CHAPTER 21
Don’t let your dreams slip from your grasp and fall into the lap of someone unworthy.
The bass from “ Check On It ” by Beyoncé thrums as I runway-walk down the stage and drag a silver chair out behind me, every beat pulsing through my body as I work my hips.
We’re on the second floor in a sectioned-off VIP area. The stage is about ten feet round, which means I’ll have to adjust my routine to fit the space. The client chose to sit front and center instead of on the long, L-shaped couch against the wall, so I take that into account too.
The routine is one I choreographed myself.
It has a ton of attitude and sass. It was meant for a wider audience, but adjusting it to deliver some focused, sweet seduction shouldn’t be too hard.
It drips sex; some parts are slow and deliberate, while others are fast—popping, twerking, and naughty movements that flash my best assets.
I use the chair as a prop and place it as close to the edge of the stage as I can while still giving myself room to move around it.
Eye contact is key, and I make sure to reconnect my gaze with the suits often, playing around with different expressions while I bite my nail, play with the ends of my hair, and slowly rise from a bend where my ass is up and the main attraction—the enticement giving him a good glimpse beneath my skirt from his vantage point.
Midway through, he’s so enthralled that he’s lifted his drink to his mouth but has yet to take a sip of it, as if he’s forgotten it’s even in his hand.
He’s an older gentleman with nice eyes—a big tipper—and he’s become a regular over the last few months.
He’s good-looking, in his fifties maybe, well-dressed, with money practically spilling from his suit pocket, but I barely see him.
He’s a paycheck, a distraction, a golden ticket to Finn’s torture—because if I have to suffer through this, he can too.
Near the end of the song, when my skirt has been discarded, I crawl toward the client and curl my finger repeatedly to entice him closer.
His gaze is focused on my face, but as I kneel, spread my knees, and begin to thrust my hips to the rhythm, it quickly moves down my body until it rests between my thighs.
I arch my back and pump my hips as I draw my sheer top up and over my head.
After licking my finger, I trail it down my neck and chest. I let my hand guide his gaze downward as I tease my stomach, then palm my sex, continuing to rock and roll my upper body to the rhythm of the song, mimicking the way I ride a man in the throes of passion.
My head swings from side to side, whipping my hair back and forth.
A light sheen of sweat coats my skin. My mouth is parted just slightly, and I peer down at him through half-closed eyes.
The only thing missing is the man underneath me.
This is the scene I paint for him, and by the lust I see covering his features, he’s living out the fantasy in his head.
I ride out the song until the last few hard-hitting beats, then end in a sultry pose, with my chest pressed forward, one hand in my hair holding it off my neck, the other on my thigh.
A new song, a slower and mixed version of “Partition,” begins.
I use the buildup to catch my breath and swing my legs over the edge of the stage.
I cross them in front of the suit. Using his tie, I pull him closer and whisper in his ear, letting my heavy breath tease his earlobe.
I relay sinful words, ones I know will level him, while my mind is locked on the man who’s been content so far to watch from the shadows.
I’m tempted to see how long Finn’s control lasts—if watching me seduce another man has any effect on him whatsoever.
The suit eagerly accepts my offer for a lap dance.
He holds out his hand to help me off the stage, and I keep hold of it so I can lead him to the couch. Surprise flits over his features when I pull him to me and then push him down to sit in front of me. He scoots back and gets comfortable, then smiles cockily up at me.
The intentional seduction of two men at once begins. As I dance, my hands trail over my skin—they’re an extension of the wave and current moving through my body as the music washes over me.
I infuse the grace of ballet and belly dancing, weaving them into my erotic movements.
I give my brain permission to let go of the count and steps, and just feel, letting my hands roam where they may: brushing over the edge of my panties, fingers toying with the fabric, cupping my breasts, and playing with my hair.
The client visibly hardens. His need to touch grows, his eyes darkening, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip as if he’s craving a taste of what’s being presented.
While straddling his lap, I pin his arms to the side and hold them there long enough that he understands to keep them there.
Then I’m free to simply enjoy the moment and play.
The song’s beats guide me, and my body becomes another instrument, working in tandem with the rhythm.
I work myself over the client’s lap—graze his erection at first, then make more contact for longer strokes to build his cravings for more.
Leaning closer, I let my breath skate over the skin of his neck until he rewards my efforts with a full-body shiver. His words, when they come, are dirty and desperate. He begs to touch me. To let him take me home. Offers the world on a silver platter.
The effect I have over him sends elation through me, especially when the figure in the shadows moves and steps into the dim light.
The moment I meet the blue eyes from across the room, my movements slow. My gaze flirts on and off with his, saying, “This could be you. You touching me. You inside me.” My body screams these words, though my lips stay silent.
Finn’s expression is fierce—a tempest gathering strength. There’s desire, but also a massive amount of tension in his body, a warning in his eyes, and his unbreakable control appears to be crumbling, which sends an intoxicating rush of adrenaline through me.
Everything else fades away. I get lost in the turbulent emotions rolling off him, his dark stare, and in the client’s desperation. I absorb all of it and let them fuel the fantasies that run wild and take up primary residence in my mind.
I try my damndest to keep myself in check. I really do. But then she touches him, nearly puts her mouth on him, and all bets are off. My mind rebels. A rush of signals, like synapses firing, has my muscles coiling and moving on their own.
I don’t give a fuck if he has money, if she needs it, or if this guy’s a powerful man who could fuck with my business. Because none of that changes the fact that he’s undeserving of even a fraction of her attention or time.
For that matter, neither am I, but these thoughts don’t stop me from moving forward, or from my control over my emotions dwindling.
Something about her gets to me. Like this woman alone can tug and pull on the strings of my sanity and break me down to what I am at my very core. A man riding the edge of madness.
The need for her resonates so loudly inside of me that watching her with another man has my heart pounding like a fucking drum.
This undeniable connection tethering us demands to be known and felt, and trying to push it away has it doubling back twice as strong.
When it began, I have no fucking idea. Maybe that sounds corny as hell.
But it was there the first day she arrived, standing over me, shining like a fucking beacon of hope and light during a dark day.
I let her slip through my fingers, and this is the result.
This act. A dance. Something I pay her for. Fuck. Yes, fuck! I’m the dumb fuck who pays her for this. To perform for another and offer up her body, planting the seed in the client’s head that he could have her.
The fucked-up-ness of it hits me like a giant goddamn demolition ball to the gut and keeps coming until it’s impossible to stand here another moment and act indifferent to it all.
It should be simple. Un-fucking-complicated.
She’s what I want.
To see more of. To get to know. All the big and little things. All of it. There’s a vacant spot at the center of my goddamn world and inner circle, and instead of letting a ghost occupy it for the rest of my days, this woman—who’s turned my life upside down—could fill it.
It’s what I want, but I’ve been too cautious and haven’t given voice to it.
As if she hears the emotions raging inside of me from where I stand, her soul-searing eyes lift, searching me out.
I take another step forward and meet her gaze with my own.
For a heartbeat, the connection we share flares to life.
Her movements slow. Time seems to allow us space, as if paying this moment the respect it deserves, allowing us both time to recognize and feel it.
The truth of whatever the fuck this is vibrates in my chest. It digs in so deeply that it fucks with me a bit. It makes me think all kinds of irrational thoughts about a future we don’t have because it’s one I most likely won’t live long enough to see.
But the way she’s staring at me… I see that same truth mirrored.
And I know—God, I know—she feels it too. The way she looks at me tells me what her mouth denies.
Her gaze shifts back to the man in front of her. She smiles flirtatiously at him.
Our moment shatters. I swear to God, I hear glass breaking in my head at the same moment that a strike of pain spears through my temple. It blinds me momentarily.
The next few minutes are a tilt-a-whirl of hell to witness. She twists the knife deeper as she moves over him. Touches him. Tempts him with a near kiss. Whispers little secrets in his ear.
Secrets that I wish were mine and mine alone.
The vibrations, the fucking rattle that starts in my bones, the fever on my skin, is otherworldly.
Un-fucking-explainable.
The song ends, and a new one slowly begins. This one, pure sex.