Fiancee for Hire by Tawna Fenske

moment.
    He could feel his erection straining against the fabric. The caveman inside him commanded him to just turn around and take her. It would be so easy, and he knew she’d come willingly.
    The rest of him ached to see what she planned to do.
    He had his answer in an instant as her hands slid away from his ass and moved to the front of his pants. His back was still to her, so he couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could feel her. Her fingers found the buckle of his belt and unfastened it. Then she moved to his fly, fingertips grazing his belly as she flicked the button open and moved to the zipper. She slid it down with aching slowness, her movements deliberate, certain.
    Her hands moved to his hips, pushing the fabric down over them. The pants fell easily, linen pooling at his bare feet. She moved to the waistband of his boxer briefs, her fingers teasing as they slid beneath the elastic.
    Christ, he should just turn around and have her. Bend her over the bench where he sat to put on his shoes. Take charge of the situation. Part of him screamed to seize control, to call the shots the way he always did. But there was something thrilling about giving it up, if only for a moment. Letting a woman have her fun with him.
    “Mmm,” she whispered against his back as she pushed his boxer briefs down over his hips. They fell onto the pants, a pile of warm fabric at his feet. He started to kick them away, but Kelli pressed one high-heeled shoe onto the pile, trapping him in place with his own clothes.
    “Stay still,” she whispered, nipping lightly at the top of his butt.
    He groaned and tried to turn again, to see her at least. She held him firmly by the waist.
    “Nice try,” she whispered, rising up again and skimming her breasts over his back. Her breath was warm on the side of his ribcage. “No touching before the wedding.”
    “This isn’t touching?” he ground out.
    “Not yet,” she murmured. “But this is.”
    Her fingertips grazed the tip of his cock. Then she wrapped one hand around him, her palm hot and soft against him.
    “Fuck,” Mac choked out, gripping the doorframe for balance.
    “Definitely not,” she whispered, gripping him tighter as she began to stroke him. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
    She caressed him slowly, her hands skilled and applying just the right amount of pressure. She moved up, down, up again, fingertips soft and firm all at once.
    “Holy God,” he gasped as she stroked her hand in a slow, rhythmic, tease. Her breasts pressed soft against his back as her fingers moved deftly over his shaft. “Whatever kind of girl you are, I hope you never change.”
    She laughed and stroked more firmly, one hand gliding over him while the other moved lower to knead his balls. She teased slowly at first, her rhythm building gradually as Mac’s breath came faster.
    Her grip was tighter now, but still fluid. He’d never been handled this way before, forced to stand completely still while someone else touched and teased and all he could do was grip the doorframe and hope to God he got to repay the favor.
    He felt himself throbbing in her hand and gritted his teeth, certain he was on the brink of falling down or passing out or losing it completely.
    “Kelli,” he growled.
    “Hmm?” she breathed against his back.
    “You’d better stop now.”
    “Or what?”
    “Or one of two things will happen.” He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure as his fingers dug hard into the doorframe. “Either we’ll have another article of clothing to dry clean, or I’m going to turn around and—”
    “Sir?”
    They both froze. Kelli’s hand held him tight, unmoving. Her breath was hot and fast against his back.
    “Sir? Are you in there?”
    Brian. Fuck, Mac thought. I left the goddamn door wide open.
    Mac swallowed. “Yes?”
    “I have the car ready, sir. The dinner reservation you asked for is at seven.”
    Mac closed his eyes. Dammit . He’d completely forgotten.
    “Dinner?”