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“Do we have a bet or not?” Her blue eyes bored into him. She wasn’t the shy little farm girl who’d blushed when they first met. And now she wanted to take her clothes off in public for strange men?
He couldn’t let that happen. “It’s a bet.”
“Good.” She pushed him toward the futon, and he sat uneasily. It reminded him too much of the couches at Frisky’s.
She walked over to her CD player and bent over a stack of CDs, her breasts pushing against the front of her dark-blue blouse. Her firm ass was nicely outlined in the swishy black skirt.
He shifted uncomfortably. If her fully clothed curves were already getting to him, what would he do when he saw more?
She pressed the start button and stood. Marvin Gaye’s song “Let’s Get It On” started. Oh, no. Marvin was singing about holding back his feelings for a long time. Adam had tried, really tried to do the same, but now Bridget was swaying in front of him to the soulful music and all those smashed-down feelings and desires bubbled up.
She gave him a small smile and unclipped her hair. Waves of honey, coffee and gold tumbled around her shoulders. She shook them out and he gripped the futon’s edge to steady himself, imagining those strands running through his fingers.
She squared her shoulders and looked like she took a deep breath. For courage? “Bridge, if you don’t want to do this, we can cancel the bet.”
Her confidence seemed to come roaring back. “First of all, don’t call me ‘Bridge.’ It’s a man’s name.” She reached for the top button of her blouse. “And I am definitely not a man.”
No, she wasn’t. Her fingers traveled down the column of buttons in an excruciatingly slow pace, giving him a peek at a black bra and flat belly. Then she shrugged her blouse onto the floor.
Adam’s fingertips went numb digging into the futon, but that was the only thing numb. At the sight of her black-lace-clad breasts, his disobedient cock came to life.
Her skin was milky pale in contrast with the black lace, lush mounds of plump perfection curving above the bra. Even from where he sat in silent agony, he saw her nipples tighten against the fabric.
Her gaze dropped to his lap and her eyes widened in pleased surprise. He knew he’d lost the bet right then, but the fox side of him guarding the chicken coop wanted her to keep going.
And she did, swaying as she unfastened her skirt and dropped it to puddle around her ankles. He stared at her—from her sexy boots to her black lace garter belt, black sheer stockings and black lace panties. Oh, he loved black lace garter belts and black sheer stockings and black lace panties.
She kicked the skirt free and did a sexy little twirl, confirming his worst suspicions that her matching panties were indeed thong panties. Her ass was white and firm after years of physical labor and his fingers itched to dig into it.
She reached for the stocking hooks and he surrendered. “All right, all right, you win! You would make an absolute fortune at Frisky’s.” He would be her best customer. “But you just can’t. Please, Bridget.”
A broad grin crossed her face. “Not so fast. We’re not done yet.”
“Not yet?” It came out as a whimper.
“I don’t think a striptease counts for the whole bet.” She stalked toward him in her boots and lingerie and stopped between his widespread knees. He stared at her in a daze. Marvin was still crooning like crazy. “After all, the girls make most of their money on lap dances. Let’s try it.”
Adam’s mind blanked. A platonic lap dance from the woman he’d lusted after for years? And just this evening he’d claimed not to be a masochist.
BRIDGET LOOKED DOWN at Adam, her hands on her hips. She’d thought she would feel awkward or embarrassed prancing around in fussy lingerie with her breasts and hips jiggling all over, but it was just the opposite. She was an all-powerful sex goddess, judging from the glazed expression on Adam’s face. That, and the erection his finely woven wool pants couldn’t hide.
No more little sister. She took a deep breath and knelt on the futon, straddling his lap.
Marvin segued into “Sexual Healing” and Adam groaned. “Bridge…”
He still didn’t get it. “Bridget,” she corrected, swaying over him. Although she wasn’t touching him, the heat from his erection kindled a matching heat in her belly. And parts lower.
She shimmied closer, cupping her breasts and bringing them closer to his face. Her nipples were achingly hard, and she rolled them between her fingers through the lace.
His chocolate-brown eyes dilated at her daring and he swallowed hard. She reached behind her and slowly unhooked her bra, her gaze never leaving his. He gulped as her breasts spilled from the cups and she tossed the bra aside.
She paused for a second, letting him drink her in. Her nipples had always been extralarge, too, and she had tried to mask them for years with special adhesive covers or firm liners in her bras. But no more. Adam extended a finger toward one hard peak but stopped, still obeying the lap dance rules of no touching.
“Go ahead,” she cooed. “You can touch me.”
He looked up from her breasts, his expression serious. “If I do, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I won’t want you to stop.” And with that declaration, she sat firmly on his lap, his cock pressing between her thighs.
Their intimate contact broke his deadlock. To her surprise, he didn’t grope her breasts, but instead grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a kiss.
His mouth was hungry and gentle all at once. She responded eagerly, her tongue sweeping over the seam of his lips. With a groan of surrender, he finally opened to her, his tongue sliding along hers in a provocative dance. After so many years of lusting after Adam, their kiss was exactly what she’d hoped for and more than she’d dreamed of.
He pulled her even closer, and she ran her fingers through his hair. The black waves were hot silk under her fingers, and he made tiny noises as she massaged his scalp.
He broke free and ran kisses down her cheek and behind her ear. He clutched her to him, her bare nipples catching on his oxford dress shirt. She unbuttoned it with shaky fingers and spread the lapels wide. His chest was hard muscle and she rubbed her nipples through the black curls there.
He was heavenly. She ground against him, all finesse and pretense gone. His hands tightened on her back and he licked her collarbone. Was he reluctant to touch her breasts? Had he known how shy she’d been about them?
She pulled back and cupped them in her hands as an offering of trust. “Go ahead.”
Instead of diving right in, he smiled at her and gently ran his index finger down her neck to one pink tip. His callused fingertip circled it slowly, around and around until she thought she might scream. “Adam…” He pinched her gently, and when she didn’t flinch, he applied more pressure until she was twisting on him in sensual agony. Just when she thought that was the absolute best, he captured her other nipple with his mouth.
His tongue and teeth teased her, tormented her, tortured her. She was a prisoner of his hot, wet suction. Her nipples swelled even further under his expert caresses.
Exquisite sensation jetted between her legs, and her black thong grew damper. He hardened even more. She rubbed frantically on his erection, desperate to ease her ache.
As if he’d read her mind, he hooked a finger under the front of her thong and pulled it free. He insinuated his finger between her folds, driving through the soaking curls until he found his destination. He pressed her clitoris and she gave a short scream.
He grinned and her breast dropped from his mouth. He brought a hand to her leg and skimmed up and down. “I love these stockings.” He stopped at the wedge of bare thigh above the seam. “But they’re not as soft and smooth as you are.”
“Oh, Adam.” His sweet touch and his sweeter words overwhelmed her, and she turned her face away, a swath of hair protecting her emotions from his gaze.
She didn’t have long to reflect before his finger rubbed her again. He circled her clit gently, then with more pressure, seeking every drop of her response.
Tension built under his hands, her thong adding its own sexy brand of friction where it rubbed between her bottom cheeks. She ground on him and clutched at his chest, his nipples hardening under her touch.
He made a choked-off groan. “Please, Bridget, make me stop before it’s too late.”
The sensual power she’d captured strutting around in her lingerie rose again. She was the one who could make him come fully dressed. She was the one who was taking control of her own sex life.
She cupped one breast. “Suck on me.” And he obeyed.
His eyes closed as he eagerly feasted on her. His hands stroked her soaking wet flesh and grabbed at her ass like they were grabbing for a life preserver.
He moaned in a low voice as she rocked on him. His arousal whipped hers to an unbelievable level. She tipped her body forward, and with her free hand reached behind her to grasp his balls.
His eyes flew open. She squeezed and caressed them through his thin wool pants. And since he was panting too hard to suck her nipples anymore, she decided to plant kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his neck….
Her own tentative touches combined with his fingers and the thick cock under her twisted into unbearable tension. His balls pulled tighter under her hand. He gave one last savage thrust upward and she snapped like elastic stretched to the limit, pleasure rocketing from her clit to her breasts and deep into her core.
She gave quiet cries of pleasure and triumph. For years, Adam had been her schoolgirl fantasy as she’d furtively brought herself to release, but the reality was much, much better.
Adam yanked her close and rubbed his cock on her, his face pulling into taut lines. “No, Bridget, stop, ahhh…” But she gave his balls one last squeeze and he came hard, gasping and squirming, his breath hot and fast against her aching breasts.
Bridget slumped against his shoulder, his heart thudding under her touch. For a minute, she just cuddled, then stroked his silky chest hair. She’d longed to do that since his first visit to the farm and she saw him tossing hay bales without wearing a shirt. But their tender moment didn’t last long. She knew the second he started regretting what they’d done.
He squirmed underneath her, and not in a happy way. “Oh, man. Oh, man.” He hooked his hands under her arms, careful to avoid her breasts, and she climbed off him.
She sprawled onto the futon next to him, feeling like a pinup with her garter belt and boots still on. Now if she got Adam into the bedroom, they could go for round two.
He hopped up from the futon and made a beeline for the bathroom, not the bedroom. Well, that was okay. He did need to clean up and maybe they could take a shower together.
Pulling herself off the futon, she strode across the living room. Give her a whip, and she’d match Jinx. Except for the pierced nipples, of course. She tapped on the bathroom door. “Adam?”
He didn’t answer, so she tried the door. He’d locked it? “Adam, are you okay?” She jiggled the doorknob.
“Fine.” He didn’t sound fine. “Bridget, I need a pair of pants.”
“Oh. Okay.” She went into her bedroom and caught a glimpse of herself. Her hair was beyond mussed, but there was a gleam in her blue eyes and a rosy blush to her skin. If she refused to get him pants, would he stay?
Although a naked Adam trapped in her apartment appealed to her very much, she rummaged through her dresser and found an old pair of gray sweatpants that were too long for her. Maybe they’d fit him.
She returned to the bathroom and knocked. “Here you go.” He opened the door far enough to grab the pants and then locked it again.
Suddenly feeling chilly and not much like a pinup anymore, Bridget went into her bedroom and pulled on her fluffy sky-blue chenille bathrobe. The fabric brushed her sensitized skin and she shivered.
She heard the bathroom door open and hurried out. She fought back a giggle at his outfit. The pants were still too short and showed a chunk of bare, hairy leg above the tops of his black socks and dress shoes. When she saw his face, though, she stopped laughing.
He looked absolutely grim. “What’s the matter?” She already knew the answer.
“What’s the matter?” His eyebrows shot up. “We just did all this, and you ask what’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It felt pretty good.” Good was an understatement. Hedonistic, ecstatic, orgasmic—yeah, that last one covered it.
“I lost the bet.” His expression grew even darker. “Now you know just what power you’d have over those poor slobs at Frisky’s. If I were your customer, I’d wipe out my savings, max out my credit cards, sell a kidney to have you naked on top of me.”
“Wow.” That was quite a compliment. Too bad he looked as if he were donating his kidney. Without anesthetic.
He grabbed her forearm. “Think about your family.”
“Are you going to tell them I’m a stripper?” If he did, she might have some explaining to do about sewing lingerie, but that was all.
“No, I don’t want to hurt them.” He assumed a noble expression. “You’re their baby girl.”
She grimaced at him, exasperated. “All the dancers at Frisky’s are somebody’s baby girl.” Except for Electra, who was possibly someone’s baby boy.
“Then think about yourself. Those strippers will only drag you down to their level with their bad habits—alcohol, drugs.”
“In the first place, the dancers drink watered-down liquor at work so they don’t get tipsy and hurt themselves. And the only thing they inject into themselves is lip collagen.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Half go to school, the other half dance to support their kids. Sugar is working on her business degree and Jinx told me she’s working on her master’s thesis in comparative lit at Chicago University.”
He shook his head. “Forget about my weakness for you, Bridget. You know this is a bad idea. Promise me you won’t dance at Frisky’s until we talk again.”
He had a weakness for her? Well, vice versa, Adam. “I don’t know….” She pretended confusion until she saw his anxious expression. “All right, I promise. I won’t wear sexy lingerie and take it all off at Frisky’s for a man who’ll beg to see my bare breasts swaying in front of his face. And I definitely won’t wear my garter belt and stockings to give anyone a lap dance so that he’s squirming under me from sheer arousal.”
He swallowed hard. “Fine.” His voice squeaked and he tried again. “Fine. Thank you, Bridget. You’re an old-fashioned girl. You don’t belong doing any of that.”
Oh, yeah? Bridget gave him a tight smile. The next time she saw him, this old-fashioned girl would do things the old-fashioned way and take him all the way.
4
“ADAM SAID WHAT?” Electra reached for the plastic sword stuck in the waistband of her Amazon costume as if to run him through.
Bridget lifted her glass of champagne in a weary toast from where she reclined on her futon. Was it her second or third glass? She couldn’t remember. Probably a bad sign. “He said I was an old-fashioned girl who shouldn’t be giving him a lap dance.”
“He’s totally repressed.” Jinx snorted. She stretched on the other end of the futon in sweatpants and a black punk-rock T-shirt. Her brand-new red vinyl devil costume was tossed over a nearby chair.
“He never used to be,” Bridget complained, sucking down more champagne and raising her glass for another refill from Jinx. “My brothers used to brag about how wild he was, hopping from girlfriend to girlfriend, blowing money at strip clubs.”
“He’s not a regular at Frisky’s, anyway,” Sugar commented, twirling in front of the mirror to get a better look at her royal-blue Chicago Cubs bra-and-thong set. “I’d remember him.”
“Or at least what his wallet looked like,” Jinx cracked.
“One time in college he even had a threesome with two cheerleaders.” Bridget had been jealous but aroused when she’d overheard that gossip, imagining him spread out on a bed, his silky hot skin licked and caressed….
She hadn’t had the chance to do any licking and precious little caressing. Why should two greedy cheerleaders get all the fun?
She stared moodily into her champagne. Heavy drinking was probably a dumb idea at three in the morning, but the dancers had just finished their shift and wanted to pick up their new costumes. Along with Bridget’s rent money, they had brought a few bottles of contraband champagne.
“What are you gonna do now?” Electra pulled on the breakaway tabs of her golden breastplate and shrugged it off. She’d had implants as well, but in a more modest size to better fit her more muscular build. Electra had told Bridget that she’d been a highly ranked track-and-field athlete until she’d blown out her shoulder shot-putting.
Maybe Electra would shot-put some sense into Adam. “I don’t know what to do. After what we did together last weekend, he can’t still possibly think of me platonically.”
“There’s no such thing as platonic between men and women. Every man has his breaking point. You just have to find it.” Sugar carefully hung her Cubs lingerie and matching ball cap on a padded satin hanger she’d brought from home.
Bridget frowned. “Breaking point? That sounds kind of violent.”
“Some guys like that.” Jinx gave her a sly smile and caressed the red whip she’d bought to go with her new outfit. “Big, bossy men get a taste of this and beg for more.”
“I don’t want to break him, I only want to…”
“Screw him?” Sugar added, gliding over for another glass of champagne.
Bridget blushed.
“Same thing.” Jinx shrugged.
Bridget yanked up her shirt to show them her new red lace bra. “Do I look old-fashioned? Do I? I even have the matching thong on, too.” She stood to show the dancers, but got dizzy and plopped on the futon.
“Yeah, you’re a real wild one, Bridget.” Jinx rolled her eyes.
Sugar thoughtfully tapped her acrylic, French-manicured nail tips on her glass. “Let’s dress her up.”
“Like what?” Electra glanced at the red vinyl outfit. “Our regular dancer outfits would make her self-conscious.”
“The guy has a point—she has that kind of girl-next-door, take-home-to-mommy look. Something classy, yet sexy,” Sugar pronounced. “What do you think, Bridget?”
Bridget blinked. She’d been daydreaming about Adam. “That’s me, classhy and seckshy.” Funny, her mouth didn’t seem to be working right.
Jinx sat upright. “I know, I know. The Age of Innocence.”
Her suggestion met with guffaws from the other two dancers. Electra said, “Honey, none of us has been that age for a long time.”
“Not that, you ignorant bimbos. I mean the book The Age of Innocence. Edith Wharton’s novel about upper-class New Yorkers in the late eighteen hundreds?” Jinx heaved a sigh of exasperation. Her grad school tuition in literature at Chicago University was very expensive, just like Jinx. By dancing at Frisky’s, she made more than her professors and had no student debt, as well.
“It was a movie, too,” Bridget volunteered. “Daniel Day-Lewis, Michelle Pfeiffer and Winona Ryder. Lotsa cool coshtumes.”
Sugar nodded. “Oh, right! His character was having an affair with Michelle even though she was his girlfriend Winona’s cousin. Winona’s character took him back.”
“I had a guy do the same exact thing, except it was my sister he was banging,” Electra offered. “Only I didn’t take either of them back.”
Silence fell over the room. Electra didn’t look particularly upset, though.
“Anyway,” Jinx said, clearing her throat, “think corsets. Think stockings. Think crotchless drawers.”
“They had those back then?” Electra looked impressed. “Who woulda thought?”
Jinx hopped up and flipped through Bridget’s clothes rack. Sugar came over to the futon and unclipped the barrette on the back of Bridget’s head. “Let’s see this clump of hair.”
“Hey!” Bridget batted her hand away. Sure, her hair was messy. But if people wanted to visit at 3:00 a.m., they took their chances.
Sugar ignored her and rubbed a few strands between her fingers. “It’s actually in pretty good shape. When was the last time you had a deep conditioning treatment?”
“Um, never. Except for when my hair got really fried in the summer and I put mayonnaise on it.”
She shuddered. “Here in the big, bad city, you can actually buy conditioner that doesn’t make you smell like an egg-salad sandwich. But for now, you really need some color.”
Bridget sighed. “I bought a box of highlights but haven’t put them in yet.” She pulled herself off the futon and dug the hair-color box from the linen closet.
While Sugar examined the box, Bridget gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “Maybe some other time. I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep….”
Jinx clattered the hangers and turned to her. “I can understand if you don’t want that guy Adam. He acted really wimpy when I cracked my whip and kicked him in the ass. Never even tried to hit me or anything.”
Bridget straightened from her slouch, her sleepiness gone. “He is not wimpy! He would never harm a woman, that’s all.”
Sugar waved the highlights box. “Do you want him enough to put some effort into it? If you sit back and wait for good things to happen to you, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
“And you think highlights and corsets will do the job? It seems so superficial.” As soon as she said it, she felt foolish and a little sad. These three women spent tons of time and money on costumes and cosmetic improvements.
The dancers exchanged glances. Finally, Electra sat next to Bridget and patted her hand. “It’s not so much about how you look to other people. It’s how you feel to yourself. The girls and I, we use our hairstyles and outfits to tap into that small part of our inner selves that we’re willing to share with the patrons when we dance. I wear the warrior-girl outfits because I’m a jock, Jinx wears the bondage stuff because she likes to boss men around and Sugar wears those giant boobs because she likes to be the absolute center of attention and a real stage hog.”
Sugar gave her a smug look. “And I have one implant paid off already.”
Electra gave her an arch look. “I thought you were looking a bit lopsided.” She laughed as the other dancer stared at her chest in dismay.
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