Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Her mouth forms a little O of shock, her big brown eyes impossibly going even wider. “If you’re insinuating what I think you are, that—that is… incredibly inappropriate.”
I’m ready to get even more inappropriate.
I eye her tits, looking for her nipples beneath the heavy beading. “Feigned outrage doesn’t do it for me,” I tell her, my tone a bit bored. “Come over here and try something else.”
I swear to God, she’s near fainting. I wish she’d give up the act. I’m interested in her, but not this reluctance bit. I want to see her move, then have her on my lap so I can tug that beaded bra down and take the peaks of her lovely tits in my mouth. I want to know how she tastes.
“I…” She is at a complete loss. Since my gaze is on her chest, she glances down, and when she does, she appears to be as shocked as I was when she walked in. Clutching her breasts and gasping, she looks up at me like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god, I’m still in my work clothes.”
Her work clothes?
Is this still part of the act?
“Where do you work?” I ask cautiously, hoping it is.
“A dance school. I’m—I’m a dance teacher.” Horrified, her gaze shifts to mine again. “Oh my god, you thought I was a… different kind of dancer.”
I’m beginning to fear this is a real appointment and not some sexy setup from my well-meaning assistant.
“You’re not here to dance for me,” I say slowly.
She shakes her head, no longer looking angry, just deeply embarrassed.
Well, that’s damn disappointing.
Damn disappointing.
I don’t know what I was looking forward to more, seeing her dance for me or feeling the weight of her body on my lap before she started lavishing attention on my cock.
I’ve already got a taste for her now, and she’s telling me she’s not on the menu?
“I’m so sorry for the confusion,” she says.
“So am I,” I answer dryly.
“My summer session is wrapping up, and we’re rehearsing every day for their recital this weekend. I usually wear regular activewear and just maybe a hip scarf to teach classes, but with it being rehearsal week…” She gives up covering her breasts, and stacks her hands over her tummy. “Well, I guess now I’m the inappropriate one.”
Now that she’s gentled, I find myself liking her again. I mean, I wanted her tits in my mouth whether I liked her or not, but she has a sweetness that appeals to me beyond that surface level. “You don’t have to cover up. I’ll stop requesting lap dances now that I know you’re an actual client.”
Her cheeks flush a bit, and she smiles, shyly avoiding my gaze. “Well, potential client. My daughter tells me you might be outside my price range, but I’m willing to splurge if you can make this problem go away. I was hoping for a consultation and an idea of exactly what it would cost to have your help. I don’t even know what I need, to be honest. Maybe a ‘cease and desist being a giant douchebag’ letter? Is that a thing?”
I find the idea of anyone being a douchebag to her annoying. She seems perfectly nice. What’s this neighbor’s problem? “Tell me a little more about the conflict, and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
“Well, my neighbor is a terrible human being. He has been harassing me for a while, trying to chase me out of the neighborhood. I haven’t done anything to him, but he found out I paid less for my house than anyone else in the neighborhood paid for theirs because I already owned the land and the developer cut me a deal. I can’t prove that he’s behind them, but there have been so many juvenile, mean-spirited pranks. Dog poop on the front porch, open condoms all over my lawn. They smashed cheese on the side of my house.”
My eyebrows rise. “He smashed cheese on the side of your house? Is your neighbor a twelve-year-old?”
Impossibly, her already enormous eyes widen. “Right? So immature. And I’ve been dealing with their crap since we moved in, but today, he crossed the line. He made comments and lewd insinuations about my daughter, and I will not stand for that.”
I scowl, sitting forward and grabbing a pen and paper to take notes. “How old is your daughter?”
“She just turned eighteen in June.”
My gaze flickers to her, surprised. “You have an eighteen-year-old?”
A smile flickers across her face. “Dancing keeps me young.” She misses a beat, then adds, “And I got pregnant at seventeen.”
The mention of getting pregnant stirs thoughts of how a woman gets pregnant, and my thoughts regarding her were already far from pure. “Has your husband tried talking to him?”
“I don’t have a husband. It’s just my daughter and me.”