It’s her.
Poppy.
The one woman I’ve always wanted and can never have.
It takes everything in me to stay in my seat, and even then I’m still not sure I can maintain that control. Especially if she really thinks she’s going to take off what little clothing she has on in front of all these other people.
Mine.
Even though she’s not. Even though she never can be. But that’s how I think of her. I want to rip her off that stage and cover her with a blanket so no one can see the delicious curves that are driving me to the brink of insanity at this very moment.
The beat of the music picks up, the sultry chords as
saulting my ears, my eyes transfixed as Poppy’s long blonde hair shifts and swirls around her as she gyrates on that pole.
God, I’d give anything for that to be my cock right now. My entire life—from the time I was fourteen—I’ve fantasized about what is happening right in front of me. I’m torn between a desperate need to get the fuck out of there and stay right where I am, watching as she reaches between her full tits and unclasps the bra that she’s spilling out of. Because I don’t know if I can handle seeing this.
I don’t know if I can resist the temptation to sin if I see what’s underneath that lace.
But I don’t move. I sit there as she lets the bra fall down her arms then tosses it away.
Fuck.
So fucking perfect. Full tits with dusky pink nipples standing at attention, puckered and begging for my mouth.
She reaches up to touch them, pinching them between her fingers, and I’m done.
I lose it. I come completely unhinged.
Mine.
The one word is all that’s echoing through my head. All I can focus on as I propel myself out of the booth and toward the stairs that lead backstage.
I push past the bouncer, not giving a damn that he’s fucking intimidating.
My purpose is set, and nothing will stop me until I get to her.
Poppy.
My stepsister.
Poppy
One minute I’m doing my job, trying hard to hide in the recesses of my mind, to not be an active participant in what I’m doing. Stripping.
The next minute I’m gasping as I’m ripped from the stage in nothing but my panties. If they can even be called that.
My eyes go wide in terror. I don’t know who has me or what they’re doing, but all I do is search desperately for the security guard somewhere in the darkness of the room.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a voice growls against my ear.
I suck in a sharp breath as my body goes limp, every bit of strength leaving me as I slump against the hard chest I’m trapped against.
No. It can’t be him. But even though it’s been three years since I’ve seen him, I’d know that voice anywhere. It haunts my dreams every night.
“Dominic?” I don’t even recognize my voice, the breathy, needy sound that rips from my chest as he pulls me backstage and whirls me around, pushing my back up against a wall in the dark shadows behind the curtains.
“I said what the fuck are you doing?” His voice is hard. Nearly as hard as the icy expression in his blue eyes. I could get lost in those eyes. I nearly do.