His Virgin Stripper

14- Wrapped in Temptation

Marcello

She saw me in approximately three seconds.

Her eyes found mine and everything she had been about to say evaporated completely. The color drained from her face fast. Her eyes went wide and her lips parted.

For a moment, she just stood there, dripping onto the floor, staring at me like I was something she had conjured from a fever dream. Like she was hoping that if she blinked hard enough I would disappear and she could go back to pretending the last two nights had never happened at all.

I didn't move.

I didn't need to.

She found her voice before I expected her to. I'll give her that.

"What are you doing in my room?"

It came out smaller than she wanted it to. I could see the frustration flash across her face the moment it left her mouth. Like she had reached for something sharp and pulled out something soft instead.

She had spent the last two days falling apart behind closed doors and now here she was, standing in front of me in a towel that barely qualified as fabric, trying to sound like a woman who had everything under control.

She didn't.

But God, she was trying so hard.

I said nothing.

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the towel.

"How did you get in here?"

That sounded sharper. She had used my silence to reset herself and come back swinging.

There was something about that I found deeply inconvenient because it made me want to back her into a wall just to see what she would do next. Just to see how far that stubbornness went before something else took over entirely.

I still didn't answer her.

Instead I let my eyes roam her body, shamelessly. The way I hadn't fully allowed myself to in the basement because there had been business to conduct and I had needed my head straight.

I didn't need my head straight right now.

The towel was short. God, it barely wrapped around her. It ended at the very top of her thighs and everything beneath it was bare skin still damp from the shower, her legs long and her feet small and bare against the cold floor.

Her hair was wet, falling over her shoulders in heavy strands. A few of them stuck against her neck and her collarbone and I had the sudden violent urge to pull them away myself. Slowly. One by one. Take my time doing it and watch her face the entire time while I did.

Her chest rose and fell in short desperate breaths.

My tongue moved across my lower lip before I could stop it.

A sound escaped her lips. Barely audible, somewhere between a breath and something she immediately wanted to take back. Her whole body shivered despite the warmth of the room and her knuckles went white around the towel as she looked at me like I had just done something deeply unfair to her.

I had.

I knew that.

But I didn't particularly care.

Because standing here looking at her, I was having a very specific and inconvenient problem. She was not like anyone I had been around before. Most women performed for me.

They wore the version of themselves they thought I wanted to see, adjusted their voices, their posture, their smiles, all of it calculated and deliberate.

She wasn't doing any of that. She was standing here raw and furious, barely dressed and completely herself; and somehow that was the most dangerous thing about her.

She had absolutely no idea how clearly her body wanted me. No idea that every small involuntary reaction; her breath coming out in short gasps, the shiver that racks her body whenever my eyes lingered on her, the white knuckled grip on that towel; was all visible to me. Readable. Like a language she didn't know she was speaking.

My gaze moved over her again and the image arrived without invitation.

Her bent over the desk in my office. The smooth line of her back beneath my hands. Nothing between her skin and the cool surface of the wood except her own sharp breathing.

Her fingers gripping the edge while I decided exactly how I wanted to ruin her. I thought about the sounds she would make trying to stay quiet and failing completely.

I thought about pulling her hair back slowly and putting my mouth against her ear and telling her exactly what I was going to do before I did it. Every single thing. In explicit detail. Until she stopped pretending she didn't want it just as badly as I did.

Fuck

Then my bed.

Her wrists chained above her head, her legs spread open waiting for me. Her hair spread out across my pillow like she had always belonged in my bed. Her eyes dark and blown wide and her lips parted and every single wall she had carefully built between us completely and utterly destroyed.

By me.

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

The shift in my body was immediate and violent, anchoring me in place like I’d been hit by a physical force. I tried to rip my attention away, to shove my thoughts into the reason I was here in the first place, but it was a pathetic, losing battle.

She was still standing there, all delicate skin and wetness, and my c**k was already hard, throbbing with a demand my brain hadn't signed off on yet. I tried to kill the impulse, but it was feral, clawing at my insides.

My body had already defected, and I was just the shell struggling to keep the leash on.

I pulled my attention back to her face.

She was still watching me. Still strangling that towel. Her eyes kept moving between my face and the shrinking distance between us like she was trying to calculate something and coming up desperately short every single time.

"Can you—" She stopped. Swallowed hard. "Can you please go outside?"

The please came out like it cost her something significant. Like she had reached deep for it and wasn't happy about what it meant that she had used it. "I'll meet you out there."

I looked at her for a long moment.

Then I took a step toward her.

Her breath caught immediately.

I took another. She still didn't move. Every instinct she had was clearly screaming at her to put distance between us and still her feet stayed exactly where they were, rooted to that floor like she had made a decision she hadn't fully admitted to herself yet.

Another step.

Her chin lifted. Defiant. Even now, barefoot and barely covered with nowhere to hide, she lifted her chin at me like she was daring me to keep coming.

Something moved through my chest that had no business being there.

I took another step and the idea that had been sitting quietly at the back of my mind since she stepped out of that bathroom finally sharpened itself into something clear and deliberate. Something I had already decided I was going to enjoy watching unfold.

I took one final step forward.

Close enough that her jasmine wrapped around me fully. Close enough to watch her pulse jumping frantically at her throat. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin up just to hold my gaze and she did it anyway, stubborn, proud and completely unaware of how much that single gesture was costing me.

She really had no idea what she was doing to me.

Or maybe she did.

Maybe that was the exact problem.

I smiled. Unhurried.

And watched the panic rise fresh all across her face.