When I wrote , I decided to make Deuces topless only, which also permitted me to serve drinks. Whew…things felt sexier already! Then I got to have some fun imagining Kylie’s wardrobe and dance moves, and how poor Trevor, who’s undercover on a homicide case, will manage to resist temptation.
Here’s a little taste of what I came up with:
After queuing the music to what Stacy referred to as the soft-porn playlist, with its funky, percussion-heavy tracks and breathy, mostly unintelligible lyrics, Kylie walked over and stood in front of Trevor’s chair, facing away from him. She planted her three-inch high white satin slides hip-distance apart. Their eyes met in the mirror for a few seconds of eternity while she waited for the music to start. When the first beat pumped out she did a long, slow bend, all the way down, and wrapped her hands around her ankles. To her surprise, Trevor snapped upright in his chair. She heard his sharp inhale, followed by a low, unguarded, “Oh, Christ.”
A frisson of something new and highly thrilling shimmered through her. Power. An odd thing to find while bent over, grabbing her ankles, but there it was. One look at his face confirmed it—he was her slave.
The choreography ensured he stayed enslaved. While she danced and stripped down to her thong, Kylie watched him in the mirror. His hot gaze seared up her calves, her thighs. She felt it lick her breasts, simmer over her shoulders and sizzle along the curve of her spine. But always, always the burning intensity returned to her hips.
She became acutely aware of the thong—the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it triangle of white fabric riding the very base of her spine, the thin tongue extending from the point and disappearing between her buttocks. Although she didn’t have his view, she knew certain moves gave him glimpses of the lace’s elusive path. A few offered him peeks at the whole trail, to the hideaway shielded behind another triangle of satin—a very wet triangle. She fervently hoped he couldn’t see any telltale signs of her body’s reaction to him.
She should have been embarrassed by the way being so exposed to him affected her. But one look at his glazed, rapt expression and confidence surged, pushing aside humiliation. Still facing front, she twisted at the waist, flipped her hair over her shoulder and stared back at him. “I’ve been a bad girl,” she cooed in a decent imitation of Stacy’s deliberately provocative purr.
“What?” When those dark, captivating eyes lifted helplessly to hers, she brought her palm down on her left buttock with a quick, loud slap.
“Oh God,” he said, and his eyes dropped to the cheek where a pink imprint formed.
“You like bad girls?”
“Huh?” he grunted, his eyes still glued to her ass.
Following Stacy’s itinerary, she inched backwards until she straddled him, rested her hands on his knees and slowly lowered her hips so her backside brushed along his abs—very tight abs. Something thick and hard rose up to greet her. She bit her lip to stifle the shock and, yes, arousal, and … started to improvise. Bracing her weight on her hands, she carefully adjusted until the heavy ridge rode the shallow valley between her cheeks. Then she arched her back and clenched them, trapping him in a little hug.
His hands flew to her waist and gripped like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. She couldn’t see his face in the mirror, but felt his forehead rest between her shoulder blades and heard a low, tortured sound rumble from his chest.
“We should stop now,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Think they stopped? My lips are sealed. What happens at Deuces stays at Deuces! ;)
Book #1 in the Love Undercover series
He’s undercover. She’s in over her head.
Yoga instructor Kylie Roberts is the good twin. At least she was—until an accident forces Kylie to step into her twin’s sexy stilettos at a posh Hollywood “men’s club." But nothing could've prepared Kylie for the dead body in the club’s parking lot or the ridiculously hot detective who insists the killer is targeting her regulars.
Detective Trevor McCade needs Kylie’s help to draw out the killer. It means long nights undercover and long dances where Kylie’s body tempts him with sensual promises. Dances that leave them both wanting more. But despite Kylie's hidden identity and the danger lurking in the shadows, it’s only a matter of time before Kylie and Trevor take this undercover operation under the covers…
When not living the glamorous life of a romance author (i.e., chained to her computer), Samanthe keeps busy with the care and feeding of her extremely patient prince-charming of a husband, a not-so-patient ball of energy known as their son, a furry ninja named Kitty, and Bebe, the trash talkin’ Chihuahua. Their love, support, and willingness to eat Pizza Hut three or more times a week enables Samanthe to pursue her literary dreams.
Entangled Publishing has generously offered an ebook copy of to a lucky commenter!
To be entered just leave a comment and tell us: what song could you imagine as the soundtrack for a sexy striptease?