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Rub Me the Right Way
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First time for every ‘O’
I am a master of my craft. An artisan. A guru.
But one look at Cassandra, and it’s deja vu.
A single ‘O’?
**This is a full-length, standalone billionaire bad boy romance. No cheating or cliffhangers. HEA guaranteed. For a limited time, get an exclusive, never before released HOT k*nky romance: Double Dare in the kindle version. Grab your copy today.**
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CHAPTER ONE: Cassandra Casey
I couldn’t even tell you his name.
I mean, come on, it happened eighteen-years ago and to say that I was a little drunk would have been an understatement. Plus, I was barely twenty-one when it happened, a horny college girl out for a good time, not a steady boyfriend.
It was something like Kevin or Evan or Derick or Dennis or something like that. Now, so many years later, it was all like a hazy dream or a clouded memory, one where you weren’t sure what was imaginary and what was real. You know how these things work. You only remembered little things and hoped they were real; the warmth of his lips, the firmness of his caress, the hardness of his body, the way his fingers explored your body, that first sensation of electric pleasure when the head of his c*ck touched your cl*t just before sliding inside. Sigh…
I could remember the way he looked at me across the little dive bar, smiling softly through the smoke and neon haze.
I remembered how he caught my eye through the madding crowd of drunken frat boys and dancing sorority girls, like spotting Waldo in a life-size mural filled with a hundred other Waldo-wannabes.
I remembered the way my heart fluttered a little when I saw him working his way through the crowd, keeping his eye on me as he worked his way closer, like a great lion slowly and deliberately stalking its prey.
I remembered his smile as he got close enough to touch me; the luscious lips curled up at the edges, a mouthful of perfect, white teeth, made even whiter by the black lights that lined the wall above the mirror behind the bar. He had one of those scraggly, beatnik kind of beard and surfer boy hair; blond, silky, long, hanging over his forehead to his eyebrows. He twitched his head to sweep the hair back from his eyes.
He slowly licked his top lip as he gazed into my eyes, hypnotizing me, preparing to devour me. I knew I was powerless to do anything but succumb to his every wish. His gaze held me as tightly as a chain around my neck. It would be useless to resist, not that resistance was even on my mind. We both knew the moment he got close enough to touch that I would be his and he would be mine, at least for a little while.
I remembered how I didn’t hesitate when he asked if he could buy me drink, even though I was already well on my way to get plastered.
I remembered how quickly I turned my back on my girlfriends and completely forgot that they were even there when he asked if I was alone.
I remembered how quickly I slipped my hand into his and let him lead me onto the crowded floor when he asked me to dance. I remembered how easily I slipped into his arms and how he held me so close that I could feel his hot breath in my ear.
We danced the slow ones and danced slowly through the fast ones, much to the irritation of the revelers dancing around us. We ignored them, he and I, as our bodies melted together in a slow, sultry rhythm like a single stalk of cane swaying gently in the wind.
I remembered that it was hot in the bar, hotter still on the dance floor. Sweat sluiced from my neck and ran down between my breast, across my stomach, pooling at the waistband of my jeans. There was moisture further below; hot, oily, salty, oozing from deep inside me like a hot spring threatening to break free and gush forth in great waves at any minute.
Sweat drenched the t-shirt he was wearing, forming to his muscular body like a second skin. I pressed my cheek to his chest and inhaled his salty aroma. I could feel the roundness of his chest against my skin, the bulge of the muscles in his back as they tapered into the narrow waist of his jeans.
My hands went found their way under his t-shirt. My fingers massaged the small of his back. The sweat on his back moistened the tips of my fingers, making them slide over the hard muscle. His skin was on fire. I felt myself getting wetter. I could smell the heady scent of my pussy now, or maybe I just imagined the smell because of the moisture I felt pooling between my legs, soaking my cotton panties, threatening to soak through my jeans, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to smell me, to pick up on my scent and give witness to things that were his fault and his responsibility to sooth.
He wasn’t wearing a belt. His jeans were baggy, hanging low on his narrow hips. I pulled him closer and slid my fingertips down the back of his jeans to the top of his ass. I pressed my nose to his chest and inhaled deeply, sucking in his smell until my lungs could take no more. His scent made my mouth water. I wanted to lick the sweat from his body and swallow it like nectar. My lips found their way to his earlobe. I gave it a little nibble with my teeth. He sighed heavily in my ear.