Matt
“Hey, I’m just about ready,” Nichole calls from her bedroom as I’m adjusting the leather straps of these ridiculous wings.
Damn, she’s fast. Probably the only woman in the world who can primp in less time than it takes me to get ready, and guaranteed, she’s going to look dynamite. She always does.
I take a bracing breath and, steeling myself against the hotness I need to ignore, glance over my shoulder as she strides out dressed for the gig.
Holy shit. I’m so fucked.
She’s dressed in a sheer white toga style dress that knots over one shoulder and might have hinted at innocence…except for the way it cinches in with a bright red band under her tits, pulling the near transparent fabric tight across nipples that are aggressively suggesting she needs a sweater.
“So, what do you think?”
God. Damn. I think someone has it out for me.
She turns, and the too thin fabric of her “dress” billows out, offering me the barest hint of red silk panties and an ass so firm I can actually feel the skin over my palms tingling with a need to touch it. Red ribbons snake up and down her calves, securing her delicately-heeled sandals.
It’s been hard enough to resist her in her everyday clothes. The suits she wears to meetings, jeans and tees around the house, those sweats, and even her ugly, fluffy, antacid-pink robe looks sexy. But tonight? Jesus.
She arches a brow. “Well?”
The images flooding my mind are hot and powerful. Images of her beneath me, her ribbon-clad calves hooked over my shoulders as I bury myself inside her, stretching her to take every inch. Rocking against the sweet spot that’ll have her begging—
Her throat clears. “Umm… Matt?”
Fuck!!
“You need a sweater,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “Christ, Nichole, you can’t go out like that.”
Yeah, I’ve fantasized about her, sure. But that shit was tame compared to what’s running through my dirty fucking mind seeing her dressed like this.
Forcing my eyes closed, I rub my hand over my jaw and take a deep breath. “Look, how about you wear that red cocktail dress—?”
She coughs, leveling me with a frustrated look.
“Enough of the big brother protection crap. I’ve been hired to do the promotion for Brink’s grand opening. On Valentine’s Day. I need to look the part. Besides, this dress is hot.” She bends forward to adjust the ribbon snaking up one leg, and peers up at me. “It’s kind of provocative. I like it.”
I like it too. That’s the problem.
I like it so very much that I’m pretty sure I know exactly where the average horny fuck’s mind is going once they catch sight of her in it. They’re going to be thinking about bending her over a chair and ripping those racy red panties right off. Or maybe putting her on her knees and—
Wait. She likes that it’s provocative?
My chin pulls back, and I have trouble swallowing.
What if she’s planning to pick someone up tonight? Shiiit.
I know it’s not cool, but fuck, I don’t like to think of Nichole getting physical with anyone. She’s no virgin, I know that much for sure. But in the happy land of Denialdom, I really like to believe in the magic of her cold, empty bed. And now she’s just admitted to being in a provocative kind of place.
If anyone takes her home, no way am I going to be able to summon up the image of her slapping a wayward hand from her ass or turning a cheek to deflect an unwanted kiss.
“Eros, stop grimacing,” she chides, crossing back to her room for a minute I desperately need. “Want a drink before we go—something to take the edge off?”
“I’m good.” Loosening up while my head’s all fucked up from this afternoon probably isn’t the best idea.
Her heels click across the hardwood and when I look up, it’s to find my own personal temptation standing before me, hip shot to the side, one svelte arm extended with a length of crimson silk ribbon dangling from her fingers. “Tie me up?”
Hell, yes. “No.”
“Matt,” she laughs, her eyes glinting with everything I’m fighting to resist. “Come on. I need these ribbons on my forearms to look like the ones on my legs. Crisscrossing and then tied off in a bow. No wrinkles. I can’t do it with one hand.”
Jesus, this girl has no idea how far she’s pushing me. I don’t even want to touch those ribbons… but I sure as fuck don’t want her asking anyone else to “tie her up”. I make quick work of her first arm and am half way up the second.
“So… does this do anything for you… at all?” she asks, almost shyly.
I laugh, not finding it funny at all. “How can you even ask when you’ve got me in these shorts? A guy’s got nowhere to hide.”
Nichole’s smile falters as her focus tracks down my body, dropping lower and lower until, yeah, she’s looking there. Teetering back on her narrow heels, she blanches, and then flushes scarlet across her chest and cheeks.
After the last crisscross, I tie the bow.
“Matt, you’re…you’re…huge,” she stammers, her eyes locked on my half-hard shaft.
That’s it. Monday morning, I’m putting in for time off. I need a vacation. Doesn’t matter where, so long as it’s out of this townhouse for a solid week.
“Christ, Nichole, I’m a man. What did you expect with that outfit?” I wave her off. “Stop fucking staring. It’s not helping.”
Five full seconds pass before she drags her eyes away. Then smiling slyly, she adds, “I will definitely be taking that as a compliment. But, seriously. Put that thing away before you hurt someone with it. It’s a monster!”
Easier said than done with those killer ribbons licking their way up her legs.
It takes a minute, mentally reciting some higher math formulas from the college days, and finally drawing on the stunned face of every schmuck ruthlessly kicked to the curb by Nichole over the past twelve years… but I get myself under control.
Nikki flits around the living room, collecting her binder, and checking the messages on her phone before the Uber alert sounds.
I stuff my legs into a pair of loose jeans and jam my feet into a pair of sneakers. “I’ll grab your coat.”
“I’m not taking one,” she answers, absently as she does a last check that she has everything. “It’s only down to thirty degrees, and we’ll literally run from the car to the club, and then back out when it’s over. Besides, sexy little nymphs don’t wear parkas.”
“How about wearing my overcoat? You’ll be more comfortable if you cover up.”
I’ll be more comfortable if she covers up.
“I’m fine, Matt, but since we’ve just gotten the wings right, any chance you’ll skip the coat? It’s a full sized car, so there’s going to be room.”
I growl but give her a curt nod.
“Oh, come on, grumpy. If you’re cold, maybe I’ll sit on your lap and warm you up.”
She giggles and flees out the door. This is going to be a damn long night.