I pull the hem of her top up her body, exposing her white cotton bra. “No sexy underwear on a weeknight?” I tug the top over her head and drop it to the floor.
“Woof.”
I peer over the edge of the couch, almost sending Chloe flying.
Her light purple top shuffles along the floor like a colored apparition.
Chloe laughs and reaches to yank the fabric off Whiskey. He jumps his paws onto the couch and glances between us.
“We might want to continue this contest upstairs,” I tell her. “I’m not exactly looking to have an audience.” This isn’t a game show.
“Good idea.” She moves off my lap. “Stay here,” she tells Whiskey, even though doing what he’s told isn’t one of his superpowers.
He starts to follow after her.
“No, Whiskey,” she says. “Stay.” She takes another step forward…and so does Whiskey.
“Whiskey, bed.” I point to his bed by the couch.
He tilts his head to the side, my command lost on him.
Like it is every time we try this.
“Dude, I don’t think you understand. I’m about to get the orgasm of a lifetime, and you’re staying here until we get back.”
“Woof.”
Chloe laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. “Sounds like he understands just fine.”
“I guess I’ll have to put him in his crate.” The last thing I want is for him to scratch on my bedroom door at a crucial moment.
He lets out a little whimper, looks between Chloe and me, then walks to his bed and plonks down on it.
I grab hold of Chloe’s hand and pull her along behind me. “The decorations look great,” is the only thing I say before leading her upstairs.
They do look great. Sarah would’ve loved them.
The moment we’re in my room—the door shut behind us—we’re tearing each other’s clothes off. But what starts out impatient quickly turns into something else.
Slow.
Languid.
A teasing seduction.
Another unexpected emotion hovers in the fringes. What I’m starting to feel for Chloe goes deeper than wanting to get her off and win the bet.
It’s an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely, especially not now.
Especially not when there’s a movie at stake.
We continue removing each other’s clothes until we’re standing by the bed, naked. I don’t even remember walking the short distance to it. Each exploring touch of her fingers short-circuits my brain. Each press of her lips against my body isn’t helping it either.
I lower her to the bed, my intent of winning the contest for remote-control domination quickly forgotten. I want to worship her body, to show her she deserves so much more than her fathers and ex-boyfriends ever felt for her.
She deserves to be loved and wanted.
Yes, but you’re not the man to do that.This is only temporary until the Feds find Nikolai Orlov and learn who has the contract out on her.
