him, she can be a misbehaving maid. A sexy call girl for hire. Each scene pushes Chloe beyond her strict boundaries, until Grant demands the one character she can’t play.
He peered through the peephole. Chloe was standing on the front porch, large sunglasses over her eyes—even though it was nighttime—and wearing a belted trench coat.
When he opened the door, he gazed down to her bare legs and sky-high black heels.
“Mr. Osprey?” she asked, her lips a bright cherry red.
He leaned on the door and raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”
Her pink tongue slipped out, wetting her bottom lip.
“My handler said you have hired my services for the night. I only accept cash.”
He nearly swallowed his tongue. So she wanted to play some Pretty Woman role, huh? He went from kinda hard to full mast.
“We agreed on two grand and I get you until two in the morning.” He deliberately leered. “All of you. Every inch of you. However I want you. Suit you, Princess?”
The lapels of her trench coat quivered. “Suits me.”
“Great.” He stepped back and gestured inside. “Come in, please.”
She brushed past him and he smelled strawberries. He shut and locked the door, then turned around to face Chloe.
She’d taken her sunglasses off and her hands were on her untied belt. In one practiced move, she flung open the edges of the coat and rolled her shoulders so the khaki material fluttered to the ground at her feet.
Grant had to shoot out a hand to brace himself on the wall because he suddenly had vertigo.The physical parts of Chloe he loved the most were encased in lavender lace—a bra that didn’t cover much, because he could see her hardened nipples poking through.
Her thong didn’t cover much except for a small triangle scrap, hiding her pussy—which he knew she shaved bare—from his view.
Jesus, all that skin, that delicious lace, all for him.
She watched him with those green eyes, a sexy smirk to her mouth. She slowly twisted, so that her ankles were crossed, and showed him her back, she looked at him through her lashes over her shoulder. Only a string ran along the top of her ass and between her crease.
He was hard in his jeans, ridiculously so, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. Hadn’t yet taken that mouth or plunged his fingers in that tight heat. He was going to do all of that and then some.
He stepped toward her. “Hands on the wall. Ass out.”
and switched to fiction.
she’s probably listening to the characters in her head who won’t stop talking.