Reverence (Winston Hills #4)

Prologue

Provocateur always had a rhythm all its own.

Lo-fi music pulsed under velvet lights, champagne flutes clinked, and smoke curled from the mouths of men who thought they owned the night.

Behind the bar, I poured their fantasies into glasses, mixing gin with tonic, whiskey with bitters, masking boredom with a smile.

I watched as she stepped on stage.

Soleil. That’s the name the DJ announced, rolling off his tongue like honey. But what I saw wasn’t just a stage name, it was a vision.

She moved like liquid gold. Every muscle, every tendril of her body seemed choreographed by a higher power.

Her pointe shoes kissed the stage with impossible grace, but her hips told another story, one laced in sin.

She was a ballerina drenched in firelight, stripping away the distance between art and desire.

I’d seen women dance before. Beautiful women. Fierce women. Women who knew their power. But this one…she commanded. She pirouetted into the kind of hunger men paid fortunes to chase. She bent at the waist, hair cascading like a curtain, and when she rose, her eyes found mine.

She smirked devilishly before she winked.

Heat shot through me so fast I had to grip the bar to steady myself.

The ache was sudden, merciless, causing my dick to strain against the fabric of my skimpy uniform.

I’d seen a lot of sex working at the club, but it had never made my body respond in this way.

I hadn’t felt the tightness of an erection this hard in years.

It shocked me, even scared me. I’d written myself out of this script, sworn off chasing affection where I wasn’t wanted.

Years of being touched in the dark but never claimed in the light had stripped me of that hunger.

But watching her? I wanted her.

Her body curved with impossible control, legs slicing through the air like blades, then melting into silk as she arched across the pole.

Each split, each glide, each slow unwrapping of her costume was ballet and striptease fused into something sacrilegious.

My chest hurt with the need to breathe her in, to taste the sweat that gleamed on her collarbone; to claim the wicked little smile she tossed me like a secret.

I didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know her name outside of Soleil.

But I knew one thing to be certain—it had been years since a desire of this magnitude had me by the throat.

But this time it wore a thong and danced gracefully and seductively.

The stage lights dimmed as she struck her final pose, chest heaving, sweat glistening like diamonds across her golden-brown skin. The crowd erupted in cheers, bills flying, but none of it touched her. Her eyes? They were still locked on me.

When she slipped off stage, my hands shook as I polished a glass that didn’t need polishing. She walked toward the bar like she owned gravity, hips swaying, pointe shoes traded for clear heels that made her legs look endless.

“Tequila. Neat,” she said, her voice satin wrapped around steel.

I poured without speaking, too aware of how close she leaned. Her perfume was a subtle blend of vanilla, lavender, and sweat, causing my arousal to wrap around me.

“You always watch performances that intently or just me?” she asked, lips curving into a wicked little smile.

I swallowed hard. “Just your gorgeous ass. No way you dance like that and surprised people stare?” I smiled, biting my bottom lip.

Her laugh was low, intimate, like it was meant only for me. She took her shot in one smooth tilt of her throat, then leaned over the bar, close enough that her breath ghosted my ear.

“You’ve got hungry eyes, beautiful, but I don’t think you can handle me.”

My dick twitched at the dare in her tone. I forced a smirk, even as heat crawled up my neck. “Sweetheart, I’ve broken men twice your size. Don’t tempt me.”

She didn’t back down; instead, she leaned closer, her lips almost brushing mine as she whispered, “I know exactly what’s between those beautifully thick thighs of yours, Zaria. And I promise you—” her tongue flicked out, teasing the corner of her lip, “—I can handle every inch.”

The glass I was holding slipped causing it to clink against the bar.

She smiled like she’d won this battle. Like she’d peeled me open and read my secrets. God help me, she had.

In this space I didn’t have to hide or resist. I was aching with a desire that was burning deep for this woman.

And Soleil, whoever the fuck she really was, looked ready to devour me whole.

The club always slowed around 3 a.m. The crowd thinned, lights softened, and the music dipped into something sultry. I wiped down the bar in lazy circles, pretending not to notice Soleil sauntering back toward me after her shift.

She didn’t bother changing. She was still in the glittered scrap of a costume that left more skin than fabric.

She was still glowing from the stage. She was slender but curvy, her pronounced hips and phat ass made me lick my lips.

She had a handful of perky breasts that I bet were sensitive as hell when licked and sucked.

Her skin was a soft, golden-brown richness that looked like it had been kissed into existence by sunlight itself.

A hue that held depth and sweetness in the same breath.

She perched on a barstool and crossed those sculpted legs before tilting her head at me like she had all the time in the world.

“You closing soon?” she asked, voice low, teasing.

“In about fifteen,” I said. My throat was dry. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like waiting.”

Her gaze pinned me. She didn’t mean drinks. My pulse hammered.

By the time the last customer stumbled out, I’d locked the door and dimmed the house lights. The club was empty but the air was thick as if the walls themselves were waiting.

She stood, walked behind the bar where only staff was supposed to go and pressed me back against the counter. The smell of her arousal, perfume, and danger filled my lungs.

“You still think you can handle me?” she murmured closely as her lips brushed mine.

“I know I can,” I confessed, voice hoarse. “The real question is, do you want to be handled?”

Her hand slid down my breasts leaving my nipples taut and aching. Then over my waist until her palm rested against the bulge straining between my thighs. She squeezed, slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving mine.

“Mm,” she purred as a smirk formed on her gorgeous face. “Exactly what I thought.”

Then she kissed me.

Not sweet. Not testing. This was deep and consuming. Her tongue sliding against mine like she’d been starving for this too. I groaned into her mouth before grabbing her hips and pulling her close. She tasted like tequila but better. Because she had me on her tongue.

Her thigh slipped between mine, pressing up against the ache I couldn’t hide. My hips jerked forward before I could stop them, grinding shamelessly against her.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered against my lips.

“I haven’t wanted anyone like this in years,” I admitted, breathless.

She smiled, wicked and sure. “Then let me remind you what yearning feels like.”

Her fingers traced higher between my thighs—deliberate and slow— until I thought I’d shatter right there against the bar.

I didn’t care who knew as we made out like teenagers in the dark club, except the glow of a single red light above the stage. The smell of expensive liquor, sweat, and sex, and her body pressed against mine made it feel like the whole world had collapsed down to this moment.

Soleil was a fitting name for the radiant beauty with her tongue down my throat and hand stroking my dick.

She was biting at my bottom lip, pulling a moan from my throat before I could stop it.

My hands slid over her waist, the glitter of her costume scratching against my palms as I dragged her closer.

She was warm, soft, and alive in my hands, making my chest ache in a way it hadn’t in years.

She broke the kiss long enough to whisper, “I want to taste you.”

My knees almost buckled. “Here? Now?”

Her smile was wicked. “Why wait?”

Before I could argue, her hands roamed down my body, over my breasts, squeezing until I gasped, down the dip of my waist, moving to cup the roundness of my ass with a firm, claiming grip.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Literally temptation in the flesh,” she groaned as she kissed down my throat letting her teeth graze my skin.

I grabbed her hair and held her there as she licked and sucked at my collarbone. Leaving a trail of heat in her wake. My dick throbbed between us—straining and begging. She dropped to her knees. Her eyes burning with desire as she looked up at me. She hooked her fingers in my waistband.

“Soleil—” I tried to warn her, to give her a chance to back out.

But she cut me off with a smirk. “I told you, I know what’s between your thighs. I want what’s between your thighs, so give me what’s between them. I can handle every inch.”

She pulled me free in one smooth motion, and the cool air hit my length before the heat of her mouth swallowed me whole.

“Fuck!” I moaned, clutching the bar so hard my knuckles ached.

Her lips were velvet. Her tongue ruthless as she worked me with a grace that made no sense. Of course, a ballerina would know how to use every muscle with precision. She sucked me down slowly and deeply. Her eyes remained locked on mine daring me to look away. I couldn’t. I was entranced.

Every stroke made my thighs tremble, my breath ragged. She moaned around me. The vibration sending shocks through my core. I bucked forward helplessly, lost in the wet heat of her mouth.

“Please, mmm don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breaking.

She didn’t. She worked me harder as her saliva sliding down to my balls while she sucks and gags on my dick.

When I feel her fingers brush further down until they’re rubbing the rim of my asshole, my body bows toward her.

The pleasure is burning so sharply I think I might break.

My release tears out of me in a ragged cry.

My thick load spilling down her throat. She swallows every drop, eyes never leaving mine.

It’s like she’d just claimed something no one else ever could.

She stands wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she smiles victoriously, “Told you I could handle it.”

I dragged her into my arms before kissing her like a starving woman. My hand sliding under her glittered costume to feel the slickness of her arousal waiting there. She gasped into my mouth as my fingers found her—stroking and circling until she’s trembling against me the way I had against her.

The red light above us flickered as it continues to cast us in shadow and sin. Her cries of pleasure joining mine in the empty club.

in this moment she became more than a stage name. More than a fantasy and a one-night stand.

Soleil was going to ruin me and not because she would mistreat me. But because she would leave me open and vulnerable, making it the perfect setting for love to bloom.