I glance up at him to see if he’s laughing, but he’s got a serious look on his face. And if I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know that this was the infamous Fletcher Novak, the guy who fucks anyone he wants, whenever he wants, and doesn’t have a flavor of the week, but a flavor of the day—then I might think he’s into me.
“When my eyes are on your hips, you tease me with them. Be my fantasy, Tiffy. Make me imagine what you’d look like with no clothes.”
Jesus. I can imagine. I saw him that first night. I saw him naked the next day. I sucked his dick looking up at him like this. It’s very easy to imagine him naked. He certainly qualifies as my fantasy.
He begins to play with my hair, taking the long dark strands into his fingers, caressing it in a long dragging motion until I feel a feather-light touch on the top of my breast. I look up at him again.
“Touch my chest first. Soft strokes that make me feel like this is all real.”
It’s not real, Tiffy. I say it to remind myself. It’s not real. This is a job to him.
His fingers slide between my bra strap and my skin, sweeping up until they’re on top of my shoulders. “It’s a tease, though. That’s the most important thing to remember. It’s just a tease. You want me to look at you with lust. You want me to look at you with desire. You want me to think I have a chance.”
You have no chance, Tiffy. Oh my God. Why am I even thinking these things?
“You want me to imagine taking off your bra.” His hand slips down my back as he pushes his whole body even further into my lap. And then it’s on the clasp of my bra.
I swallow hard.
“You want me to”—he unsnaps my bra like a pro, and it comes loose, billowing out in front of me with the soft current of the wind—“think about making a move.”
He’s making a move all right.
“And then, just to keep the fantasy going”—he slides the bra down my arms until it’s in my lap. My nipples perk up from the light spray of the lake waves as they push against the rocks—“you take something off.”
“Fletcher—”
But I stop. Because his hands are behind my neck, pulling my face into his weaving hips. He threads his fingers through my hair and up my scalp. That chill up my spine turns into a full-blown tremble.
“You want me to think you’ll kiss me, Tiffy.” He releases my hair and then his palms are alongside my cheeks, cupping me with force. Not hard, but not soft either. Like he’s preparing me for what’s to come.
What’s coming?
He bows down, his forehead pressing against mine, but he is still too far away. “You want to make me want you. More than anything else, you want me to want you, right now, in this moment.”
I want him. Holy fuck, I want him. Let me be your fantasy, Fletcher.
His knees rest on either side of my thighs, and then I feel his ass moving across the top of them. Back and forth. Slowly and then even more slowly. He gyrates against me, the heat of his sex appeal crashing against me like the waves against the rocks.
“You want to make me touch you, Tiffy.” I know he’s still in teacher mode, but I don’t care. I reach for him. My fingers find his belt loops and hook around them. I tug him just a little bit closer as I stare into his eyes.
“Then I’ll say, Kiss me, Tiffy.” And his head dips down further, his lips so close to mine, the kiss is all but inevitable.
But he pauses. I can feel his breath on my lips. I can smell his scent in my nose. He smells like a man. And sweat. And sand. And water. And wind.
“But remember,” he says, tipping my chin up a little so our lips bump ever so slightly against one another, “you have to make me beg for it. I have to beg for it or you don’t give it up. Because the lap dance, Tiffy, is a test. It’s your chance,” he whispers over the music of the lake, “to be sexy. To be desired. To be in control. You’re all mine. But it’s a fantasy, and I have to beg for it.”
And then I can’t stand it anymore. I move that fraction of an inch and taste him.
He grips my head, pushing his mouth against mine. His tongue doesn’t dance like last time, it’s hard and pushing. Seeking more from me.
I give him more. I unhook my fingers from his belt loops and slide my hands down his thighs. His legs are well-muscled and his jeans are hot from the sun.
He moans into my mouth, reaches for my hand, and places it over his hard cock.
God. I have never wanted a man to fuck me so much.
I pull back for a minute and we both catch our breath. The next few moments float in my head. “How would you beg for it, Fletch?” I ask him. “How would you make me want you back?”
He kisses me one more time and then moves backwards.
Holy fuck. He’s gonna leave me like this.
“You don’t have to worry about that, princess. No man in his right mind wouldn’t want you right now. And I’m no different.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds. And then he picks up my bra and places it in my hands. “But we better get back. I think your clothes are dry and I’ve gotta get ready for the show.”
He gets up off my lap and goes hunting for his shirt. I watch him as he pulls it over his head, taking note of the defined muscles in his abs. He doesn’t look at me once he’s dressed again, just gathers up my drying clothes off the rock and turns back to hand them over.
“I hope you plan on getting dressed. Because if you try to walk home naked, I’ll be kicking a lot of ass on the way.”
I shake myself out of his trance and slide my bra up my arms. But before I can reach around to hook it, he’s there, his fingers light as they brush against my back and do it for me.
He takes my hand once my bra is on and pulls me to my feet. And I stand there as he dresses me. The shirt is mostly dry, and it flutters over my head and settles on my hips. He opens up my pants and holds them open for me. “Step in, Tiffy. We gotta go.”
I place my hand on his shoulder and feel a chill run through him.
He looks up at me and we’ve traded places from a few minutes ago. I lift a leg and step in, and then do it again. He stands, tugging my pants up with him.
He leans in and whispers, “I can’t wait for my turn.”
Chapter Eighteen
I think about her the whole walk back. She wanted me. I can feel it. She wanted me to take her right there. She’d have let me fuck her, just like she did the other night on the roof.
But is it the fantasy she wants? Fletcher the stripper? Fletcher the teacher? Or something else?
It’s impossible to tell, and that’s the problem with the job I do. You can’t ever tell if people like you for who you are or what you are. I know what I look like. I’ve never had a problem getting girls. I lost my virginity when other guys were still trying to make it to first base. Hell, I even had a few moms making eyes at me back in high school.
But they always wanted something out of it. The teenagers wanted to go to dances with the quarterback. The college girls wanted to get fucked by the lacrosse star. The patrons at the show want to say they fucked one of the Mountain Men. And not just any Mountain Man, the lead.
It’s tainted me, so what? I get to have an opinion about the hand I was dealt, just like everyone else. And I’m not saying I’d want to be anyone but me, because I don’t.
I just want girls to look at me with something more than the size of my cock on their minds.
“Hey,” Chandler says as I pass through the backstage door. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show up.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” And for the first time, I wish I wasn’t. Tiffy’s father is gonna be here. She wants me to… what? What kind of first impression is that? Hey, Dad, this guy wants to date me. Don’t you love that he takes his clothes off at our hotel every Wednesday and Saturday?