"Joanna Wylde - Survivals Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

After a moment she swirled back up, her face flushed, her breathing hard. He could
have sworn there was a darkening patch between her legs. She hovered on the edge of
orgasm; it was obvious to everyone watching. Rather than looking embarrassed, she
seemed to revel in her sensuality. He realized with a start that she wasn’t there to titillate
them, her audience existed to heighten her own experience.

She swaggered back up the stage, her back to the crowd, then turned her head to
look flirtatiously at the men surrounding her. With a shrug, she let the coverall fall
down across her shoulders, leaving her upper arms, shoulders and back exposed. She
rolled her shoulders, and then pulled one arm free from the dangling coverall.

Raising it above her head, she turned back to face the audience, her body stretching
and thrusting her breasts out of the bustier once more. The thing was just a bit too small
for her. She shrugged her other shoulder free, allowing the coverall to dangle down
around her waist, the opening exposing just a tiny taste of her lower belly. Her hips, full
and lush, seemed just rounded enough to hold the garment up.

His breath caught; he couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d shimmy it down,
revealing what he knew must be a spectacular ass and endless, muscular legs.

Unwilling to lean forward like so many of the men around him, he propped one
boot up on the stage, reclining back in his chair. She owned the room, there could be no
doubt, and a part of him rebelled against that. He didn’t want to be owned, not by
anyone.

He wanted to own her.

She swaggered back down toward him, as if reading the unconscious challenge in
his stance. Halfway there she dropped to her knees again, dragging the drab coverall
behind her. How could such an ugly garment be so sensuous? The closer she came to
him, the tighter his breathing grew. A sudden desire to leap up on stage, to rip off her
coverall and plow his cock into her, hit him. Instead he took another long draft of his
drink, forcing himself to breath slowly in and out.

She smiled at him, a secret, mocking kind of smile. The smile of a woman who knew
her own power, and who could see right through his pathetic attempts to control
himself. He tried to look away but he couldn’t. She was too intense, too real to ignore.

She came closer and closer, credits raining down on her as she slithered past the
mesmerized men. Sometimes she would stop and look at them, moving close so they
could see her breasts. She wore twice as much clothing as any other woman in the room,
but every eye was glued to her. There could be no question who was in charge.
 Finally she reached him, and he knew deep inside, that he had been her target all
along. She stood slowly, turned away from him and slithered out of the coverall. Red
thong panties matched the red bustier holding her stunning breasts. She stepped out of
the pants, deliberately spread her legs and leaned forward, laying her hands flat on the
stage before her, exposing everything to him. A stunning cunt matched her ass, perfect
in and of itself. The thin swath of fabric hid her just enough to make him desperate to
pull it off. He almost reached up, but managed to catch himself at the last moment. He
wanted her all right, felt almost desperate to have her, but he knew that to get her he had