Not The Preferred Technique

I turned back to join him in staring out at the boats. I definitely couldn't feel my teeth now, which told me I should slow down. His attention was making me even drunker than the beer, though. I stirred. "Frosting? Off your chest?" He'd been hairless, I remembered, glistening with sweat the whole time I'd seen him. Bare and smooth, other than that cropped trail between his belly button and his dick...

His chuckle snapped me out of that thought before I could start dampening my thong. "We offer a number of services," he shrugged.

"How'd you get into that?" I asked, curious. I swigged once more at my beer. "You say you do personal training? How does that, like, morph into fucking bachelorettes?"

He glanced quickly around, making sure nobody was eavesdropping. "You're a little loud, Nadia," he warned, still smiling. "Pretty sure nobody at this wedding needs to know the bride was doing a spit-roast a week ago."

I didn't know what a spit-roast was, and made a mental note to Google it later. "Sorry." It came out as a husky whisper. "Low-voiced secrets seem to be our thing, you and me." I could feel my nipples starting to get dull and tight, remembering his body. His face when he came. His hand on my ass. "Seriously, though," I pressed, "it's not weird? Being naked all the time?"

He tugged at his lapel. "I'm not naked all the time."

I snickered. "It's a nice suit," I agreed, "but it's not weird? Taking it all off in front of a bunch of strange women?"

He turned back to me, his eyebrow rising behind his sunglasses. "I like it," he admitted. "I used to do theatre in high school, and I never mind people watching me at the gym. This is just an extension of those." He shrugged and sipped at his beer, which I noticed was an IPA. Sadly. "It's very freeing, being nude."

"Freeing?"

"Feels like you're coming out of a shell or something." He thought about it, his smile growing. "Like you're the center of attention in the best way, you know? Like everyone's focus is on you." He finished his bottle. "There's power there."

"Power." I swirled my beer around, my nipples definitely responding now. "Like, over others?"

"In a way. We call it casting the nude spell. Like, the power we feel when we're in the raw." He shrugged and threw his bottle far out into the bay. It barely missed somebody's sailboat. "It's not something I've ever told anyone though, Nadia. It's stripper talk. I don't want you to think I wander around getting all philosophical about stripping my clothes off for four or five hundred a session. Plus tips."

"Not just the tip," I giggled.

"As you know," he laughed. "Actually, it doesn't usually go that far."

"Really?" I blinked, perplexed, trying to convince my brain to get moving. "Like, go that far inside? That deep?"

"No!" He was laughing loudly now, a rich couple nearby turning our way. "Go as far as full sex," he explained.

"Oh. Shit. Yes. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he urged, and when he reached out to give my forearm a reassuring squeeze, it seemed totally normal. Natural. His hand was warm on my skin. "I don't mind talking about it." He paused, seeming to think about his words, then went on. "It's fun," he concluded finally. "Just fun."

"The sex?" I asked, taking care to keep my voice down: the deck was filling up. "Or the power?"

"Yes," he nodded decisively, and this time it was my turn to laugh. "Want another beer, Nadia?"

"Fuck yeah," I nodded, draining mine. I held out the bottle. "Want to try to hit that boat again?"

He glanced around once more. "Nah. Too many people out here now. The owner might be here." He let it drop instead, down among the shallows below the deck, where it plunked into the water. "Another of the same?"

"Yes please, Steve." I watched him move away, my mind singing because he'd talked to me. Hell, because he was even here. It excited me to ask him about his stripping, casting his nude spell, and I wondered suddenly, as I leaned backward on the railing, whether I might have excited him, too. The way his asshole had clenched around my finger... I knew a twisty little smile was playing over my lips by now, thinking about him dancing for a roomful of women, feeling that power he'd talked about: the power of his naked body. The spell.

I shivered slightly, knowing I was arching my back a little too much in Izzy's dress as I rested my elbows on the railing. The day was perfect, the weather custom-made for this kind of place, for these kinds of people, and all at once I felt a shadow cross over me. "Hi there."

I didn't realize my eyes were closed until I opened them to find a guy there, conventionally sexy in that full-faced lacrosse-player way, his hair a thick cresting wave. "Hello."

"I'm Jason. Can I get you a drink?"

I puckered my lips whimsically, making no effort to straighten up and sheathe my boobs a little. "No thank you, Jason." I heard that burr still in my voice, that hint of hoarseness, but it was there for Steve. "Another gentleman is already taking care of me. There he is now," I nodded, the two of us watching as my stripper approached with our two bottles. "Hi there, Steve!"

He glanced from me to Jason as he held out my beer. "Steve," he introduced himself, and I thought I heard a little extra snap in that voice. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Uh, right." Jason eyed Steve, taking in his broad shoulders and his obvious masculinity, and wisely decided he should take off. "Nice meeting you both," he managed.

"Likewise!" Steve called affably. He stood a moment, examining me where I stood. "See?" he said quietly. "You feel it a little."

"The power," I breathed, and he was right. I had.

"Told you." He leaned back alongside me, a little closer than he had been. "Imagine how much stronger it is when I'm totally nude." He nudged me. "That's a great dress, by the way."

"Thank you." I let my shades slip down my nose, turning my eyes directly on him. "I like your suit, too, but..."

"But?" He was smiling again, holding himself loosely. I was slowly convincing myself that this god of a man was actually enjoying spending time with me, a heady realization: by this time, I'd given up worrying about my thong or my nipples. Hell, by this time, I was thinking about my vibrator in my bedside table.

I turned toward him slowly and took a sip. "I admit," I said quietly, the alcohol talking, "that I'm spending a lot of time remembering what you looked like last time."

He chinked his bottle against mine. "Told you," he winked. "I cast the nude spell on you."

I shuddered involuntarily. "It wasn't just that. I did a lot more than just see your body."

He was looking at me more keenly now, more directly. "There's an occupational hazard of being a stripper," he began, still smiling. "You get into situations where people see everything you've got, but you've seen nothing of theirs." He took off his glasses so that I could see him staring at my cleavage.

I snickered. "Paramedics have the opposite problem. We see people's bodies all the time, but usually? We don't want to." I shrugged. "By that standard, that run to Briggs Road was fucking awesome."

He nodded, taking this in, but then the crowd on the deck was stirring with excitement as the bride and groom arrived. The applause was enough to quiet us down as we watched them move toward the water, led by a crouching photographer, Ava's hair piled up high in an impossible hairstyle that almost made her as tall as her new husband. "Nice dress," I conceded quietly.

"She's fucking hot," Steve agreed.

"Oh my god!" the bride trilled when she saw us. I was quite certain I'd never seen anyone as euphoric as Ava. She had that drug-high look paramedics see a lot, the one that told me dopamine was in full control now and that it would be a bitch when she crashed later. Her groom was nowhere near as sexy as Steve, but then Steve did this for a living. "You both came!"

"Well, I never did..." Nobody heard me mutter this, which was probably a good thing as Ava swooped in for a hug. It was the kind where only your shoulders touch. "Thanks for inviting me," I burped. "Congratulations!"

Beside me, I caught Steve shaking hands with the groom. "Hi, I'm Dwayne." I was next, the man moving in for a hug that I deftly turned into another handshake as I watched Ava give Steve a much more enthusiastic hug than me. "Um, how do you guys know Ava?"

I stood there, speechless as the camera guy snapped away, until Ava finally backed off the stripper. "They helped put together the bachelorette party, hon," she breezed.

"More like take it apart," Steve joked, but it sounded like a throwaway line. Everybody laughed. "You're a lucky man, Dwayne."

"Don't I know it."

"You look amazing," Ava gushed to me. "That dress is lethal."

"I didn't think it would look this great," I shrugged, resolving to flat-out steal it from Izzy. "Serendipity, you know? Hey, thanks for inviting us." The photographer was already getting impatient, the next cluster of guests waiting for the new couple, but I leaned close to Ava before she could get away. "Uh, everything good? Down there?" I nodded vaguely toward her vagina. "Since you and Steve..."

"Oh! Fuck." She looked quickly to make sure her husband wasn't listening. "Yeah, Dwayne fucked me the other day. No issues." She hesitated, then blurted it out. "He's skinnier than Steve was, though, so... who knows?"

"Well then," I shrugged, grinning, "you ought to be fine as long as you just don't fuck Steve."

"I know!" She winked. "Thanks again. Enjoy your drinks; sorry I couldn't fit you guys in for food. Late notice."

I avoided another pun, something about her fitting things in. Proof that the alcohol wasn't quite as potent as I'd thought. Good: maybe I could drive home. My vibe definitely needed me. "Don't even worry about it. Enjoy your day!"

"Thank you!" She moved on, not without a last lingering glance down at Steve's crotch, and both of us just stood there and reflected.

"You didn't fuck her again, did you?" I asked out the side of my mouth, both of us watching Ava's dress trail across the deck.

"No." He finished his beer. "Once was enough, don't you think?"

"I kinda do." It shocked me, then, when another nudge from him turned into an arm around my back, his fingers resting on my hip. I felt myself gasp.

"Ava was right about that dress, Nadia," he told me calmly.

"Oh my god!" I blurted.

"I mean, just being honest." He shrugged, his body touching mine. I discovered I was holding my breath, and made myself let it out in a long, crushing sigh. "I see a lot of women, a lot of dresses. A lot of tits," he smiled. He looked at me curiously, my head buzzing with the drinks and the sun and the thrill of him, and then he bent toward me. "Can I tell you a secret, Nadia?"

Fuck. What do you say to that? "Sure?"

He bent close, his IPA-scented breath carrying those same undertones I'd caught last time, when his mouth smelled like other womens' pussies. I felt myself stir. "Every woman who sees you is jealous."

"Well, yeah," I murmured back, turning toward him, our faces just inches away. "Look who I'm drinking with."

"Not what I meant," he shrugged. "You're sexier than the bride. It shows."

"Not a fucking chance," I scoffed, brushing back my hair. "This is a wedding, Steve. Nobody is sexier than the bride."

"I think I might be the only man here in a position to judge between you," he pointed out, tossing back another sip.

I let my lips curve into a smile. "I'd say that's a bit of an exaggeration," I purred, definitely moist. "You've seen a lot more of her than you have of me."

"Yeah," he nodded, "but you're the one who made me cum."

"Into her," I cackled. This was fun, like a rollercoaster. I felt like someone else was in control of me, some little troll in my brain. And the troll was horny.

He tossed his head as if this was a completely insignificant little detail. "I wasn't thinking of her when I came, though."

I felt my heart lurch, as though a solid weight was plunging from there straight down to my pussy. I caught my breath again, the wind once more flapping my hair around. "This is fucking weird," I muttered.

He smiled, as if we were talking about the weather. "I thought you should know. It's why I wanted your number afterward."

I laughed, giddy. "Still want it?"

"I want you to want to give it to me," he told me quietly.

Fuck. I'd need to burn this thong, I realized suddenly: nothing like this had ever happened to me. I felt like I'd peed, there was so much cream down there. When I spoke, it came out subdued, almost grave. "You're pretty confident, Steve."

"You haven't told me to move my hand yet, Nadia." His fingers tightened on my hip. I wondered whether he could smell me. "Want to give me your number?"

"No," I breathed, my beer and the sun and the wind and the crowd completely forgotten. The roller coaster began its descent. "I want to give you more than that."

He nodded, his expression neutral, as if he heard that sort of thing every day. Which, I reflected, he probably did: the man was a stripper. "That's convenient, I'd say." He looked around, scanning the crowd, many of them now making their way back into the club for whatever dinner Ava's parents had paid for. Probably chicken Kiev, or maybe prime rib... "Come with me," he urged, smiling broadly, his hand whispering along my ass as he pulled it off my hips. He took the beer from my hand and set it aside, then laid that hand in his. "I've got an idea."

"Oh... okay," I stuttered, following him. Like I had a choice: his hand was warm and strong around my fingers, my mind and heart on fire with amazement that this perfect creature was talking to me, taking me by the hand, leading me... somewhere.

Anywhere. That's where I would have gone with him.

He slowed as he pushed back through the door by the bar: the footman had, by this time, fled for some other namelessly obsequious gig, elsewhere on the premises. The arrival of the bridal party had shifted the yacht club's gears. Everybody now would be prepping for dinner service, including the bartenders: only one of them had stayed behind to wipe down the deserted mahogany, and it wasn't the cute one. "This way." His voice snapped me back to attention, looking around at the opulence, the warmth, the sun through the skylights. He whisked me underneath the chandelier.

"What the fuck?" I hissed it, aware that I was in the literal grip of something I couldn't control, but that I was rushing past a crystal-set dining room with high-class people at a high-class wedding reception, my boobs straining and my thong useless, and that I probably ought to draw as little attention to myself as possible.

"I have a plan." He strode boldly, in control, into a side hallway past a deserted office. Three doors lined the hallway, with a bathroom at the end, and he selected the third one and opened the door quietly. "Perfect. Come on in."

"What the fuck?" I said again, but I was a little louder now as I spun around, my eyes shining, to see him shut the door behind him. We were in a little room with institutional-looking sofas lining the walls, like you'd see in a library or something. Garment bags lay strewn around here and there, and a table by the door held a half-gone bottle of Hornitos tequila. "What is this place?"

"Just, like, a lounge." He smiled. "We did an event here. PG, but still pretty sexy. They gave us this room to change in. They seem to have the groomsmen in here now."

"Should we be here?"

He shrugged. "Why not? The groomsmen are busy, trust me." He cocked his head. "Haven't you ever been to a wedding before? They do introductions, a dance, shit like that. They probably came here first, got bombed, and they won't be back until it's time to change into their board shorts and sandals before they turn into a pumpkin." He gestured around, then laid his shades on the table by the booze before he nudged the door closed.

He had amazing eyes.

"Want to know my plan, Nadia?" His voice had taken on an odd quality now: playful, sure, but also a little bit mocking. Almost cruel. "My good idea?"

"I can't imagine." My head was whirling, all of this happening so fast. I felt like I needed to sit down.

"I heard my buddy Prince Carlos, back at Ava's house, tell you about our first-responder discount?" He moved toward me, a determined look in his eye making me back up a step or two. "Want to redeem yours?"

I felt my breathing speed up, my mouth grinning again. "What makes you think I'm interested in the kinds of things you guys do?" It came out as a wheezy mewl. I knew I'd be flushed scarlet from my forehead to my nipples; I could feel my own heat.

"Well, see, that's the thing." He smiled a little coldly. "You don't know what we can do until you see it."

I barked a coarse laugh. "I saw what you do."

"You saw me fucking a client," he shrugged dismissively, "but there's more." He tugged at his necktie, loosening the knot. "Sit down, Nadia."

"Whoah." I must have looked like some sort of Disney waif, all wide eyes and awe. "You're going to dance for me?"

"Yep." He was already starting to move, hips shifting slightly as he drew closer and closer... toe to toe... "If you'll sit down." His lips were close enough for me to feel his breath, his body in motion, and there was no decision to be made: my body did it for me.

I sat the fuck down.

He finished with his tie, hooking it almost contemptuously out from under the collar of a beautiful lime-green shirt, and let it fall to the floor like a deflated hose. His jacket followed, but he was a little more careful with that; he draped it over a chair. I was grinning like a moron. "No music, Steve?"

"You get what you pay for, Nadia," he laughed, "but if you have any complaints at the end of this demonstration, I'll be happy to take your constructive criticism under consideration." His movements were hypnotic already, his body slithery as he parted his feet and worked his hips.

I gaped up at him, my thoughts mushy. I heard a high-pitched ringing in my ears, my attention riveted to where Steve was going through his routine like an oiled snake, his muscles driving his body through a complicated and well-practiced set of moves designed to drive a woman crazy.

It was working. Not that he had far to go: I'd been soaked before we even came in off the deck.

He started with his shirt, untucking it with one hand while the other cupped his junk in a way that was both sexual and functional, because I was not at all sure he was wearing underwear. He started unbuttoning from the bottom, letting his shirttails flap open as he swayed, showing glimpses of those amazing abs I'd last seen straining in orgasm. I felt my mouth fall open as he worked his way up, showing more and more flesh. "For some audiences," he said quietly, "the emphasis is on a longer set. More of a tease." He shrugged the shirt off, leaving me to gasp at the definition of his chest and shoulders. "Other times, I just want to get naked."

"Fuck," I sighed. He looked perfect, his body tapering smoothly down to his grey slacks, where he was already tugging at his belt. I couldn't believe a man this hot wanted to dance for me. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Pretty unlikely," he nodded, shimmying closer; my legs flew apart as he stood before me, Izzy's dress digging into my thighs as it rode up toward my hips. He could have looked down and seen my thong and I didn't give a rat's ass. He swooped low over me, hands bracketing my head as they grasped the back of my couch, his chest so close to my face that I could feel the heat off it. The urge to uncurl my tongue and lick his nipple overpowered me. "About as unlikely as getting my dick stuck in some bachelorette's pussy, huh?"