Read Online Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) by Zoe Norman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Zoe Norman
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eyes, but I’m pretty sure he’s passed out.
“How you holding up, handsome?” a female voice calls to me. I lift my head up from the back of the couch and focus in on Whitney, our cocktail server—only now there are two Whitneys. She’s been great all night. Very attentive. Very pretty to look at. I just wanna motorboat those luscious titties…
“Owen?” the two Whitneys ask.
“Hmm? Oh, right. Yeah, we’re all doing great, Whit. You’ve succeeded at getting us drunk. Now we’re all vulnerable and drunk and shit. You’re not going to take advantage of us are you?” I joke.
Whitney smirks and silently steps around the couches to grip the stripper pole behind us. She takes a spin around the pole and leans her back against it. While spreading her legs wide, she looks me in the eye. Slowly she bends over to run her hands up her shins, past her knees and up her thighs. She grabs the tight material of her dress and pulls it up higher, teasing me. Marc and Travis have stopped jabbering and are watching Whitney intensely as she starts to dance seductively for us.
“I’ll be honest with you, Owen,” she calls to me from the pole with a breathy voice. “I’d very much like to take advantage of you. Or more like, you can take advantage of me.” Whitney stops dancing and deliberately walks toward me. She stands between my legs and leans down to whisper loudly into my ear, “I’d do anything you want.” Her tongue traces the curve of my ear and I close my eyes at the sensation. A shiver of excitement runs through me.
I open my eyes and see Travis and Marc staring at us. Their eyes dart from Whitney to me repeatedly as if their anxiously awaiting the next move. Whitney hikes up her already short dress and straddles my lap. I can feel her heat against my crotch as she places her hands on my shoulders and begins to grind on me. As her hips undulate to the rhythm of the music, I drunkenly place my hands on her smooth thighs and slide them up to grip her waist. My eyes become hooded as I enjoy the combination of the alcohol and the stimulation.
“Invite me back to your room. Your friends can watch…or participate, whatever you want,” Whitney whispers hotly into my ear.
My eyes flash open wide with the stark realization that this has gotten completely out of hand. At the same time, there’s a blaze of light and I quickly turn my head away from the offending brightness. Travis looks at his phone and smiles. Satisfied with what he sees, he raises his arm and aims it at me. Whitney smashes her cheek against mine and turns toward Travis. There is another flash of light and now there are spots in my vision. The motherfucker is taking pictures!
“Okey dokey…that’s enough,” I say while simultaneously pushing Whitney off my lap and onto the couch. “I’m flattered that you want some O, but I’m not your guy. I have a bea-utiful woman at home and I am not fucking that up.”
Whitney huffs and stands up from the couch. She straightens her dress and brushes the hair from her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Your loss,” she sulks and walks away from our VIP section.
Twenty minutes later, a different cocktail server brings us our tab to close out our account. Marc and I pay, splitting the massive bill, gather our people and opt to take a cab back to our hotel rather than wait for the limo.
This is the third time someone’s phone has rang this morning. Whoever is calling is adamant about getting through to one of the guys. With this headache, I’m about to go on the hunt for the phone and throw the damn thing out the fucking window.
“Will you please answer your fucking phone!” I yell from my room. I’m sprawled out diagonally across the plush king size bed. I have one sock on and I’m still in my button down shirt from last night. My pants are missing, but my boxer briefs are on and in place.
I hear some groans and murmuring outside my room, but the pounding in my head drowns out any coherent sentences.
“How you holding up, handsome?” a female voice calls to me. I lift my head up from the back of the couch and focus in on Whitney, our cocktail server—only now there are two Whitneys. She’s been great all night. Very attentive. Very pretty to look at. I just wanna motorboat those luscious titties…
“Owen?” the two Whitneys ask.
“Hmm? Oh, right. Yeah, we’re all doing great, Whit. You’ve succeeded at getting us drunk. Now we’re all vulnerable and drunk and shit. You’re not going to take advantage of us are you?” I joke.
Whitney smirks and silently steps around the couches to grip the stripper pole behind us. She takes a spin around the pole and leans her back against it. While spreading her legs wide, she looks me in the eye. Slowly she bends over to run her hands up her shins, past her knees and up her thighs. She grabs the tight material of her dress and pulls it up higher, teasing me. Marc and Travis have stopped jabbering and are watching Whitney intensely as she starts to dance seductively for us.
“I’ll be honest with you, Owen,” she calls to me from the pole with a breathy voice. “I’d very much like to take advantage of you. Or more like, you can take advantage of me.” Whitney stops dancing and deliberately walks toward me. She stands between my legs and leans down to whisper loudly into my ear, “I’d do anything you want.” Her tongue traces the curve of my ear and I close my eyes at the sensation. A shiver of excitement runs through me.
I open my eyes and see Travis and Marc staring at us. Their eyes dart from Whitney to me repeatedly as if their anxiously awaiting the next move. Whitney hikes up her already short dress and straddles my lap. I can feel her heat against my crotch as she places her hands on my shoulders and begins to grind on me. As her hips undulate to the rhythm of the music, I drunkenly place my hands on her smooth thighs and slide them up to grip her waist. My eyes become hooded as I enjoy the combination of the alcohol and the stimulation.
“Invite me back to your room. Your friends can watch…or participate, whatever you want,” Whitney whispers hotly into my ear.
My eyes flash open wide with the stark realization that this has gotten completely out of hand. At the same time, there’s a blaze of light and I quickly turn my head away from the offending brightness. Travis looks at his phone and smiles. Satisfied with what he sees, he raises his arm and aims it at me. Whitney smashes her cheek against mine and turns toward Travis. There is another flash of light and now there are spots in my vision. The motherfucker is taking pictures!
“Okey dokey…that’s enough,” I say while simultaneously pushing Whitney off my lap and onto the couch. “I’m flattered that you want some O, but I’m not your guy. I have a bea-utiful woman at home and I am not fucking that up.”
Whitney huffs and stands up from the couch. She straightens her dress and brushes the hair from her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Your loss,” she sulks and walks away from our VIP section.
Twenty minutes later, a different cocktail server brings us our tab to close out our account. Marc and I pay, splitting the massive bill, gather our people and opt to take a cab back to our hotel rather than wait for the limo.
This is the third time someone’s phone has rang this morning. Whoever is calling is adamant about getting through to one of the guys. With this headache, I’m about to go on the hunt for the phone and throw the damn thing out the fucking window.
“Will you please answer your fucking phone!” I yell from my room. I’m sprawled out diagonally across the plush king size bed. I have one sock on and I’m still in my button down shirt from last night. My pants are missing, but my boxer briefs are on and in place.
I hear some groans and murmuring outside my room, but the pounding in my head drowns out any coherent sentences.
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