STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1)
I glance down at Paisley and ignore her irritation. “Better get squirting, don’t want to hold up the photo shoot, do you?”
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she says, wetting down my chest.
“Yes, you’re correct. I am. Now don’t forget to rub the water into my skin. I want to look like I’m not only wet, but glistening.” I put extra emphasis on the word wet, just to grate on her nerves. “Oh, and try not to feel me up too much, despite how much you want me.”
Reluctantly, she sprays me, coating my chest and hair first before rubbing her hand along the contours and curves of my muscles. Her breath grows deeper with every pass of her hand, her eyes grow heavy, and right about now, I would give my left nut to know what she’s thinking, to feel what she’s feeling, to fucking rip her clothes off and see how turned on she is.
Because I’m a man, I peek down at her chest to see if her body is reacting to mine. To my delight, both of her nipples are hard, and she’s licking her lips as she concentrates on running her hand diligently across my broad and defined chest.
“What are you thinking?” I ask her, breaking the silence between us, my gravelly voice pulling her from her concentration.
She startles and meets my gaze, shocked she was lost in thought while smoothing water over my chest.
She shakes her head, a million thoughts running through those gorgeous grey eyes of hers. “Um, I think you’re set.”
“That’s not answering my question. What were you thinking, Paisley?” She doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even look me in the eyes. Instead, she focuses on the water bottle in her hand, peering at it as if it will transport her to another location. “Let me guess, you were thinking about how much you wish we were somewhere private so you can lower your hands past the waistline of my suit to feel my thick, long cock. Am I right, Paisley? Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at my cock when you were at my house. I notice everything you do, especially when it comes to those grey eyes of yours igniting with flames whenever I’m around.”
She clears her throat and takes a step back. “You’re all set,” she repeats.
Happy with her awkward and uncomfortable reaction, I ask, “Are you sure? What about my hair?”
She scans my curls and cringes. I can’t help but smile at her facial expressions. I’m about to ask her to run her fingers through it when she stands on her tippy toes and dumps the rest of the water in the bottle over my head, drenching me.
Stepping back, she bites her fingernail, a regretful look on her face, and says, “All set.” Then she puts a great distance between us, standing back with the crew.
Soaked, I run both hands through my hair, catching all the water and smoothing out my waves, slicking them down so it looks like I just got out of the water. Droplets fall off my chest, and all the spraying she did goes unnoticed from the downpour she just bestowed upon me.
Smirking, I shake my head at her. I should have known better, the woman holds nothing back when it comes to her actions.
“Perfect,” the photographer says, lifting his camera to his eye.
Wanting to get Paisley back, I do what I do best, I pose in a Speedo . . . while she watches.
Casually, I lift my right arm and place my hand behind my neck, gripping it and flexing my bicep at the same time. With my left thumb, I hook it under the waistband of my Speedo and pull it down, just far enough that I’m not revealing anything, but moments away from letting everything hang out. Then I give the camera a sultry look.
“Hold that pose,” the photographer yells, getting shutter happy on me, clicking his camera in rapid succession.
From behind him, I can see Paisley gripping the water bottle, hugging it closely to her chest, and her straight teeth nibbling on her lip, staring directly at my package.
Yup, it is only a ticking time bomb until I have her just where I want her.
***
“Are you going to cry about this the entire time we’re on the phone?” I ask, wrapping a towel around my waist before I take the phone off speaker.
He always calls a couple times before a big race, it’s ritual. I do the same thing when it comes to his competitions, so this post-shower call is not at all surprising.
“I’m just saying, you could have supported me when it came to my dick size.”
I chuckle into the phone. “I’ve never seen your dick, therefore I can’t vouch for it.”
“Want me to come over? Better yet, let’s FaceTime. I’m wearing an elastic waistband, easy access.”
“Yeah, I will hang up on you. I love you, man, but I don’t want to see your dick. It’s not something I’m particularly interested in.”
He exhales and says, “And what would you be particularly interested in these days? That little assistant of yours? She’s hella fine, I can’t blame you.”
“She’s cool,” I answer, evasively.
But apparently not evasively enough because on the other end of the phone call, Hollis busts out in laughter. “Fuck, man. You’re going with ‘she’s cool?’ Have you fucked her?”
“No,” I say quickly. Hollis is quite aware of my fake relationship with Bellini. He’s not a fan of the setup. To be honest, neither am I, but I’m already signed on, not much I can do about it now. “She’s my assistant, that’s it.”
“You’re such a shitty liar. I saw the way you looked at her, you were two seconds away from plowing your dick inside her at the photo shoot.”
Fuck. Was it really that obvious? I hope to God not. If Bellini caught any whiff of my attraction to Paisley, she not only would have her fired within seconds, but she would be up my ass before I could put my Speedo back on.
“There might be a little attraction there,” I admit. Hollis is trustworthy. As my best friend, he would never say anything.
“Yeah, a little is a boldfaced lie. You like her a lot. What’s her story?”
I relax on my sofa, a towel as my only garment of clothing. “I’m not quite sure.” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair leaning against the couch. “She hasn’t really opened herself up to me. She has a master’s in film production. I don’t believe this is her choice job, but from the looks of it, it’s something related to what she’s interested in. Her tattoos are meaningful to her.”
“They’re hot as shit. I bet she has some under her clothing as well.”
Having seen Paisley in a bikini, Hollis is absolutely right about that.
“They’re all quotes from her favorite movies.” I rub my eye with the palm of my hand. “Fuck, she even has the Rocky quote I carry around with me tattooed on her bicep.”
“For real? Dude, you totally popped a chub over that, didn’t you?”
Pretty much.
“She wants nothing to do with me, though. She’s so adamant about keeping a professional relationship, she won’t give in to the attraction between us. I saw her on the beach the other day, invited her to my place for lunch, hoping it would relax her, maybe have a little make-out session.” Hollis laughs. “I thought that maybe I was going to get somewhere with her, even just a fucking kiss would have been awesome. The sexual tension between us is fucking heavy, but she didn’t give in, instead she headbutted me.”
“What?” Hollis laughs into the phone some more. “She straight-up headbutted you? Like some kind of sexy ninja?”
“If you want to call it that. She didn’t even do it right, she hit my forehead with hers. I guess I have to be grateful she didn’t go for my nose. That wouldn’t have been pretty today.”
“Fuck, if she gave you a black eye from headbutting you, I would have asked for her autograph.”
“Thanks for the support dickhead.”
“Anytime.” He laughs. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“I have no clue.” I feel a headache coming on and try to rub it out with my fingers. “I asked her to dinner the other day after I took her to breakfast, kind of had to trick her into that, but she denied me. I don’t know, man, I’ve been off my game lat
ely. My strokes are choppy, my mind isn’t in it, and all I can think about is why this girl won’t give in to the feelings I know she has.”
Hollis grows serious. “Reese, you leave for trials in two days. You can’t be fucking with your swimming right now.”
“You don’t think I don’t know that? I’m well aware of when trials are, as well as this being my last chance at gold. But fuck if I can’t get her out of my mind. It’s never been like this before. I feel like a foreigner in my body when I’m in the pool. I can’t get my cadence down, and my main sets have been shit.”
“Shit,” Hollis breathes out. “Have you talked to Coach Fern?”
“Hell, no,” I say quickly. “Hollis, we both know that would be a huge mistake. The man would rip me a new asshole for letting a girl affect my swimming. I’ve been with him since the beginning of my career, from the very start of our first practice together, when I was standing in front of him, knobby knees, barely able to fill out my Speedo. He told me if I wanted to be an Olympic swimmer, I had to take it seriously, and that meant girls were not to get in the way of my goals. Back then, it was no big deal, I was the scrawny kid no one wanted to talk to.”
“And what are you now, some dreamboat every girl wants to get their hands on?” Hollis laughs.
“Not every girl,” I mumble, just as my doorbell rings. “Hey, someone is at the door. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, but text me later, we’re not done with this conversation.”
“Later, Mom.”
I toss the phone on the couch and walk to my front door, praying it’s not Bellini. She loves showing up unexpected at night to “talk.” Her talking involves complaining about how her beauty is too much for the general population to accept, and that’s why people are so mean to her on Twitter and Instagram. Little does she know, it’s her actual personality that makes her so ugly.
Hoping there isn’t a rich blonde on the other side, I open the door and nearly drop my jaw to the floor when I see Paisley standing in front of me, twisting her hands in front of her nervously.
Surprised and excited, I extend one hand up the door jamb and lean against it. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How can I help you?”
Her eyes scan up and down my body, taking in my bare chest and towel-wrapped waist. Before she speaks, she clears her throat. “I forgot to give you some papers Bellini wants you to sign for the show.”
“Well, by all means, come in.” I step aside, allowing her space to walk under my arm and into my entryway.
The minute she’s in my house, I shut the door behind her and close in. She holds the files in front of her chest, eyes wide, and her lips wet from licking them.
Her back is pressed against the door and she looks almost frightened to be in my presence. Not in the way that I scare her, more like she’s scaring herself with her decision-making.
“Here.” She pushes the files between us, arms outstretched, creating a large gap. Grabbing the files, I toss them on the console in my entryway and close in on the space between us, not caring one bit about the paperwork she brought over.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
I don’t answer. I press my hands against the door, capturing her body between my muscled one. My hands rest by her narrow but toned shoulders, and I examine her reaction. My bottom half is pushed out just far enough that she has a good view of my flexing chest and barely covered torso.
It’s time to break down that cemented heart she’s erected around her feelings.
“Did you forget to hand me those files at the photo shoot because you were too busy staring at my dick, or was it because you wanted to see me tonight after staring at my dick for so long?”
Her eyes widen even farther. “I wasn’t staring.” She stumbles with her words.
I call her out. “Bullshit. I saw the way you looked at me, nibbling on that delectable lip of yours, eyes trained on my cock. Do you think I was posing like that for the camera? Fuck, no. I was giving you your own personal show, Paisley. And from my viewpoint, I knew you appreciated it.”
She is speechless as her chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.
I lean my head forward, the scruff of my cheek pressed against her smooth skin, my lips mere millimeters from her ear.
“Tell me I’m lying. Tell me you didn’t stare at my body that entire photo shoot.”
“You’re . . . you’re lying,” she says nervously, her hands at her side, her purse now on the ground.
“I don’t believe you, Paisley.” My breath is heavy against her ear as I say, “Just do it.”
She keeps her head forward, her chest moving rapidly, her sweet breath tickling my shoulder.
“Do what?” she asks.
I move my lips even closer so they dance with her ear. “Remove my towel. I know you’re thinking about it. I can feel it in the way your body reacts to mine, the way your fingers itch at your side. Remove. My. Towel.”
She doesn’t move, so I nip at her earlobe, causing a soft moan to escape her lips. Satisfied, I do it again, then move my lips to her neck, where I can feel goosebumps spread across her skin.
Kissing her softly, just a whisper of my lips caressing her, I say, “You’re making me lose my mind, Paisley. You’re all I can think about; all I dream about. You’re fucking with me on a daily basis. I’m not the same man when you’re around, and I’m half the man I normally am when you’re gone. I need you, Paisley.” I kiss her neck again and round my head to the front where she is forced to look me in the eyes. In a gruff tone, I say, “Take my towel off.”
Her eyes search mine, rapidly looking back and forth from one to another. Just when I think she’s going to push me away, she places her hands on my waist, her fingers slowly working their way under my towel. I hold my breath and wait, praying there will be no headbutts, flicking fingers, or abuse of any kind. Only pleasure.
Chapter Thirteen
**PAISLEY**
I can’t breathe. My chest feels like it’s closing in on itself, my lungs are collapsing, and little palpitations keep restarting my heart. I’ve never felt so alive. How is that even possible?
Reese is staring down at me, waiting for me to pull off his towel, begging me with his eyes to undress him. This isn’t what I expected when I came here. I was hoping he wasn’t going to be home. But to my dismay, he was, and fresh out of the shower, looking sexy as hell, muscles rippling with each and every movement he makes.
Did I stare at his package during the entire photo shoot? Pretty much. Except for the few seconds when took in his built body, the way his abs rippled, or how his tattoo going down his left arm captured the essence of his persona. The entire time he stood there, hand grabbing on to his neck, straining in the sexiest way possible, my stomach flipped with lust.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Believe me, if you were in my shoes, you would have done the same thing. It was impossible to look away. Every female in the vicinity stared, actually gawked, mouths agape, and beads of sweat forming on their upper lip. The entire photo shoot felt like something out of a dream, a very horny and inappropriate dream.
Now, I stand here, my hands on his hips, fingers dancing at the edge of his towel and a burning sensation running up my spine. I can’t remember the last time I was intimate with a man. I know it’s been a long time, but it’s because there hasn’t been a man that’s actually made me feel the way Reese makes my entire body shiver.
I can still feel the imprint of his lips on my neck, the nip of his teeth at my ear, the way his beard scratches against my cheek in the most delectable way possible. He is a tease, a bad influence, a poor decision when it comes to protecting my career, but why, for the hell of me, can’t I stop running my fingers across his skin?
Because I’m a masochist, because he’s everything I would ask for in a man. Kind, sweet, caring, sexy, athletic, rugged, and all alpha. He’s my kryptonite, a combination of everything I’ve ever wanted, I’ve ever dreamed of.
Taking a chance, I gla
nce down at his torso, where his hardened length is pressing against the towel that barely hides his bulge. One shift to the right and I would be on the receiving end of a giant cock staring up at me.
Holy shit.
I look back up at him, and I’ve been caught. His grin widens, and his eyes darken.
“Fucking do it, Paisley. Take if off.” His voice is so heavy, so gritty that my pussy clenches from the sound of it.
The heat coming off him is palpable. His arms surround me, blocking me from moving away, and his eyes bore down, willing me to do what he’s asking, but should I? Every nerve ending radiating with lust is begging me to.
He leans his head forward some more and barely caresses my lips with his, running them along my jaw, sending chills all the way down my body until he reaches my ear once more.
“I’m about to explode, Paisley. End this misery for me and take my towel off.”
I can’t stop myself. The power of his words—of his body—of the electricity sparking between us—is too strong. My fingers dig all the way in his waistline and I remove his towel. I drop it on the ground but stare straight ahead, too scared to look down because of what I might do.
I don’t have time to react though, his left hand flies to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, and his lips fine mine, pressing deeply.
Everything fades into black the moment his mouth meets mine. He’s demanding, needy, desperate, every last emotion I’m feeling.
One hand props him up against the door as his other grips me tightly on the back of my head, as if he lets go, I’ll disappear. He’s completely naked in front of me—no shame—fucking my mouth with his tongue, letting me know how much he wants me.
I want to explode, right then and there. His deep kisses are throwing me into a downward spiral, arresting my breath, seizing my heart, and occupying every inch of my skin with desire-filled chills. He’s consuming me with just his mouth to the point that I feel myself evaporating, our bodies molding together as one.
“Jesus,” he mumbles, “you taste so sweet.”