Ack!
I couldn’t push him away and get up. I wasn’t a prude; I was into men and certainly put my vibrator to good use with some steamy fantasies, but this wasn’t the guy—or guys—I wanted to see up close and way too personal. He wasn’t the guy whose junk I wanted to see, to fuck.
Surprisingly, my mind went right to the two men behind the bar earlier. The big, big men. I wouldn’t mind seeing them this close, this personal. Or even more personal. I had to guess they didn’t manscape and each of their dicks would be bigger than the stripper’s and they’d know just what to do with them.
And it wasn’t spinning them in circles. Yeah, if they were up here, I’d settle back and totally get into it. I clenched my thighs together at the thought of both of them. Yup, not a prude.
All of a sudden, the bright stage lights were blocked and Mr. Stripper and I were cast in shadow. I couldn’t see who had climbed on the stage because they were silhouetted, but they were big. Mr. Stripper stepped back, the others shifted to the side and all at once I could see who it was.
My heart leapt into my throat and it was possible I had drool on my chin. The ladies were practically screaming with excitement at the spontaneous appearance of the men from behind the bar. Two big, real cowboys had just joined the strip show.
The two I’d just been wishing for were up here. What the hell?
These two were hot. So fucking hot my panties were totally ruined just looking up at them. The lights showcased their height, their broad shoulders, the rippling, well-defined muscles—and they were wearing clothes. Their forearms were corded with muscle, and thank the dear Lord, sprinkled with dark hair. And the bulges in their jeans? Big, thick and blatant beneath the snug fabric. The bigger guy, the one Ava had hit on, his bulge aimed up toward his belt, the other’s tucked down his inner thigh. How did they function with those things in their pants? And out, wow. I could only imagine—and it wasn’t in a G-string nor being spun about.
I glanced up at them and they had their eyes on me. They’d been watching me stare at their cocks.
Oh my god. I had no doubt everyone in the building could see me flushing with mortification. I ran my sweaty palms down my jean skirt.
Mr. Stripper slapped the bigger man—aka Mr. Big—on the shoulder, gave him a smile as if he knew him. They spoke briefly, but I couldn’t hear a word of it over the ladies and the music. Mr. Stripper grinned and held up his hands as if he were being arrested, then stepped back a little more, holding one arm out signaling for Mr. Big to take his place in front of me.
He was going to do a strip tease? Now? Here? With me? I licked my lips at the thought, hoping his hands would go to his big belt buckle and undo it, slide down the zipper and pull that monster out.
I wanted to see it. And definitely up close and personal. He literally oozed masculinity, and I had no doubt I was getting drunk off the pheromones pumping out of him.
And his friend? The other man who’d been behind the bar most of the night slinging drinks, well, he was no slouch. Leaner, but thickly muscled, he had a relaxed demeanor, a sexy swagger. Bartender had blond hair, pale eyes and a square jaw that looked etched from marble. He only nodded a greeting at the stripper, then kept his eyes on me, his hands on his lean hips. It was as if he was taking in every single detail—with x-ray vision—from my cowboy boots to my pulled back hair. And every single inch in between.
The two of them, they were the rugged alpha males. Real cowboys. They were nothing like other men, making the stripper look average.
I should have gotten up, run off, but my brain was stalled on the guys from the bar being here. In front of me. I just sat and… ogled. And they were looking at me right back. As if they were predators and I was their prey. I started to stand, but Bartender put a hand on my shoulder to keep me in place, walked around to the back of my chair and leaned down.
“Easy, baby,” he murmured, his breath fanning my neck.
Were the stage lights making it hot in here? No. It was the sizzle of the simple touch, the rough timbre of his deep voice. And baby? That should have raised every red flag in my female arsenal. Instead, it made me shiver.
“You didn’t want that guy all over you, did you?” Bartender asked, his fingers sliding back and forth over my shoulder.
I shook my head, stared up—way up—at Mr. Big, who’d stepped right in front of me. I gulped at the way he looked at me. Eyes dark, heated, jaw clenched and every line of his body tense. Intent.
He dropped to his knees before me so we were eye level. The audience clapped and screamed, clearly pleased with the way things were going, but I barely heard them. I barely heard the music, the thump of bass. I only felt Bartender’s hand on my shoulder, held my breath in anticipation of what the other would do.
When Mr. Big gripped my ankles and began to slowly widen them, I didn’t resist. Not even when the motion parted my legs, making my jean skirt slide higher and higher up my thighs. And when his fingers stretched to curl around the front legs of the chair, pinning my lower legs to them, my gaze flicked to his.
His eyes met mine, held. It was as if he were waiting for me to say no, to tell him to stop. He was silently asking for permission.
I couldn’t deny him, because… several reasons. But the one that was most important, was I didn?
??t want to. I mean, his hands were big and remarkably gentle, and yet I knew he could beat someone unconscious if he really wanted.
But it wouldn’t be me. No, I could sense he had plans for me and they involved me being wide awake.
“You want two real men to take care of you? To give you what you need?” Bartender asked.
I tilted my head, glanced at him over my shoulder. I didn’t have to look far, for he was right there. I saw the sandy colored whiskers on his strong jaw, his full lips. I could smell him. Soap and mint and leather and Grade-A male. Grade-A beefcake.
My mind was a little muddled. Overwhelmed. I glanced out at the audience to look for Ava, to see if she thought this was as insane as I did, but couldn’t see her for the stage lights. I squinted, only able to see a blob of women. I could hear them, knew they were there hooting and shouting “You go, girl” and “Eat that pussy!” The entire bar was watching and could see everything. Mr. Big’s fingers gently squeezed and brought me back to the moment. To them. Did I want two real men to take care of me and give me what I needed?
Um, yeah.