She nodded, reaching for her back pocket. She handed her phone to him. He put in his number before handing it back to her.
“I’m going to go upstairs to the loft,” he said quietly. “You get things the way you want them down here. Text me when you’re ready, and I’ll come down. And we’ll begin. Does that sound good to you?”
She just nodded, too overwhelmed by his low, sexy voice, his smoky stare, his nearness and his scent to speak.
—
Trey played his guitar while he waited in the loft. But he was too preoccupied to get serious about any songwriting, too distracted with the idea of Eleanor down in his bedroom, touching his clothing, setting the scene . . . maybe (hopefully) selecting something from the cabinet. He kept replaying in his head how big her eyes had gotten when he’d shown her the contents of the drawer, how her flushed lips had parted. It was almost ludicrous, how much he was anticipating having his cock in her mouth while she looked up at him with those big, golden green eyes. Ever since he’d stopped her from going down on him earlier on the water taxi, he’d become obsessed with the idea. He wanted her at his mercy, as helpless to resist him as he was her.
He lifted his hand off the guitar strings and reached between his thighs, tugging at his erection and wincing. He glanced at his watch. She’d been down there alone for over half an hour now. What the hell was she doing, transforming his bedroom into the Chicago Theatre?
His phone buzzed on the table next to him. He jerked to attention, picking it up to read the new message.
Please don’t be mad at me. I’m doing the best I can. Honest. For now, if you want your show, you’re going to have to look out your bedroom window to get it.
He started. What? Had she left the penthouse while he was sitting up here, smugly imagining he had everything under control?
He clamped his teeth together, realizing there was a photo attached to her message. Knowing he’d probably regret it, but unable to resist her, he opened it.
It took him a few seconds to realize that he probably looked as wide-eyed and stunned as she had when he’d opened that drawer downstairs.
Damn, she had a way of turning the tables.
He’d thought he’d talked her into performing for him, up close and personal. He was willing to admit, he’d even selfishly enjoyed that she appeared to be a little anxious at the prospect, because she’d never done it before for another man.
But in typical Eleanor fashion, she’d snatched the reins from him yet again.
It was an up-close photo of her face. In it, her eyes shone with heat and just a tad bit of mischief. Her lips were pouty and parted. She pressed the flaring crown of a dildo against her mouth, just the tip touching her pink, wet tongue. His cock jumped at the outrageous precision of the teasing photo. He’d never seen the dildo before, so he suspected she’d raided Abigail’s racy gift bag.
I should go straight over to her place and damn her little show.
He’d gratifyingly learned that evening he had access to her place for a month, after all. Yeah. That’s what he’d do.
But of course when he got to the bottom of the steps, his feet didn’t take him to the elevator. He found himself entering his bedroom, his body already coiling tight in mixed irritation and arousal in response to the torment he was about to receive. Frowning furiously when he saw the empty room—part of him had been holding out hope she hadn’t really left—he flipped out the lights and stalked over to the window. Almost immediately a lamp illuminated in Eleanor’s condo in the distance.
He came to a halt when he saw her standing at the far side of the room. He was familiar with the room now. She waited near the bathroom door.
Despite the fact that she’d snuck out of his condo, she’d still borrowed from his wardrobe from her performance. She wore one of his button-down striped shirts, the white of the fabric shining brightly against her pale gold skin. In addition, she wore one of his black ties loosely around her neck and a leather belt cinched around her waist. His shirt fell to mid-thigh on her. Her long, sexy legs were bare.
She suddenly burst into motion, her long hair rippling back from her shoulders. He only caught a glimpse of her feet briefly before she neared the windows, but whether he’d seen them or not, he would have already known she wore heels just by the way she strutted so boldly. It was like her feet and legs became entranced every time she put on a pair of sexy boots or heels. He couldn’t hear the music, of course, but just looking at her, he felt it. The music seemed to transform her into another person . . .
. . . Or fully into herself.
She planted her feet, long legs parted, and began her dance, swiveling her hips, outlining the supple curves of her body with her cupping hands. He sensed the driving beat with the precise pulse of her pelvis and limbs.
And the torment officially began.
She placed both hands on her belly and undulated her torso in the most erotic fashion, all the time taking several steps toward the window. Her hands moved up her rib cage, cupping her breasts, her fingers straining toward the V of the fabric between them and the buttons.
“Come on, Eleanor,” he growled.
Her fingers flicked at the button, parting his shirt and revealing the inner swells of her breasts. No sooner had she done it than, with a little smile, she turned and started teasing him from that direction. He’d never seen a woman move her ass like Eleanor did. It was excruciating, the gyrating hips, the tight little pops of her butt, the movements designed to remind him of how well she moved when his cock was deep inside her.
She used her hands to mold the cloth of his shirt against her buttocks, but it wasn’t enough. Gritting his teeth, he stepped closer to the window, straining to see beneath the cotton shirt. He’d never be able to wear that damn shirt again without a perennial erection.
Suddenly, his cinched black leather belt loosened and slipped down over her buttocks. Standing with her legs parted, she pulled the belt tight against her ass and shimmied shamelessly. His cock pulsed in aroused annoyance, as if it had a mind of its own, and was protesting about being kept from what it wanted. He instinctively clutched at his aching testicles, his fingers squeezing the shaft.