Bound by Desire

The Deal

PHOEBE’S POV

"I apologize, but I believe there was a mistake." By that, I mean that my friend sent over a stripper rather than a plumber and she has a death wish. "Are you implying that you didn't place an order for a Handyman Special?" In a technical sense, I placed no orders. My friend did. And I'm telling you that unless a 'Handyman Special’.I use air quotes around the obvious euphemism—means that you're here to fix my bathroom sink while completely clothed. Even if I seem deflated to myself, it would indicate that I genuinely want him to give me whatever is in his Handyman Special. And since I'm not into strippers, that is just absurd. We went to a male strip club a few years back for kicks and giggles, and while I don't have a lot of experience with them, I got a lot more laughter than kicks. However, this stripper... With his half-lidded bedroom eyes that won't quit undressing me wherever they settle and his filthy blond hair that brushes the tops of his rounded shoulders, In contrast to the calluses I felt on his fingers and palms when he touched me, it doesn't have the sparkling shine of oil, but it also doesn't seem dry, as if he follows a moisturizing routine that keeps it supple and incredibly touchable. Reaching out and testing my theory is something I want to do. I'm able to keep my hands to myself even though I want to run them over the peaks and valleys of his muscles without the taunting shield of his shirt. Almost. I let my eyes do the caressing instead, soaking up all the beautiful details, such as the trim chest hair showing over the low scoop neck and the small points of his n*****s straining against the thin material of his tank. That's hot, damn it. I'm attracted to the macho, rustic type. Any day of the week, I prefer blue collars to white ones and Mr. Handyman is the epitome of blue. He interrupts my mental drool session by folding his arms across his broad chest and saying, "Let me see if I get this right." "Your friend, Amby Powell , called me to come over and show you a good time, but she said she was sending over a real handyman to fix your sink." "You're Phoebe George." I sigh in irritation, but I'm not sure if it's because of the circumstances or because I'm having a s****l dry spell. Most likely both. "That pretty much sums it up." "Ms. George, want to know what I think?" “phoebe,” "I believe you want me to have fun with you." I laugh. "Then, Mister, you would be mistaken. Mr. Reid . "Just Reid." "Al right, just Reid," I reply, "but you're still incorrect." Am I?" He leans forward and holds one hand above my head. He then hooks the thumb of the other hand into the front of his coveralls and pulls them down just enough for me to see a goody trail that vanishes inside his underwear's elastic. Right now, my only thought is to pull them off so I can see what kind of tools he's using. I'm curious about what it would be like to have a man like him fill me with his enormous c**k while driving between my legs. The coarser cotton underside rubs against my sensitive n*****s as they stiffen into little buds, and my breasts get heavier under my hoodie. God, oh God. I must limit my exposure to porn. "Phoebe, see something you like?" When I catch myself staring at his crotch while allowing my body to run wild with the vile ideas running through my head, I quickly raise my head to the point where I nearly bang it against the wall. "Nope, not a thing," I say in a guilty, high-pitched voice. "I'm not saying you're not, but In other words, I'm sure I'd enjoy yours if I were looking for anything similar. However, I'm not. in the marketplace. "You know that when you're nervous, you look hot?" Oh, that's fantastic. A reminder of reality. I could characterize my current look with several adjectives, such as bedraggled, sloppy, or haggard, but seductive is not one of them. I might seem seductive when I let Amby play with my face makeup, put on a minidress, and make myself wear painful lenses, but most of the time I just look like the girl next door who's trying too hard. And to think that Mr Reid was beginning to get on my nerves."Look, you can stop acting, all right? I apologize that you traveled so far for nothing, but you can now pack up your belongings and move on to your next client as we both know that my friend punked me. He smiles like the fox that has cornered the hen and declares, "I have nowhere else to be." And why do you believe that I'm acting? Because I'm not, I assure you. No more. I chuckled sarcastically. "Okay. You must be attracted to nerdy chicks who appear to have not had a shower.My skin tingles as if he's physically running his fingertips down my nude body as he gives me a quick once-over and raises that blasted cocky brow once more. "Amusing." His mention of humor runs counter to his attractive face's solemn demeanor. "You don't smell as though you haven't taken a shower." "What? No. I'm becoming irritated. Phoebe is sad as a result of her s****l frustration and self-denial of a seductive stranger. If he doesn't quit soon, I'm going to look like a complete fool when I fall for his charade and join the hundreds of people who have undoubtedly inflated his ego to enormous levels. I'm only a human. "It appears that I haven't," I said. I had a shower a few hours ago, in case you were unaware. Fortunately, those pipes are in perfect condition. "We'll see."My aderline kicks up in my gut as he dips his head and sniffs me before I can respond. My eyes close and the world grows dark, and I take a short breath when his nose brushes against the side of my neck, causing my skin to come alive. Yes. You have a fresh, delicious scent. "Do I?" My voice sounds strange, even to me, and all I say is a breathy sigh. However, that's all right since I've now realized that this is all a dream but he growls, "Yeah," near my ear, and I feel weak as the vibrations seep into the very core of my bones. "You f*****g do." These days, I see that I lean in more than I lean out. It seems pointless to resist him since he is so big, warm, and hard that he has his gravitational pull. My face is framed by the hand that has been anchored in his boilersuit, and I shudder as his calluses gently scrape my cheek. I let him turn my head until his breath mixes with mine and our mouths meet. I want to kiss him, please. To find out if his silver tongue is suitable for more than lip service, I want to taste him. It's probably the most intense desire I've ever had in my life. "Phoebe." I adore his strained, raspy, and somewhat drawn-out pronunciation of my name, which sounds like a plea. Or a permit issue... I respond to him in kind, muttering the last phrase that breaks my willpower. "Reid." I close my eyes to prepare for what will undoubtedly be the greatest kiss of my life as he begins to close the slight gap—until my cell phone rings. We break up like teenagers being walked in on by their parents, and I quickly move to avoid him so he won't see how embarrassed I am that I almost threw myself at a stripper who has been paid by my former bestie to "show me a good time." I murmur, "Speak of the devil," l switch Amby to voicemail, put my phone on silence and set it down on the couch. Before I deal with her, I need to get a full night's sleep. She presumably decided she couldn't wait until tomorrow to hear all the "juicy details" and assumed her little surprise was done by now. Her last remarks to me now make perfect sense. Have I stated that I intend to murder her? The deep voice behind me declares, "I'll make you a deal." I turn around, bracing myself against his allure (that is, his godlike physique and incredible s*x appeal). Did he get hotter in the last five seconds, Jesus? "What's the deal?" "The kind where you let me dance for you after I fix your washbasin." My attention is drawn to that. "Repair my washbasin?" He gives a nod. "If you allow me to dance for you later." "How can you be certain that you can fix it?" "Assume that I have experience with handymen."I snort. "I'll wager that you have." "Do we have a deal?" he asks, ignoring my little jab. I prepare to haggle by crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes. I'm desperate to get my washbasin fixed. That's what you'll do, and I only need to let you dance for me? That is, from the other side of the room? Reid crosses his arms similarly to mine, but he comes off as frightening, while I'm lucky if I can come across as unconcerned. In other words, I dance as usual while you sit. Not if the events of the last few minutes are any indication. Even though I would really like to let go and have a much-needed fling, I can't help but wonder how many clients he regularly hooks up with, and I don't like the thought of becoming just another hash mark on his G-string. Ultimately, I choose to choose the lesser of two evils: avoiding s*x on a very large stick or having to live with backed-up water so disgusting it might be the subject of a scientific project in middle school. "All right, we have an agreement," I say, extending my hand for a formal shake. "I can't wait to see you dance." Reid advances and grabs my hand, making it appear smaller with his enormous paw. However, instead of shaking it as I had expected, he uses his other hand to lift the front of his tank and slides my palm over his torn abs, down his naked chest, and past the point where his coveralls drop low on his hips. Before it loses control and begins groping instead of acting appropriately, I yank my hand away as if it were a hot pan. "Just wanted to give you a preview of what's coming." Once more, he uses the word "come" in an innocent manner, as if he isn't attempting to conjure images of orgasms in my mind. Alright, he most likely isn't doing that at all. However, as he gives me a wink and strolls off to the loo, I can't help but wonder if that wasn't his original plan. Yes, I was correct. His flesh? incredibly touchable and soft. I'm screwed.