The pain in his words resonated with Giselle. She hummed in empathy. “I guess we all have scars.” When he didn't respond, Giselle returned her gaze to the stage and let her eyes blur over the rising pleasure there as she shored up her barriers for the devil's inevitable departure. Once he'd moved on, maybe she could get out of here without feeling like she was running away like a scared puppy.
Instead of standing, the devil slid his forearm over the table, easing close enough for his scent to touch her nose-an electric balance of musk, spice, and man that made Giselle's bones melt. “Bet you like the power of pulling a man's control right out of his body just like that.”
Her head barely moved in a shake to deny it. Her lips parted on a breath to tell him he was wrong.
“Look at him,” he said before she could speak. He took her chin between his fingers and gently eased her head back toward the stage. Her skin tingled beneath his touch. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hum. “Look at how she's controlling him. Controlling his pleasure. Giving enough to make him want more, then taking it away until he's willing to do anything to feel her hot, wet mouth squeeze and suck and stroke until he comes.”
Her pussy surged at his words. His dirty talk was seriously hot. She ached and throbbed. Her breasts swelled tight, and her nipples stood on end, so sensitive even the brush of her dress's silky fabric shot a tingling sensation deep between her legs.
Giselle cleared her throat softly, trying to find a response with a brain that was suddenly soaked in a combination of alcohol and need. Her heart beat in her ears. Her breath came quick and shallow.
“Bet you like controlling a man like that. Like teasing and playing until he's begging you to suck him off.” His fingers feathered over her jaw, around the shell of her ear, down her neck, leaving a blinding trail of heat. “Bet you like the salty taste of a man when he fills your mouth. The powerful sensation of his release deep in your throat.”
Giselle pulled her gaze from the excitement on the stage, her eyes narrowed on his face, and she gave in to the irresistible urge to lick her lips. His full mouth kicked up in a knowing smile, showing a small crescent of absolutely perfect teeth-sparkling white and completely straight. Which only made her think of the way Troy's had overlapped a tiny bit.
Then he slid his thumb slowly along her still-wet lower lip, his eyes following, and Troy slipped out of her mind again.
“That mouth of yours was created to suck cock,” the stranger murmured. “Full lips, strong jaw… Bet your mouth wrapped around a cock would take a man directly to heaven.” He paused and barely whispered, “Want to go to heaven with me, angel?”
Yes.
Absolutely.
“No.” The word came out weak and hesitant, so she said it again. “No. I'm just here to-”
“Maybe you'd rather get sucked.” The backs of his fingers traveled up and down the side of her neck, flooding her with heat and tightening her breasts. “Do you want my hot mouth on your pussy? Tasting you? Licking you? Fucking you with my tongue? Fingering you open until I find your clit, then taking it between my lips and sucking…sucking…sucking…? Oh, so good. I can almost taste you.”
“Please stop.” Her skin had become so sensitive, she couldn't take the slide of his fingers on her neck and covered his hand with hers, pulling it away. “I'm just here for a little research. I'm not interested in participating, as inviting as it may be. I'm sorry.”
He'd twisted their fingers around until his big hand covered hers, but he held it lightly. The calluses scratching her skin confirmed her theory of him being a self-made man. And that piece of information, more than any other single thing she'd learned, was a huge turn-on.
“Research,” he said, his voice entertained, possibly a little condescending. “Looking for some ideas to spice up the bedroom at home?”
“It's for work.” She picked up her glass and drank. She should have stopped at two glasses of wine so she had more control over her barriers. This intimate pressure from a stranger made her want to run. And it was too soon to run. If she left now, she'd walk away feeling stupid and weak and ashamed.
“What kind of work do you do?” he asked.
The fact that he didn't recognize her eased a sliver of stress. “I'm in entertainment.”
“Ah,” he said, sitting back, his hand still lying over hers, his fingers stroking absently. “You work at a club like this, then?”
She laughed, relaxing a little. “No.”
“Stripper?” he asked with a teasing edge now. “Escort?”
She laughed harder. “No, look-”
On stage, dual climaxes hit, the performers' vocal enjoyment drowning Giselle's brush-off and shooting what was left of her nerves to hell. She was officially fried.
“I'm in entertainment too,” the devil said, drawing her attention back to him once the moans and groans died down.
“What?” she asked, unable to follow the conversation in such a bizarre setting. The overstimulation dragged her mind in five different directions, the dim lighting cast shadows over everything and everyone, and the alcohol was starting to mess with her head. She focused on his grin. A hot, teasing, I'm-so-messing-with-you grin that sparked her impish tendencies. “Entertainment, huh? Do you work at a place like this?”
He chuckled, and the warm sound tingled through her belly. “No.”
“Stripper, then? Escort, maybe?”
“No.” He laughed the word, then grew a little more serious. “I'm in movies.”