Slow & Steady - Kendall Ryan

Chapter One

Greyson

“Hi, handsome. Can I interest you in some company?” a feminine voice cooed, just barely audible over the loud thumping music.

I looked up from my glass into the heavily made-up eyes of a redhead wearing nothing but a silver G-string leaving nothing to the imagination.

A half-naked woman asking for my attention should be good thing. But she didn’t stir the least bit of desire in me. “Not tonight, sweetheart, thanks.”

She tipped her chin and sauntered away looking for her next conquest.

Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. None of the girls did a thing for me, and despite knocking back two whiskeys, I was still sitting there bitter and sulking.

After a horrendous day at work, rather than going home, I’d driven here – a strip club that I’d been to once or twice in the past for bachelor parties or birthdays, but that had been years ago.

Still licking my wounds over today’s assignment, this had seemed like a better option than going home. The private security firm I worked for had a contract with a state prison, and today I drew the short straw – taking one of the rookies out there for a special seminar I was leading. It was supposed to be simple – instructing the guards on advanced and humane takedown strategies. But the rookie I brought with me was an ex-Marine and ended up being a hot-head with a temper. Rather than the easy day I was expecting, it turned into a damn fiasco. First he insulted the warden, then he ignored security protocols and antagonized the guards. He topped it off by almost inciting a prison riot.

And worse than all that was that it reflected on me. I’d had to talk my boss, and my former Navy Commander Jerry Barton, down off the ledge. He was ready to castrate us both this afternoon.

Good times.

Fucking-A.

Knocking back the remainder of my drink, I was just about to get up and leave, throw the towel in on this clusterfuck of a day, when the song changed and my eyes swung over to the stage. Amidst deep thumping beats of slow bass, wisps of smoke silhouetted a dancer in the center of the stage. I settled back in to my seat, intrigued, at least for the moment.

Starting at her feet, which were encased in a pair of sky-high red heels, my gaze wandered slowly up her body as the fog began to clear. Savoring the sight before me, I took my time, my eyes caressing shapely thighs and rounded hips with just a whisper of white lace between her legs. A flat stomach, and trim waist. My heart started to accelerate as my gaze traveled north.

Releasing the front clasp of her bra, she held the cups in place, pausing for just a fraction of a second, but enough time for me to mourn the thought of her keeping it on.

Peeling her bra slowly away, she revealed full, round breasts. A strangled groan ripped from my throat. Soft, yet perky tits, topped with rosy pink nipples that tightened in the cool air.

Jesus.

She was built just like a woman should be. Tons of soft, lightly tanned skin and ample smooth curves. My cock stood at attention, saluting her with the admiration she deserved.

She swayed, her body moving sensually, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. Unlike the other girls, she wasn’t dancing for anyone. She was unrushed in her movements, feeling the music and rocking her hips. I imagined those hips moving over me, her soft curves in my hands, my mouth on her skin, the fingertip bruises I’d leave on those hips as I gripped her tight. My cock went as hard as steel.

Her eyes were closed and when she opened them, I about fell out of my chair.

Deep emerald green fringed in heavy black lashes.

Fucking hell.

“Finley?” I rose out of my seat, blood pumping, and headed straight for the stage, intent on towing her little ass down from it, and shoving her in some goddamn clothes.

Her eyes found mine and widened in alarm. Then a startled little gasp pushed past her pink glossy lips.

“Sir,” a booming voice asked beside me. “Are we going to have a problem?”

I stopped in my tracks, feet from the stage, fists clenched at my sides, vein no doubt popping in the side of my neck.

Realizing that if I so much as reached out my hand for her, I was going to be promptly removed from the club, and placed none-too-gingerly