“It’s a silly dance,” she says, squeezing my arm. “But thank you. If you’re not good with it, I’ll just do the shots.”
“I’m good with it.” I’m so fucking good with it.
“Anything you don’t want me to do?”
God, no. “You can do anything.”
There’s something about already being shirtless that makes this whole thing feel more intimate. Thankfully, having multiple people staring right at you while you sit in a dining room chair is enough to wipe that feeling away.
Nice to know this is what I’ll think of next time I sit to eat.
Aurora reaches for her shots, doing two. “I’m not forfeiting,” she confirms quickly. “It’s for courage.”
I feel like I need courage and all I’ve got to do is sit here and let a woman who is so far out of my league we’re not even playing the same sport dance on me. The music changes from the upbeat chart song that was playing to something slower, darker and Lola holds up her phone with the timer set.
It’s easy to forget the rest of the room when Aurora walks over, smiling as she positions herself behind me. Both hands start at my shoulders and slowly trail down my chest and abs until she’s bent over enough that her head is level with mine. She pecks my cheek and laughs lightly, and that’s the moment that I know this is about to be the best kind of torture.
Moving in front of me, she starts to move her hips slowly in time to the music. Nudging my knees a little wider, she steps between them, turning and lowers herself down onto me.
Thirty seconds of Aurora’s ass rubbing right against my dick pass by in a flash. Her back is flush with my bare chest, the smell of peach wafts under my nose as her hair swishes around. I start reciting dead Presidents in my head, but it’s no use. Her hips change rhythm and her body vibrates as she chuckles, looking up at me. Yeah, she can definitely feel my hard dick digging into her ass.
My knuckles are white from gripping the seat of the chair; I don’t even need to be touching her, apparently. She lifts herself from me and I don’t need to panic about everyone spotting my boner for long because she turns and lowers herself back into my lap, straddling me.
This is worse, so, so much worse.
Worse in a better way, that is. Since she’s fucking hot and now I get to watch her face as she grinds into me, looking wholly pleased with herself. “You can touch me,” she whispers, her eyes dark.
George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson . . .
My hands grip her hips as she continues to move, my thumbs grazing gently over an exposed slither of skin between the band of her skirt and her top. Her hands sink into my hair, breasts pressing against my chest as her face gets closer to mine.
And then the timer blasts and I want to commit a murder for the first time in my life.
It’s like the spell lifts and we’re both instantly aware that we’re not alone. She sits back, breathing heavy as, thankfully, JJ suggests everyone takes a break to get new drinks and use the bathroom, saluting me as the area begins to clear.
My hands are still on her hips, her eyes are still locked on mine and there’s something there beneath the surface, something uncertain. Like she’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what. “Uh, good job.”
It’s clear some form of praise was what she was waiting for because her smile increases as she goes to stand but I tighten my grip, keeping her on my lap. “Can I have a minute?”
Her teeth sink into her lip as she nods, eyes bright. “Sure.”
James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams . . .
Chapter Four
AURORA
Straddling the lap of a hockey player is not the action of a woman trying to turn her life around.
To be honest, sitting on the boner of a total stranger is honestly not how I saw tonight going. Well, maybe, but in a way that would involve no clothes and certainly no audience. I forgot all about my summer self-improvement efforts the second I stepped foot in this house and that lack of commitment to the cause is exactly why I need time away from the temptations of Maple Hills.
I shouldn’t be this happy about a “good job,” but what can I say, I’m a girl that likes feedback. More than anything, I needed the reassurance I didn’t just make a fool of myself in front of most of the hockey team. It’s not my first rodeo, lap dance-wise, but it’s the first time with someone who now isn’t making eye contact with me. If I’m not looking at his face, I have to look at his body and the guy is essentially a slab of muscle.