Authors: Lauren Rowe
But he remains quiet.
Good God, what’s he doing to me? He’s wreaking havoc on my body with the simplest of touches.
Keane leans over me, his eyes burning like coals, his fingers intertwined in mine. “You weren’t feeling it
at all
?” he whispers.
“Oh, no, I totally was,” I sputter. “It’s just that... um...” I begin. I take a deep breath, gathering myself. “When you did your whole stripper-thing, it felt like you were doing a Channing Tatum impression—like you were playing a character, rather than just being
Keane
.” I swallow hard. “And... um.” I shut my mouth. Keane’s begun gliding his hands from my palms down toward my torso again, and I’m too overcome with tingles to speak further.
“And…?” Keane coaxes as he runs his hands down and then back up my arms, his body hulking over mine.
My heart is pounding like a freakin’ jackhammer. And so is my crotch. What the heck is this shirtless boy doing to me, pinning me here on the bed and caressing my bare flesh like that? He’s turning me into a freakin’ pile of goo. “And...” I swallow hard again.
“Tell me,” Keane says.
Shoot. I really don’t think I should say the words on the tip of my tongue. Once I say them, I won’t be able to stuff them back in again, after all—and, as sexy as Keane is—and, damn, he’s most definitely sexy—I have no intention of nudging this friendship of ours outside the friend zone.
Or do I?
“And…?” Keane prompts again, his face on fire.
I bite my lip. Okay, it’s clearly time for me to figure my shit out. What the hell am I doing with this boy? If I’m being honest with myself, what the heck was I hoping to achieve tonight when I came out of the bathroom in my thin yellow tank top and no bra and scooted into bed with a guy who’d been going on all day about my “gorgeous tits”? Hmm? Was I just giving the guy a naughty little peek to boost my ego? And how about when I shimmied for him and let the girls jiggle like Grandma’s Jell-O mold for him? What was I doing then? Hmm? Did I maybe wanna make him drool just a little bit more to cap off a day full of drooling?
Or was I subconsciously intending to give Keane the green light to make a move on me?
“And…?” Keane prompts again. “Come on, man-eater. Tell me.”
I exhale a long, shaky breath.
Yeah, I was totally giving this sexy boy the green light to make a move on me
, I suddenly realize.
Most definitely.
“And I think,” I begin, my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth. “Um. It turns out... I think Keane Morgan is... much... sexier... than Ball Peen Hammer.” I take a deep breath. “Much,
much
sexier.”
Keane’s eyes darken.
My heart is absolutely racing, but I forge ahead. “Like when you sang along to ‘Trip Switch’ in my car? For me, that was...” I trail off. Okay, yeah, I can’t do this anymore. I’ve said all I can manage. I’m done being a man-eater now. I tried.
Keane smirks. “When I sang ‘Trip Switch’ that was...
what
, Maddy?” Keane asks. He bites his lip. “Hey, don’t turn into Shy Maddy on me now, baby doll. It’s just me, remember? Tell me what you were gonna say.”
I swallow hard. Oh, God, I can barely breathe. “That was... sexy as hell,” I whisper.
Keane unclasps his fingers from mine and runs his warm hands down the length of my arms again, all the way to my torso, bringing his thumbs to rest precariously close to the sides of my breasts. “You thought
that
was sexy as hell?”
I nod, barely able to breathe. Oh, crap. I can feel my nipples hardening into little pebbles.
Keane licks his lips. “You thought me singing along to ‘Trip Switch’ in your car was sexier than all that stuff I just did for you?”
I nod again.
Keane chuckles softly to himself. “Ho-lee shit.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, don’t move, baby doll. I got another lap dance for you.” He leaps off me, strides to the desk across the small room, and fiddles with something on my laptop. “Let’s see if I can’t get your motor running to full-throttle this time, sweetheart.”
Chapter 31
Maddy
I remain frozen on the bed, my arms above my head, my eyes wide, my nipples hard, watching Keane’s muscular backside in the dim light as he bends over my computer, the waistband of his sweatpants riding impossibly low on his trim hips.
When “Trip Switch” begins blaring, Keane turns around and stands at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, his muscles taut.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to start dancing. But he doesn’t move. He just keeps standing at the edge of the bed, commanding my attention with nothing more than his smoldering gaze.
I rise up onto my forearms, my chest heaving in synchronicity with Keane’s, anticipation killing me—but still, Keane does nothing but glower at me like a vampire assessing his next meal.
Finally, mercifully, when the song reaches its first chorus, Keane begins moving his body, his eyes still trained on mine. But this time, unlike the way Keane danced to “Pony” a few moments ago, his movement isn’t flashy. It’s raw. Sensual.
Honest
. It seems Keane’s not
performing
to this song—he’s
revealing
something to me. Something intimate—a secret just for me.
I part my lips, suddenly overcome with desire.
After several understated moves, Keane bends down and peels off his sweatpants, his eyes still locked with mine, and when he straightens back up in nothing but grey boxer-briefs, my breath catches.
“Wow,” I whisper.
But Keane’s got his game face on. He crawls onto the bed like a panther and, starting at my bare feet, his body gyrating subtly to the beat of the music, he slithers up the length of my pajama bottoms, skimming his nose and mouth up my shins and knees and inner thighs. When his face arrives at my crotch, he pauses ever so briefly right above my aching clit.
I widen my legs at the sensation of his warm breath on my bull’s-eye, but even as I do it, he’s on the move again, his nose and lips skimming up the length of my torso toward my breasts.
Good God, we’re not even a full minute into the “Trip Switch” portion of this lap dance and Keane’s already got me spreading my legs for him? What am I doing? I feel like I’m under a spell.
Keane’s face nuzzles briefly into my cleavage and then skims over to my hard left nipple jutting up from underneath my tank top. He hovers over the erect bud for a long beat, his labored breathing warming the fabric over my breast, until, without warning, he nips at the outline of my nipple, making me moan softly in shock and arousal.
Keane looks up from my chest, his eyes blazing, perhaps looking to gauge if I’m comfortable with the new direction of this lap dance, and I nod, encouraging him. He smiles wickedly and, without hesitation, lowers his head and buries his face in the fabric-covered valley between my breasts again, this time with ferocious enthusiasm. I run my fingers through Keane’s hair as he makes my breasts jiggle and my nipples harden to steel.
But, quickly, Keane’s face is on the move again. He lays soft kisses on my collarbone and up my neck as his hand fondles my breast from the outside of my shirt.
I arch my back, moaning with pleasure, my body on fire. Every fiber of my body wants to reach out and grope Keane the way he’s doing to me, but I’m not certain about the rules of this “lap dance.” Keane’s clearly told me the pickles are never allowed to touch him when he performs... and I’m honestly not sure if I’m a pickle right now or if I’m just... me.
I’ve no sooner wondered about the nature of this “lap dance” than Keane covers my body with his, presses himself into me, and grinds a massive hard-on straight into my crotch.
I let out a soft moan, relieved and excited to discover Keane’s as turned on as I am. I throw my arms around his back and hike my legs around his gyrating hips and grind myself into him feverishly. “Keane,” I whisper, excitement surging inside me.
“Touch me, Maddy,” Keane whispers into my ear, his hips coaxing mine into sensual movement to match his, his hands exploring my breasts. I slide my fingertips down Keane’s muscled lower back, over the waistband of his briefs, and caress and squeeze his hard ass from outside his underwear as he gyrates deliciously on top of me. Oh my God, this feels incredible.
In response to my grip on his gyrating ass, Keane slides his hand under my tank top and caresses my naked breast, sending electricity shooting through my entire body. “You’re sexy as hell,” Keane whispers, his fingers pinching my nipple. “I gotta see ’em,” he says. “I’m dying to see ’em.”
“They’re all yours,” I whisper.
Keane deftly repositions himself until he’s straddling me, his knees resting on either side of my hips, his erection poking monstrously from behind his gray briefs. He takes a deep, shaky breath and slowly lifts my tank top to my neck, his palms brushing against my naked skin as he lifts the fabric. “Gorgeous,” he breathes. “Holy fuck. They’re perfect.” Without hesitation, he leans over me and swirls his tongue around my rock-hard nipple.
When Keane’s mouth moves to my other breast, I slide my fingers straight down his back, burrow them underneath the waistband of his briefs, and grope every square inch of his bare ass.
At the touch of my greedy fingers on his flesh, Keane shudders on top of me with obvious arousal. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he breathes. “Oh, shit.” He slides off me, taking his ass away from my reach, and stretches his body next to mine on the mattress, and, before I can pout about him pulling his bare ass out of my reach, he reaches between my legs and begins massaging my clit from the outside of my pajama pants.
At his confident touch on the most sensitive spot of my body, I arch my back and widen my legs and literally growl with pleasure.
“Does that feel good?” Keane whispers, his fingertips stroking me fervently, his steely hard-on grinding into my thigh.
“So good,” I gasp, jerking underneath his hand.
I reach over and stroke the bulge straining behind his briefs, and he lets out a loud groan at my touch. Oh, God, I’m dying to slide my fingers inside his briefs, or, hell, to slide those damned underwear right off and see Keane’s naked body in its full, erect, breathtaking glory, but I refrain. Keane’s not slipping his fingertips inside my underwear, after all, so I suppose I’ll follow his lead.
“Trip Switch” ends and the next song cued up on YouTube automatically begins playing. It’s a song I don’t recognize, though I can tell it’s also by Nothing But Thieves, and, holy hell, it’s a sexy freakin’ song. I begin stroking Keane’s fabric-covered hard-on more fervently, aching to give him pleasure the way he’s doing for me.
After a moment, Keane lets out a guttural groan and his entire body shudders. “Stop,” Keane blurts. “You gotta stop that. I’m too turned on. I can’t... You gotta stop.”
I stop touching him, though it pains me to do it, and place my hands by my sides.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Keane whispers, his fingers working me into a state of delirium. “Oh, fuck, I
really
shouldn’t be doing this.” He presses his hard-on urgently into me, his extreme arousal evident. “Fuck, Maddy. What am I doing?”
“Keane,” I murmur. “I’m so close. Oh my God.”
“You’re so fucking sexy. Look at you.
Fuck
. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp. I beat my fists against the mattress like a wild woman and let out a strange noise. My body is tightening and coiling sharply from deep inside, on the very cusp of releasing ferociously.
“Oh, I’m fucking up so bad,” Keane whispers, even as he increases the speed of his hand on my clit and kisses my breast. “What the fuck am I doing?”
I moan and buck, my skin prickling. I’m on the ragged edge. “Don’t stop. Oh my God. Here it comes.” I feel like I’m losing control of my limbs. I grip the bed cover underneath me and arch my back, writhing at the outrageous pleasure he’s giving me. Oh my God, Keane’s fingers are fucking magical. And now he’s sucking on my nipple so fucking hard, it hurts. Oh shit, I’m so effing close. This is the most turned on I’ve ever been in my life.
Keane increases the speed of his magical touch. “You’re so fucking hot,” he breathes, his excitement turning me on. “Come on, baby. Let go. Come for me. Concentrate on how good it feels.” His lips travel from my breast to my neck as his fingers continue working me.
“Oh, God,” I say, my voice breaking. I’m right on the edge. Keane’s fingers are owning me. His lips and tongue are giving me goose bumps. His hard-on pressing against my hip is divine. His scent. The song. Holy shit, this
song
.
“Listen to the song,” Keane whispers, reading my mind. “It’s called ‘Itch.’ Scratch your fucking itch, baby. Listen to the lyrics and scratch your fucking itch.”
I do as I’m told, and after a brief moment of listening to the words of the song, my body releases with the strongest orgasm of my life. “Oh my God,” I groan loudly. “I’m coming so hard. Oh, God.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Keane says, clearly outrageously excited by my climax. And those are the last words he says before all hell breaks loose.
He climbs on top of me and kisses me voraciously. He’s groping every inch of me. Pressing his hard-on feverishly into my crotch. We’re panting. Clutching at each other. Dry-humping each other like lunatics. Kissing voraciously. Oh good lord, this is the most intense moment of my life. I’m literally dizzy—euphoric. I’ve never been kissed like this—with such urgent, desperate
need
before. It’s pushing me into a state of delirium like nothing I’ve experienced before.
“Make me come again,” I gasp against Keane’s lips, my pelvis tilting and grinding. I’m desperate for him, aching for him to plunge himself inside me and burrow himself all the way. “Do that thing to me, Keane. I’m all yours. Do it now.”
But, at my invitation, Keane does the exact opposite of what I’m expecting him to do: he freezes on top of me like I’ve stunned him with a Taser.
“Keane?” I ask after a beat, confused by his strange body language. “Make me come again,” I breathe, thinking he didn’t understand me the first time. “Do that thing to me, Keane. I’ve never come over and over before. I wanna do it.”