Stroke Me (Body Scenes 1)

The old Annabelle would have politely declined the invitation and went in search of her friend, who’d long since disappeared into the sea of overly dressed, party-bound people.

The new Annabelle said, “I’ll dance with you.”

He loosened his grip on her, which she found disappointing. She’d enjoyed the close contact, the intimacy of the moment. But then he turned her in his arms and she stared up at what was not just a handsome face. It was a devastatingly handsome face. One that stole her breath again and made that spark deep in her pussy turn into full-blown fireworks.

An indiscreet moan fell from her gaping mouth. Her fifty bucks was worth this one glorious moment alone. Finally—finally!—she experienced physical and sexual stirrings that proved she wasn’t the frigid country-club prude Yvette—and, admittedly, Annabelle herself—had thought she’d become!

“I’m Eric,” said the gorgeous man who still held her in a loose embrace. A soft lifting of one corner of his mouth created a very sexy grin that made her already racing pulse soar off the charts.

“Annabelle.” The only word she could manage because she had to fight back the natural compulsion to drool. She’d never seen anything quite like Eric. It was a bitch tearing her eyes away from his perfectly sculpted face, his emerald eyes, his full, extremely kissable lips. He had sandy brown hair that was short, but strategically mussed. Like some lucky woman’s fingers had just been tangled in it as he’d kissed her, long and deep.

Eventually, Annabelle dragged her gaze away from his face. It slipped to his broad shoulders and wide chest. He wore a pewter-colored suit with a dove-gray shirt and matching silk tie. Recklessly stylish.

He towered over her by a good six inches, even in her high heels. Annabelle was instantly captivated, instantly turned-on.

“Doesn’t seem to be any more room on the dance floor,” he said, his eyes alight with invitation. For just a dance, or did he have more to offer? she wondered.

He added, “Guess we’ll have to make do with this little space we’ve carved out for ourselves.”

“Guess so.” She groaned inwardly. Christ, could she think of nothing interesting or provocative to say? Nothing witty or seductive?

No, it seemed her mind had shut down, blocking all intelligent thought. Her libido had clearly taken over, because all Annabelle could think about was how amazingly sexy Eric was and how incredibly good it felt to be in his arms. Well, she had more on her mind than that. This was her inaugural night out as a single woman. She hadn’t come looking for love or even a good fuck, but was now rethinking her position on that latter notion.

By no means was Annabelle a one-night-stand kind of woman. But she was suddenly willing to reconsider that conviction as Eric tightened his arms around her and all but crushed her body to his hard one. Her own arms circled his neck as she stared up into deep green eyes that sparkled with mischief. This guy had erotic thoughts on his mind, no doubt about it. Annabelle’s nipples tightened at the prospect of being the star of some of those wicked ruminations.

As the music morphed into a slow, sexy tune spotlighting muted trumpets, her body responded instantly. Her breasts were pressed just below the hard ledge of Eric’s pectoral muscles. Their lower bodies melded together and their legs practically entwined as they merely shuffled about the floor.

“You are seriously pretty,” he told her. “I saw you the moment you walked through the door. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Annabelle’s breath caught. In addition to it being much too long since she’d gotten laid, it’d been a horrifically long time since a man as gorgeous as this one had complimented her. And with such sincerity glowing in his warm eyes.

“Thanks,” she merely mumbled, her stomach flipping, her pulse racing.

“You’re not with someone, are you?” he asked.

“My friend Yvette. Who has clearly ditched me.”

One dark blond eyebrow lifted. “You’re not…?”

Annabelle laughed. “Gay? No. I’m straight and recently divorced.” As an afterthought, she asked, “You?”

He grinned down at her. A casual lifting of one corner of his mouth that was half-assed and sexy as hell. “Not gay. Not married. Not in a relationship. I work a lot.”

“What do you do?”

He bent his head to hers and said in her ear, “I’ve got a show in Vegas. Strength acrobatics.”

Annabelle thought that was just about the coolest thing she’d ever heard, being from the suburbs of Connecticut where nobody did anything interesting, except occasionally grow a flower hybrid that took first place at the annual Green Garden Festival.

“That sounds exciting,” she said to Eric.

He gave a noncommittal shrug, then said, “It’s a living.”

Gorgeous and modest. She liked him more and more. And he certainly had the body for strength acrobatics, whatever the hell that term actually meant. The word “strength” was what she latched onto. His broad shoulders and wide chest gave way to a tapered waist and long legs. From head to toe, he was huge and hotter than hell. Making Annabelle wonder if God had graced him with more than just thick limbs.

Oh it was pure torture to be sexually deprived! She suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about how massive his cock might be. How long and thick. How hard.

Nor could she stop herself from thinking of how erotic it would be to have him slowly thrust into her pussy, filling and stretching her. Stroking her. Fucking her in ways her husband, Barry, had never even considered.