Playboy Prince

His eyes pass over me slowly, from my spiked heels, to my sheer panties and bra, to the purple strands falling at my chin, highlighting the plum shade of my lips.

"Fuck." His eyes stay glued to me.

"This is my song." I motion to the Bluetooth stereo in the corner. "My set. Three songs to do whatever I want with you."

He nods.

I close my eyes. Let my thoughts drift to a dirtier scenario. The two of us, at an actual club, in an actual private room (he offered to make it happen, but I wanted to try this first).

On the balcony at an exclusive bar.

In his office, after hours, him reprimanding me and ordering me onto my knees.

But Liam doesn't reprimand.

And I'm the one in charge here.

Maybe another time. Maybe next time. Maybe tomorrow, fucking tonight. I don't know.

Right now, I want to sink into this.

Right now, I'm the one driving him out of his fucking mind.

I take in the desire in his eyes, then I bring my gaze to our reflection: The back of the arm chair. His messy hair. Me, standing in my heels and lingerie, commanding the attention in the room.

It's hot as fuck, but it's not enough. I need to see him. To see us.

I take another step toward him.

Then another.

Then I'm close enough to touch him.

He reaches for my hips.

I take his wrists. Press them to the chair. "Not yet." I undo the hook of my bra. "Not until I'm done with you."

His pupils dilate.

Fuck, I want to feel every inch of his body against every inch of mine. But I want this more. I want to toy with him the way he toys with me.

I want to push him to the brink of what he can take.

Or past it even.

I slip the bra off my shoulders. Toss it on the floor behind me.

I haven't seen a lot of lap dances in person, but I know what I want—to see my body against his, to see him out of his fucking mind.

And then I'll feel his hands on my skin, his lips on my lips, his cock driving into me again and again.

I bring my hands to his shoulders and slide onto his lap.

He presses his palms into the chair, equal parts patient and desperate. Usually, I'm the one patient with him. When he teases me. When he drives me crazy. When he says stupid shit to make me laugh.

But with this, him drawing out my fantasies, pushing just enough, delivering everything I want?

He's endlessly patient. Like he really can wait forever.

Can he?

Right now, I almost believe it.

Even as I roll my hips against his, feel him hard against me.

I roll in time with the music, slow and steady. Not patient, but biding my time, drawing him out, making him wait.

My eyes flit to the right. To our reflection. Him, sitting up straight in the armchair, staring up at me with wonder and need.

Me, topless in his lap, grinding against him.

He's in his clothes.

I'm in control.

Who has the power? I don't know. I don't care. I don't care about anything but driving him out of his mind.

I grind against him until the song shifts, then I undo the knot of his tie, unbutton his shirt, run my fingers over his chest.

His hands slip from the chair. He reaches for me. Stops himself.

I grind against him one more time, then I shift onto my feet. I lock eyes with him as I slip my panties off my hips, kick them aside, turn to show off my ass.

To see the two of us in full view of the mirror.

Fuck.

When I slip onto his lap, he reaches for me.

I grab his hands again, but I don't put them on the chair. I place them on my hips. "Not yet."

His breath hitches in his throat.

I grind against him again and again, rocking against his cock.

His slacks are in the way, but I still feel him, hard and thick and ready for me.

I want that. I really fucking want that. Like it's the first time. Like it's been a million years. Like I'll die if I don't have him inside me.

He's the one driving me out of my fucking mind.

His fingers dig into my hips.

I slide back as far as I can, so I'm completely pressed against him, so I'm wide open, on view for him.

A groan falls from his lips.

Then another.

I spread my legs a little wider, take his hands, bring them to my chest.

His lips brush my neck.

He kisses softly as he cups my breasts. Then it's harder, rougher.

The scrape of his teeth. The pressure of his thumbs.

I rock against him as he toys with me.

Through the verse, the chorus, the breakdown.

Until the chorus fades into the outro.

Three songs to toy with him.

One left.

This feels so fucking good, but I need more. I need him completely at my mercy.