saucy gyrations and provocative performance had him transfixed in the worst way. When she unzipped her pants and shimmied out of them, his heart rate quickened dramatically.
She’s actually coming out of her clothes
, he thought.
A private striptease, for me? Hallelujah.
Richard leaned forward to sneak a closer peak at Dior’s black thong as she adjusted the thin patch of cloth covering her shaved pubis. Richard was flabbergasted and uncertain whether to fish around in his pocket for loose singles or hand over his wallet outright. Whatever Dior demanded would have been within acceptable limits as long as she didn’t stop dancing, gyrating, tempting. She readily recognized the shroud of desperation on his face. It played the same on Giorgio’s and all the other men who came before him. Dior was intoxicating, carefree, and wild. Men wanted to touch that side of her and tame it simultaneously. As far as she was concerned, they were all the same, with slight deviations of course. Trading tit for tat seemed like a fair barter in the past. However, Richard would be handled differently, she decided. Considering how his ego was bigger than most, it was likely to be more fragile as well. She was resolved to stringing him along slowly and patiently, so he wouldn’t buckle beneath the weight of guilt and grandiose sex. The only thing more predictable than married men was their susceptibility to a bad case of remorse after steamy episodes of unbridled pleasure with Dior. She’d saddled Richard with the abridged version so he wouldn’t fall apart the first time his wife looked at him sideways. It would have been a shame to let him off the hook so soon after getting him to take the bait.
Nice and easy
, Dior thought, while sauntering nearer to him.
Be careful not to bruise his inner man. It can’t take the strain, yet.
The same sex-starved expression Dior recognized earlier was still plastered on Richard after she pulled the thin shirt over her head. When she flung it in his lap, his mouth watered. He swallowed hard. His eyes said a multitude of things he wasn’t prepared to voice openly although Dior heard them loud and clear above the music. He wanted to tell her that she made it impossible to see past her toned thighs and firm breasts. He wanted to convey his fantasies, which always resulted in him driving her crazy in bed with her high heels on. Dior tossed the small remote aside when she’d heard enough silent whispers. Richard took a deep breath then pushed out a heavy sigh instead of uttering a single word. “You like the way I move?” she moaned tenderly, sliding her moist tongue along his neck. “You like the way I move you?” Before he could muster a response, Dior massaged the stiff monument he’d erected especially for her. “Ooh, is all that for me?” she purred seductively. “Impressive.”
Richard nibbled on Dior’s neck then and lowered his head toward her breasts. When she pulled back, he pleaded quietly. “Come on now, you know that’s not fair. How am I supposed to be this close to those and not be expected to sample them?” Dior offered no immediate answer. She stared longingly into his eyes, pretending to qualify him for the next phase. Richard didn’t comprehend that she’d sized him up for bedsheets during their first conversation. She took so long to answer, he almost repeated the question. His eyes, suddenly saddened, closed momentarily. “Too much, too soon?” he asked after opening them.
“It’s about trust, right? I need to know I can trust you,” Dior said, with her hand extended toward him. “Some men can’t take no for an answer. Can you take no for an answer and still be down with me? Can I trust you, Richard?” Dior was one step ahead of him. She knew the kind of man he was, cautious and respectful even in the hole he’d dug for himself. He couldn’t spend any time thinking of all he had to lose if she appealed to his need to prove himself. Reverse psychology rarely
She’s actually coming out of her clothes
, he thought.
A private striptease, for me? Hallelujah.
Richard leaned forward to sneak a closer peak at Dior’s black thong as she adjusted the thin patch of cloth covering her shaved pubis. Richard was flabbergasted and uncertain whether to fish around in his pocket for loose singles or hand over his wallet outright. Whatever Dior demanded would have been within acceptable limits as long as she didn’t stop dancing, gyrating, tempting. She readily recognized the shroud of desperation on his face. It played the same on Giorgio’s and all the other men who came before him. Dior was intoxicating, carefree, and wild. Men wanted to touch that side of her and tame it simultaneously. As far as she was concerned, they were all the same, with slight deviations of course. Trading tit for tat seemed like a fair barter in the past. However, Richard would be handled differently, she decided. Considering how his ego was bigger than most, it was likely to be more fragile as well. She was resolved to stringing him along slowly and patiently, so he wouldn’t buckle beneath the weight of guilt and grandiose sex. The only thing more predictable than married men was their susceptibility to a bad case of remorse after steamy episodes of unbridled pleasure with Dior. She’d saddled Richard with the abridged version so he wouldn’t fall apart the first time his wife looked at him sideways. It would have been a shame to let him off the hook so soon after getting him to take the bait.
Nice and easy
, Dior thought, while sauntering nearer to him.
Be careful not to bruise his inner man. It can’t take the strain, yet.
The same sex-starved expression Dior recognized earlier was still plastered on Richard after she pulled the thin shirt over her head. When she flung it in his lap, his mouth watered. He swallowed hard. His eyes said a multitude of things he wasn’t prepared to voice openly although Dior heard them loud and clear above the music. He wanted to tell her that she made it impossible to see past her toned thighs and firm breasts. He wanted to convey his fantasies, which always resulted in him driving her crazy in bed with her high heels on. Dior tossed the small remote aside when she’d heard enough silent whispers. Richard took a deep breath then pushed out a heavy sigh instead of uttering a single word. “You like the way I move?” she moaned tenderly, sliding her moist tongue along his neck. “You like the way I move you?” Before he could muster a response, Dior massaged the stiff monument he’d erected especially for her. “Ooh, is all that for me?” she purred seductively. “Impressive.”
Richard nibbled on Dior’s neck then and lowered his head toward her breasts. When she pulled back, he pleaded quietly. “Come on now, you know that’s not fair. How am I supposed to be this close to those and not be expected to sample them?” Dior offered no immediate answer. She stared longingly into his eyes, pretending to qualify him for the next phase. Richard didn’t comprehend that she’d sized him up for bedsheets during their first conversation. She took so long to answer, he almost repeated the question. His eyes, suddenly saddened, closed momentarily. “Too much, too soon?” he asked after opening them.
“It’s about trust, right? I need to know I can trust you,” Dior said, with her hand extended toward him. “Some men can’t take no for an answer. Can you take no for an answer and still be down with me? Can I trust you, Richard?” Dior was one step ahead of him. She knew the kind of man he was, cautious and respectful even in the hole he’d dug for himself. He couldn’t spend any time thinking of all he had to lose if she appealed to his need to prove himself. Reverse psychology rarely
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