cotton shorts rubbing against my bare skin as she continues to work my sore muscles.
A moan slips out, but it wasn’t from my lips. Dakota, my fucking dream girl, is moaning as she rubs herself up and down my back right now. If anybody tries to wake me from this dream, I’ll kill them.
“This, this isn’t right,” she practically whimpers.
Fuck that. It feels perfect. I’m mesmerized by the feel of her hips moving against my skin—it’s like I’m caught in the most amazing dream.
In a move I’m not sure how I pull off in this dream-like state, I roll over onto my back and grip Dakota’s hips before she can fall to the side.
“I can see you’re worked up right now, Austen. Let me take care of you.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She bites down on her tempting bottom lip again, the same one I’ve craved since the moment I met her.
“Doing what?” I ask as I fold my arms beneath my head. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“This is so very wrong,” she pants out.
