There’s a secret game the dancer’s play on the FutureSex/LoveShow tour. It all started in Atlanta, only your second show on the tour, when Nick swiped Tammy’s handkerchief from her back pocket during “Rock Your Body” and he insisted that she had to do anything he asked in order to get it back.

 

“It’s only fair” he had said, waving the scrap of fabric in Tammy’s face. She just smiled ruefully and consented.

 

Their hook up had been the talk of the week. That is until Skye did the same thing to Nancy in New Jersey, then Eddie to Michele in New York and now it was a tour staple, handkerchiefs being swiped at almost every show. There are no rules really but its kind of an unspoken thing that you only try and get a person you’re kind of into. It’s not uncommon to see two dancers getting more friendly with one another before the show and the next thing you know they're swiping hankies and getting VERY friendly after the show. It was indeed fun to watch, and even more fun to gossip about the next day.

 

It is, in essence, a game of cat and mouse, a game of skill. Not only do you have to snag someone else’s scarf and protect your own, but you have to maintain staging and choreography. It is a challenge, and you love a challenge.

 

Unfortunately you’re not really able to indulge in the festivities. Your main dance partner is not only your boss but Justin Timberlake and NO ONE has the balls to snag Justin’s hanky. You’ve been tempted many times and dared to even more times than that but every time you tell yourself you’re going to do it you chicken out. You are of course mocked and ridiculed repeatedly for this fact but you always have the perfect ammunition against it. No one, no guy nor girl, has been able to get your handkerchief. The others chase after you, and you cunningly stay away, enjoying watching them, wondering how far they'll go just to snag that scrap of fabric, insuring a rendezvous with you later in the night, but none have been so lucky. This is most likely because number one, you are an elusive creature, unable to be caught and tethered by any human being, and number two, you’ve sewn it into the back pocket of your pants.

 

Okay so maybe it’s cheating but there are no rules in the handkerchief game and that’s what’s part of the fun you suppose. Plus, the guys keep a running tally of how many swipes they have and you don’t want to be just another name on their scoreboard. You don’t know what you’d do if they got your scarf. If it were Justin there would be no thinking about it. Your clothes would be off before you left the stage. You chuckle to yourself at the thought as you pull on your trousers, listening to the thumping speakers pound out the bass line of “Rock Your Body” You flounce out onto the stage, body humming with the roar of the crowd and the rhythm of the drums.

 

The game has begun.

 

Handkerchiefs flutter enticingly from back pockets, guys and girls alike snatching for the fabric as it flickers past them. You can’t concentrate on that much though, the music having taken you over and you sidle up to Justin, who grins at you as he sings and you sway tantalizingly in front of him. His eyes lick over your body and sometimes you wonder if he’s really eyeing you or if it’s just for show.

 

His hands reach for your hips and you let him grip you, his palms warm even through the linen of your pants. He leans into you and you give him a playful shove, the tips of your fingers pushing at his chest as you slide briskly past him.

 

But your body jerks back, something impeding you from walking further. You nearly lose your balance, taking a quick step back and you twist your body to look around to see as to what has prevented you from walking away. Justin is standing dumbly behind you, your handkerchief in his hand, and attached to it is a long piece of linen the same color as your pants.

 

Your entire body seizes and you don’t need to reach back to know what’s happened. Of all the nights to wear a thong! Justin acts quickly, shoving the material into the pocket of his trousers before grabbing your arm and spinning you so that your ass is pressed to his crotch. His arm locks around your stomach, his forearm, slick with sweat, sliding easily against your skin as he grinds into you, never missing a note. You roll your hips back into him, playing a long with him, your hands circling up around his neck, chancing a grip at his curls.

 

You can hear the smile in his voice as he sings, his hand smoothing sexily across your bare stomach before sliding over your hip and down your thigh. His fingers brush the back of your thigh, grazing the bare skin where the hole in your pants ends and chances a quick grab before reaching back up to settle on your hip again, guiding you slowly against him.

 

The song ends and the lights go out, allowing you a quick exit under the stage. Joanna tuts disapprovingly as you slip out of your clothes and opt for the skimpy bra and panties that is your next costume. You scarcely have a chance to breathe once you’ve dressed before the heckling starts.

 

“Justin got your hanky, Megan,” Michele teases, wiping the sweat from her body as she adjusts her breasts in her bustier.

 

“I’m sure it was an accident,” you reply, your mind jamming at the thought of Justin wanting you.

 

“Accident?” Marty scoffs, fiddling with the buttons on his vest. “Bitch, he practically ripped your pants off on stage.”

 

The dancers all cackle at this and your cheeks redden slightly but inside your stomach is trembling. Does he really want you? He pulled your hanky, and like Marty said, he practically ripped your pants off to get it. You’ve had a thing for Justin since the tour started. Who wouldn’t? But he’s your boss. There were a thousand other girls vying for this spot on the tour after Ava got hurt and he picked you. This is the biggest opportunity of your career and you’re not going to fuck it up by getting flirty with the boss. You try to keep things professional, but he’s sweet and funny and kind of a cocky ass but he has the talent to back it up so it doesn’t seem so much arrogance as confidence. You found out quickly that he is a perfectionist, and accepted no less than the absolute best. He pushes everyone to their limits and you love that about him. You love a lot of things about him.

 

“Get him, girl,” Dana winks, passing you to go out onto the platform, waiting for the stage to rise.

 

You chance one last glance at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your boy shorts on your hips before heading out onto the stage. The raunchy opening notes of “Damn Girl” fill your ears as you shimmy and shake your way across the stage. You pass Justin, just as you do every show, and he looks back at you lasciviously, just like every show but for some reason you can’t help but think that he’s never quite licked his lips like that before and his eyes have never been that…hungry? Was it hunger in his gaze as he looked at you? And you can’t help but feeling giddy at the thought because he pulled your hanky!

 

You can barely believe it but you’re blushing as you slide past him, giving him a demure smile and he beams back at you, following you across the stage and butterflies tickle your stomach. His hand catches your hip before you make your way down the ramp and he spins you, pulling your body close to his.

 

“Damn girl,” he intones over and over again as he surveys your face, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips as he presses his hips to yours.

 

You can smell his cologne mixed with his sweat, feel the heat of his body as he presses close to you. You look up at him, somewhat bewildered, even though you’ve done this a hundred times. For some reason, right now, its like he’s never touched you before, and the crowd just goes away. He brings his hand up, his calloused finger tips brushing the hair from your temple as he leans in and – holy shit – he’s going to kiss you!

 

You stand stock still, rooted to the spot as his lips dip in closer and closer and the microphone is near his mouth…that’s kind of in the way, why is it there…oh yeah you’re on stage in front of thousands of people. And suddenly you remember why you’re here. This is your job. There’s choreography you should be doing but you can’t think with him so close to you.

 

You turn your head at the last moment and shiver as his nose brushes your neck, his free hand moving down to slap your ass and in an instant he’s gone and away, down the stage, working the crowd. Maybe it was all just part of the show. But you know its not.

 

Because he pulled your hanky.

 

The rest of the show is a slight blur, a haze of touches and smirks and dancing. You can hardly stand still as you all take your final bows, looking down the row of dancers at Justin as he basks in his glory, gesturing to the musicians and dancers on either side of him, bidding the audience to praise them, not just him.

 

As you all make your way backstage you’re practically beside yourself. What do you do now? Should you wait for him to contact you? Should you wait for him outside of his hotel room? You weigh your options while you shower and redress in a tank top and shorts. You sit and listen to the other girls talk about the show for a moment before deciding you can’t stand it.

 

You slip your feet into your flip flops and leave the girls’ dressing room and make your way slowly down the hall, stopping at the door with his name on it. You bite your lip, your stomach doing somersaults as your knuckles rap against the wood. His muffled voice bids you to enter.

 

You crack the door and peek in, finding him gathering things from around the room. He’s still wearing his outfit from the last number, sweat causing it to cling to his back in a way that causes your blood to heat up. You lick your lips, imaging what it would be like to smooth that t-shirt up his torso, the stretchy material clinging to him, not wanting to let him go, his skin sticky with dried sweat. In a moment you won’t have to imagine.

 

He turns to you and gives you a warm smile, his hands full of papers and books. He gives you a quick, “hey girl” as he shoves them in his book bag. You step into the room, biting your lip before closing the door behind you. His eyes snap up to you and he regards you curiously, chuckling a little as he zips his backpack up.

 

“You need to talk to me about something?” he asks off handedly, flipping through a book before shoving it in his bag then he looks up, his face a grimace. “Is this about earlier?”

 

“Earlier?” you ask, sauntering into the room, giving your hips a little extra sway and his eyes drop to your naked thighs.

 

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head as if to clear it and he reaches into his pocket, plucking out his iPod. “You know when I exposed your ass to thirty thousand people,” he stops scanning through his playlists to look off into the room, asking it “What the hell is it with me and undressing women on stage?” he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his iPod. He scowls at it and shakes it violently. “Piece of shit,” he mutters, tossing it on the table next to him slightly annoyed.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” you say, your voice shaking slightly, your courage fading the longer you’re in his presence.

 

“Fuck, you’re taking this well,” he chuckles, turning away from you, searching through the piles of stuff stacked on the table.

 

Your mouth is dry, your heart beating so loudly you wonder if he can hear it. Your knees start to shake and you can’t believe you’re this affected by him right now. You’ve been closer to him then this…hell just earlier you were grinding your ass into his crotch, but now…he pulled your hanky.

 

You want him. This should not be hard. You’re not gonna chicken out now. He pulled your fucking hanky and you’re not gonna screw around. You put on your sexy underwear for chrissake!

 

Lets get this show on the road

 

His back is still to you, prattling on as he gathers things from the vanity. You set your jaw, reaching down and ripping your tank top over your head, standing before him in your shorts and bra. He’s seen you in less, but the action cuts your nerves, bringing some of your courage back.

 

“…I mean really-” he chuckles turning back to you and his eyes widen when he takes you in, his words stopping, his mouth falling open. “Megan,” he pants, swallowing hard, his eyes drinking you in. “What…what are you doing?”

 

You grin coyly, crossing your legs at the ankles and your arms behind your back pushing your breasts out more. You lick your lips and giggle. “I guess whatever you want.”

 

His eyes widen, leaning a little closer to you as he says, “Excuse me?”

 

He looks utterly baffled, his eyes flicking around the room looking anywhere but you. He shifts his feet nervously, and looks at the floor, scratching at his ear in that unsure way he has. Your smile falters. Something isn’t right.

 

“Um…you got my hanky,” you grin, wiggling a little, trying to coax him towards you.

 

He looks at you blankly. “Do you want it back?”

 

“Um... no…you… you got my hanky,” you say again, giving him an imploring look but he merely quirks his eyebrow at you.

 

“Yeah, so you’ve mentioned,” he chuckles. “what does that have to do with you showin’ me your tits?”

 

Your heart constricts. “You…you don’t know?”

 

“Don’t know what,” he asks, looking at you genuinely confused and a cold dread spreads through you.

 

He has no fucking clue what is going on right now.

 

You stare back at him, completely mortified and you are suddenly very aware that you are now standing half naked in front of your boss. He’s looking at you perplexed and you cannot speak. You can barely even breathe because this… girls get FIRED for this. You can almost see your dreams going up in smoke. He’s still just looking at you, his face blank now and you can’t read him.

 

“Megan,” he says. His voice is soft with a lilt of question in the tone.

 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your hand going to your mouth and you do the only thing you can.

 

You open the door and bolt from the room, tearing your shirt back over your head and hiding in the girls’ dressing room until its time to leave, humiliation and disappointment tasting bitter in your mouth. He doesn’t know about the game! He pulled your hanky by accident perhaps. He doesn’t like you.

 

These words intone in your head the entire ride back to the hotel, the other dancers heckling each other, turning in their seats and laughing. You wonder how long it will take them to learn of your humiliation. Not long if word travels like it normally does with all things handkerchief related.

 

You go up to your room and change into sweats, fully prepared to go to sleep and pray for an aneurism so you don’t ever have to face him again. You took your fucking shirt off. You were going to get naked in front of him. You wanted to fuck him. You still want to fuck him. Ugh you need sleep.

 

There’s a knock at your door and you don’t answer it, hoping whoever it is will simply go away but the knocking persists and you pull yourself out of bed moodily. You swing the door open and find Marty standing there. Your heart nearly stops. Is he going to fire you?

 

“Hey killa,” he says brightly. “JT wants to see you in his room ASAP.”

 

You blink. “Why?” Marty grins at you.

 

“Dunno,” he says sighing and then he leans in close to you, “maybe it has something to do with him pullin’ your hanky? He’s got the presidential suite on the 9th floor.”

 

He winks and turns, making his way down the hall, disappearing around the corner. Oh yeah…the hanky. That goddamn hanky that is ruining your fucking life. You roll your eyes as you grab your room key and shuffle to the elevator.

 

What would Justin want to see you for, you muse as the elevator climbs higher and higher? As it lurches to a stop on the ninth floor so does your stomach. Maybe he’s going to fire you. The doors open and you walk down the hall towards the suite at the end of the corridor, your stomach in knots. You raise your hand to knock on his door and you remember what happened the last time you knocked on his door. You swallow hard, rapping your knuckles against the wood quietly, almost hoping he doesn’t hear it, that you’ll be spared the humiliation of being fired tonight. Maybe in the morning you could bear it better.

 

But you’re not that lucky. The door swings back open and you have to stop the moan that bubbles up from your throat when you see him, dressed in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, his toes peeking out from under the pool of fabric at the hem. His hair is damp and his room is slightly humid with the strong smell of soap. He must have just gotten out of the shower.

 

“Hey girl!” he says brightly, walking back into the room and leaving the door open, which you assume means that you should follow.

 

You step through the threshold, standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching him approach a massive pile of clothes on the bed. You shift awkwardly and he looks up at you and smiles as he grabs a shirt and begins to fold it.

 

“Shut the door,” he says, setting the folded t-shirt in the open suitcase sitting on the end of the bed. His voice is calm and holds no clues as to his intention.

 

You’re fucked, you think as you close the door gently and walk a little ways into the room. He’s still folding his laundry and you can’t help but find that adorable. He does his own laundry.

 

“Sorry, Rachel makes me fold. She says she’s not my fucking slave,” he grins sheepishly as he picks through the pile.

 

You shake your head, leaning against the table and just watch him fold, his large hands making quick work of the pile. Shit, he’s even good at folding laundry. He needs to get this over with. If he’s going to fire you he needs to just do it, not make you muse about how cute he is when he does laundry.

 

“So, I asked around about this hanky business,” he says off handedly and you nearly lose your balance, your hand sliding off the edge of the table. He looks at you. “How did I not know this was going on?”

 

“Um,” you reply dumbly your heartbeat quickening as his blue eyes search you.

 

“I mean from the sounds of it it’s a pretty big thing,” he says and you look at the floor because he’s folding a pair of his boxer-briefs now.

 

“Um,” you answer and shift your feet. Where is he going with this?

 

“So,” he says, placing the last of his folded laundry in his suitcase and zipping it up, pulling it off the end of the bed and setting it against the wall. “How does this work?”

 

“What?” you ask, slightly bewildered as he steps closer to you.

 

“How does this work?” he asks again, his voice soft and he takes another step closer, his body close enough to smell the cleanness of his skin. “I mean I’m new to this game. What are the rules?”

 

He smiles easily, his blue eyes twinkling and you realize that – holy shit – he’s playing along. He actually wants you. You do your best to contain your giddy smile but find that you can’t, giggling a little in spite of yourself. He chuckles looking at the floor, scuffing his bare feet against the carpet.

 

“I’m sorry was that lame?” he asks biting his lip as he looks at you and you realize he’s nervous!

 

“No…it’s…um…sorry I’m just a little…yeah,” you stutter and he grins widely at you, dazzling you.

 

“Speechless?” he asks, smirking cockily at you and he nods sighing, “Yep, I have that effect on women.”

 

You snort. “You’re such a cocky ass,” you say and his smile fades into a pout which you find adorable.

 

“Hey…you have to do what I want,” he whines, “and I don’t want you callin’ me names.”

 

Your laughter dies in your throat as his eyes turn carnal, his hand reaching out to run down your arm. You’re dazed for a moment before you gain your bearings. Oh, if he wants to play, you’ll play.

 

“And what is it you want me to do?” you ask, cocking your head to the side and jutting a hip out smiling flirtatiously up at him.

 

You can practically see his eyes darken, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips as he surveys you. He’s watching you, trying to make sure you’re not kidding. You raise an eyebrow at him, helping him along and his uncertainty melts away, a smooth smile pulling at his lips. He rests his hands on his hips and his signature confidence is back.

 

“Touch me,” he says simply, his tone challenging.

 

“Touch you?” you question, laughter in your voice and he nods slowly, his eyes boring into you, licking his lips again. “Where?”

 

“Everywhere,” he says quietly and a shiver shakes through you at the lust in his voice.

 

You take a step closer to him, reaching out to him and you’re kind of unsure as of what to do. He’s watching you intently, just standing there with his hands on his hips, waiting for what you will do. You smirk at him.

 

“Any place in particular?” you ask, flattening your palm against his chest and rubbing down slowly.

 

He smirks. “Guess.”

 

You’re slightly shocked by his candor but like you said, you never back down from a challenge. You bite your lip as your hand slides down his chest, enjoying the dips and planes of his abdomen before reaching down and gripping him through his pajama pants. You gasp when you feel how easily he moves beneath the fabric, how he stiffens almost instantly. You watch his eyelids flutter then focus on your face, his tongue snaking out to swipe across his full bottom lip.

 

You rub him slowly with the heel of your palm, listening to him hum as your other hand smoothes across his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles tighten under your touch. He’s breathing through his mouth, panting every now and then when you squeeze him, almost fully hard in his pants.

 

“Undress me,” he whispers, no hint of a question in his tone but the softness of his voice gives it a questioning lilt.

 

You look at his face and find him gazing at you intensely, blue eyes nearly black with lust. You pause and uncertainty starts to creep onto his features.

 

“Arms up,” you say softly but brightly and he grins widely, raising his arms over his head.

 

You giggle as you grip the hem of his shirt in your fingers for a moment before slipping your hands under the soft cotton and spreading your hands wide across the warm skin of his hips and sliding them up, feeling the softness of his skin as you push the material up his body. You grip the fabric when you get to his arm pits, tugging it up over his head and he lowers his arms to allow you to pull it off.

 

You stand back and admire him for a moment. Rarely have you seen him completely shirtless, usually just in an undershirt but god his body is… you can’t even find the words. The dips and planes of his abs, the tightly stretched skin of his chest, his freckled shoulders. He’s…beautiful. Not many men are beautiful but this one definitely is.

 

He reaches out and fingers the hem of your tank top and you almost expect him to grab you like he does on stage, grope you hard and fast but this isn’t for show right now. This is what he wants to do. He’s gentle and slow, his fingers gripping the fabric and tugging up, you raising your arms in assistance.

 

He licks his lips, his eyes drinking you in as his thumbs hook impatiently in your sweats, pushing them down your hips and his eyes don’t leave you as you kick the fabric off your feet. His hands smooth up your sides, his palms warm and soft. Fingertips rough and calloused from years of playing guitar skim across your ribcage towards the dip of your stomach. He flattens his palms against your skin and slips his hands around your back, fingers finding the hook of your bra. You gasp as he flicks it open easily, the material falling down your arms and you let it drop to the floor. His eyes are glued to your chest, his hands smoothing back around your ribs to cup your breasts, cradling them in the space between his forefinger and thumb, his palms flat against your ribs before sliding up and cupping them fully.

 

Your eyelids flutter, your breathing becoming slightly more labored as he molds your flesh in his hands, his palms teasing your nipples before sliding his hands under to pinch your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You gasp at this, your back arching, pushing your chest into his hands as a shot of pleasure travels down your spine and settles in your center.

 

“I thought you wanted me to touch you,” you say after a moment, slightly breathless and his eyes meet yours again, a grin tugging at his lips before his hands slide down your sides to hold your hips.

 

You reach forward and hook your thumbs in the waistband of his pajama pants. You pause for a moment, stroking his hipbones with your thumbs, nerves making you hesitant. He senses your nervousness and pulls you to him gently, crushing your naked chests together and you have dreamed of this, feeling him skin on skin, and it’s so much better than you ever could have imagined.

 

Your hands slip under his pants, around his hips and you take a chance in gripping his naked ass, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. You feel him chuckle a little, his lips smudging against your shoulder.

 

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he whispers softly into your hair, his hand coming up to run through it slowly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated by this thing-”

 

“Justin, shut up,” you say simply and give his pants a little push and they’re puddled at his ankles.

 

“Well, okay then,” he chuckles, leaning back to look down at you, a small smile on his lips.

 

You feel a pull to kiss him but his skin is so soft, you can concentrate on nothing else and he’s completely naked now. You bite your lip, chancing a look at him and you nearly moan at the sight of him, long and thick between you and you want to touch him. You want to devour him.

 

Your hand slides around his hip, smoothing slowly down his thigh and back up again. He’s panting as your hands near his dick, hard and waiting for you to touch him. You take a deep breath and grip him in your hand, his hiss masking you gasp as your hand circles him, your fingertips barely touching as you hold him. Apparently the ability to sing and dance aren’t the only things he’s gifted with.

 

His breathing is ragged now as you drag your hand down and then back up, a strangled sound pulling from his throat as you swipe your thumb across the head. His shoulders tense and his stomach muscles quiver as you stroke him slowly, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, letting it slide free slowly as you hear him moan softly.

 

“You know,” he pants after a moment and your hand stops as you look up at him. “You can touch me with other things besides your hands.”

 

You look up into his eyes and he smirks, leaning in to nip your bottom lip with his teeth and he stays close, lips hovering just above yours and you want to kiss him so bad. His eyes are on your lips, his tongue swiping out to wet his bottom lip and he dips in, his lips brushing yours slightly as he looks into your eyes and smiles softly before pressing his lips fully to yours.

 

Your head is spinning as his mouth devours yours and you whimper against him, your hand gripping him tight and he pulls away panting, the air being sucked from his lungs by the pleasure you unwittingly gave. You hesitate for a moment before falling to your knees in front of him.

 

He looks down at you, his eyes slightly wide as if he didn’t actually expect you to do it but you don’t back down from a challenge. You grip him in your hand again, giving him a long slow stroke before grinning up at him and flicking your tongue out against the head of his dick. He gasps, his head falling back, a low growl pulling from his throat which is punctuated by a moan when you take the tip into your mouth and suck sweetly, your tongue flicking against it while your hand strokes at his length.

 

Hisses and groans fall from his lips as you suck him slowly, your hand working him, alternating between tightening and loosening your grip. He gasps loudly when you remove your hand and drop your mouth onto him completely, his hand flying out to grip the table, his fingers curling, trying to grip the slick glass surface. You hold his thighs, feeling them tighten as you work him slowly in and out of your mouth, occasionally holding just the head between your lips and humming, tongue stroking the slit of his cock. He arches his back at this, his hips tipping forward and you can’t help but relish it, knowing its you that is you making him gasp and whimper and moan.

 

“Megan,” he pants breathlessly, swallowing hard as your fingers reach to roll his balls, your mouth dipping down again and he moans deep in his chest, his hand flying to your head and gripping your hair in his hands. “Megan… st-stop.”

 

His voice trembles and you let him slide from your mouth, worried you’ve done something wrong. His breathing is uneven as he pulls you up and his fingers delve into your hair, wrapping his hands through it as he crushes his lips to yours. You moan into his mouth, feeling his cock rub against your lower belly, wet from your saliva.

 

“So, you have to do whatever I want?” he asks breathlessly, his hands still buried in your hair and you giggle a little at the giddy smile on his face.

 

“It would appear so, yes,” you reply, giving him a tight lipped smile so as not to reveal how much this statement turns you on.

 

“So what if I said I wanted you to work me out,” he asks, a smirk tugging at his lips, cocking his head to the side.

 

You smirk back. “Then I’d say you better get on your back.”

 

He puckers his lips in a silent “ooooo” and grins at your cheek, calling you a smart ass which you just grin at because it’s true. He sits on the bed, scooting back towards the head board until his head is resting on the pillows and he’s laid out before you, waiting.

 

You grin at him seductively hooking your thumbs in the elastic of your underwear and tugging them down a little, jutting one hip out. He’s watching you through heavy lids, one arm tucked behind his head, the other hand resting on his stomach as he just watches you, licking his lips in anticipation. If you were honest with yourself you’d say you’d dreamed of this moment since you started this tour. His body sprawled out and waiting, just waiting for you to make a move.

 

“You want something, Jus?” you question, your thumbs tugging your panties a little lower and he cranes his neck, as if it would allow him to see more of your skin.

 

“I want you to take those off,” he growls, his head nodding towards your panties.

 

You quirk an eyebrow at him and smile, pushing your panties down your legs and then kicking them off your ankles. His breathing hitches as you stand before him, hands on your hips, his eyes licking up and down your body. The hand on his stomach has lifted, allowing him to stroke the skin below his belly button absently and you wonder if he knows how much he’s turning you on right now.

 

“Get up here,” he says softly, his voice commanding but gentle and you lick your lips, crawling onto the bed.

 

You lean down low, letting your hair tickle up his legs and brush against his cock, watching his eyelids flutter and then widen when you straddle his waist, your hands flattening against his stomach, locking your arms so that they frame your breasts, pushing them forward. His hands fly to your hips, settling back against the mattress and panting, waiting.

 

You stare down at him as you hover over his aching dick teasingly, your hands sliding up and down his chest, eyes drinking in every part of this moment. The fact that he’s your boss, flits through your mind briefly, that you are naked, straddling your boss about to fuck him senseless. A shiver runs through you at your daring and your recklessness. This could end very messily.

 

“Megan,” he pants and you’re brought back to the moment, his blue eyes pleading with you. You smirk.

 

“You know you have to tell me what you want,” you say, biting your lip and watching your fingers align with his ribs. “It’s part of the rules.”

 

His fingers dig into your hips. “What I want is for us to not talk anymore.” He smirks cockily up at you.

 

You gasp at his candor but it melts into a moan when you feel him pull you down, the smooth head rubbing through your slick folds, searching for your entrance. He hums, his hips arching up and he pierces you causing you to suck air in through your teeth and you allow him to guide you down slowly, allowing you to get used to him.

 

Once you are flush against him, you hang your head forward, hair falling into your face as you let your eyes close and just feel him, pulsing deep inside you, your body clutching at him involuntarily. He hums his approval, his hands sliding around to grab your ass, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing.

 

You finally catch your breath and sit up fully, combing your hair back from your face before settling your hands on his chest. He looks up at you, his hands going back to your hips and squeezing, wanting you to move. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he groans, throwing his head back in frustration.

 

“Dammit, Megan,” he pants, gritting his teeth and whimpering softly. “Do it. Please.” He whines. “Fuck me.”

 

You moan at his words, your hips twitching forward of their own accord, your clit rubbing against his hip bone and you gasp at the intense pleasure this gives. Your thighs tremble as you rise up and fall back down onto him, catching his eyes rolling back in his head before they slide shut, a deep groan pulling from his throat.

 

He’s stretching you in just the right way, his dick sliding in and out of you as you roll your hips against him, your hands squeezing at his chest every once in awhile. You lick your lips, leaning back a little, feeling him slide a little deeper and he’s staring up at you glassily, his mouth hanging open slightly, deep moans pulling from his chest. You smirk down at him, biting your lip as your hands skim up and down his body, watching his face contort in pleasure.

 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, his back arching slightly, writhing beneath you as your hips speed.

 

His hands start to smooth up your sides but they fall weakly back to your hips, holding you as you slide up and down his length. You hang your head back for a moment, leaning forward and allowing your legs to widen a little more so that you’re bouncing hard against his lap. Sounds of pleasure tear from your throat as your clit grinds sweetly against his hip bone and his dick nudges that spot inside you that has you trembling.

 

Suddenly the hands on your hips grip you tight and you yelp as you’re rolled swiftly beneath him, his body never leaving yours, never losing rhythm. You gasp as his face hovers above yours, his nose bumping yours as he settles on his hands.

 

“I want you to come for me,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna make you come.”

 

His eyes are deep and wild and you can only pant at his words, your eyes sliding shut as he reaching down and guides one of your legs around his hip and then the other, dropping down to his elbows so that his lower belly is pressed against yours.

 

And what he does next causes you to arch your back and throw your head against the pillows, a cry of pleasure bursting from your throat. He rolls his hips, his dick sliding in and out of you like you could only dream it would when you watched him dance on stage.

 

You’re whining and moaning, your fingernails clawing at his back, your heels digging hard into his ass, trying to force him deeper and deeper because he’s hitting your spot over and over his hip bone bumping your clit in a sweet torturous way that has you not caring who hears or what the consequences are, just about the pleasure that’s coursing through your veins.

 

His lips are everywhere, your shoulder, your throat your jaw. His mouth finally claims yours and you gasp into his mouth as your muscles clamp down, the beginning shocks of your orgasm running through you. You cry out, grabbing the back of his head, your hand fisting in his curls and press your cheek to his as you come violently, the only sounds escaping your lips are whimpers and breathy moans, his name tumbling out over and over as if it’s the only word you know anymore.

 

He buries his face in your neck, whimpering softly as his hips reach a frantic pace. You slide your hands up and down his back, slicking the sweat over his muscles, feeling him work you hard and deep His back arches and he throws his head back, a guttural groan pulling from his throat and you feel the tingle in your toes as he shoots into you, his hips smacking into yours hard enough to bruise. When he whimpers your name, you throw your head back and moan, your body seizing around him again and it steals his breath, a strangled whine ripping from his throat as your body sucks him completely dry.

 

He collapses on top of you and you let your trembling legs splay on either side of his hips, your body relaxing finally, muscles begging for rest. His face is buried in your neck, his heavy breathing fanning against your collarbone and you let your hands smooth down his back one last time before he sighs and rolls off of you.

 

“Are you allowed to stay?” he pants tiredly, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over his naked body.

 

“If you want me to,” you reply breathlessly, your heart pounding so hard you feel it may crack your ribs.

 

He doesn’t respond just flops onto his side and grips the sheet, throwing it over your body and pulling you roughly against him. You giggle slightly settling against his side as his cheek rests against your shoulder. You shiver when he heaves a sigh.

 

“Some game…” he muses and you snort. “We should play more often.”

 

“You know,” you say, your heart thundering so loud in your ears you can barely hear your own voice, “you’re only supposed to pull the hanky of someone you like…you know like…you like like them.”

 

Like like? What are you twelve? You mentally kick yourself.

 

“Mmmm,” is his only response and he sighs, slumber taking him over.

 

So maybe he doesn’t really care for you after all. Maybe this was just a quick fuck, fulfilling his handkerchief snatching responsibilities. This is of course confirmed the next morning when you wake up alone, finding a note next to the bed telling you that he had an early interview. That he would see you later. That you could shower…if you wanted. He signed it J. No closing, just his name…well not even his name…his initial.

 

Would it be foolish to say that you were disappointed? Maybe it saved you an awkward morning after, but dammit you wanted him to like you. You wanted him to tell you he liked you. More and more as the day goes on you feel sad, almost used but you know that’s not that case. You wanted him. You got him. It was your own fault you expected more from him.

 

You don’t see him until the show and of course he’s all business. You refuse to acknowledge that his grip on you is less rough now, more like a caress than a grope, because you’re probably over analyzing. He’s your boss. You’re both working.

 

But when you’re shimmying past him, lost in the music and his voice as he sings, you don’t even notice that your hanky as been slipped from the back pocket of your pants. He calls your name, his voice carrying over the music and you turn to find him, microphone at his side, his other hand waving your hanky back at you, grinning like a fool. You laugh at him as he crooks his finger at you, bidding you closer and you saunter towards him.

 

“Now you have to do whatever I want,” he calls over the thumping bass.

 

You smirk at him, your heart constricting a little. “And what is that?”

 

“I want you to like me,” he calls, grinning at you.

 

Your face registers shock and he throws his head back in a laugh before grabbing you pulling you close to him, spinning you so that you grind against him and his lips are right next to your ear.

 

“I want you to like like me,” he chuckles.

 

You bite your lip, turning your head to him and his nose nuzzles yours affectionately before he bites his lip and smacks your ass, running across the stage, shoving your hanky in his pocket.