Ashlei
The wood floor of the studio is cool under my bare feet, and I wiggle my toes, reveling in the feel of it as I close my eyes and listen to the music. It’s a slow, exotic song, filled with heat and energy, and slowly, my hips begin to sway to the beat.
On my next breath, I lift my arms over my head, rolling them in time with my hips before I trail them down, gliding my fingertips over my body, the song sinking in deeper and deeper.
When my eyes open, I see the center pole four feet in front of me, and I lick my lips, still moving in time with the music as I strut toward it. My right hand reaches out, wrapping around the chrome, and I swing, lifting my feet off the ground and letting the momentum send me spinning.
Everything is lost in moments like these, when I’m in the studio, the music loud, just me and my body dancing and making art.
My feet barely hit the floor before I grip the pole in my armpit and lean back, legs tucked before extending into chopper, and then I’m hooking my outside leg and letting the rest of my body hang.
The skin on my inside thigh burns to life, but it’s a comforting pain, one that I know from experience will go away the longer I practice. I use my legs and arms to make shapes as the pole spins, and then I swing my inside leg around, hooking it over the pole before my right leg extends.
Leg hang after leg hang, shape after shape, I feel my way through the song.
I alternate between tricks in the air to low flow and floor work, and by the time the last beats of the sexy song fade away, I’m dripping in sweat, chest heaving, abdomen contracting and releasing where I lie on my back on the floor.
From the corner of the room, Karen, the studio owner and my own personal torturer — er, trainer — applauds.
“Fantastic work, Ashlei,” she says, leaning over and extending a hand to help me up. When I’m on my feet again, she smiles wider. “Truly. I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made since you first came to our studio.”
“All thanks to you,” I pant.
She shakes her head. “No way. This is all you. You worked hard over the summer. Hard to believe you’re the same girl who stumbled her way through basic spins and sits the first time you walked through those doors on Valentine’s Day.”
I smile, thanking her before she winks and makes her way over to the desk to welcome the girls showing up for her next class.
Karen is nothing like my previous pole studio owner.
She’s kind, and caring, and driven and smart.
At five-foot-eight, she’s almost all beautiful legs and strong, toned arms. I watch her with appreciation as she checks girls in, her wide smile bright against her dark brown skin.
Her long, black hair is in a hundred tiny braids and piled into a gorgeous bun on top of her head, all of it contained by a bright headband.
It’s as if the yellows and oranges in that headband are her aura, her energy, that bright, sunshine vibe she always gives off.
My muscles are deliciously sore as I throw her a wave over my shoulder on my way out, smiling and thinking about everything she said about my progress. It feels good, the reward slowly showing from all the hard work I’ve been putting in.
And that smile doubles when I push through the doors that lead onto the sunny downtown street, and I see Brandon’s pearl white Acura NSX parked on the curb.
The driver side door opens as soon as I’m on the sidewalk, and he steps out, looking dapper as ever in a custom beige suit, tailored to fit every muscle. His eyes are shielded behind dark square sunglasses, but he takes them off as he rounds the car, opening the passenger side for me with a grin.
“Your chariot, Miss.”
I shake my head, handing him my gym bag when he reaches for it before I plant a long, warm kiss on his lips. He wraps his arms around me, inhaling at the contact as if it were his first breath all day.
“Hi, baby,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he says back, kissing my nose before he releases me. “I missed you.”
“Clearly. I don’t remember asking you to pick me up,” I point out. “Or making plans at all today.”
“Yeah… about that… get in, let’s talk.”
I cock a brow, sliding into the passenger seat before he gently shuts the door behind me. He walks around the back, tossing my bag in the small trunk before he’s in the driver seat next to me, roaring the engine to life.
“Do you have pole tomorrow?” he asks, checking his side mirror before he pulls onto the road.
“No, I need a rest day.”
“And it’s Sunday, so you wouldn’t have class, right?”
My suspicion rises. “No… but I do have Chapter at six.”
“Chapter…” he muses, side-eyeing me with a grin. “Damn sorority.”
I smack his arm playfully.
“Do you think you could skip it, just this once?”
“Probably not without a death threat from Ex,” I say seriously. “But… what are you proposing?”
We pull up to a red light, and Brandon bites his lip before turning to me. “The Bahamas.”
“The Bahamas?!”
“The Exumas, technically.”
“The Exumas,” I repeat, sounding like a freaking parrot at this point. “You’re proposing we go to the Exumas tonight,” I clarify. “As in… the place where you swim with pigs.”
“I was thinking more like the place where I fuck you on my yacht and drink fruity cocktails out of coconuts with you on the beach,” he says on a smirk, and the light turns green, making him turn back to the road with a shrug. “But if you’d rather swim with pigs…”
I laugh, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it. I’m tempted to say We can’t just go to the fucking Bahamas, Brandon, but I know that’s a lie.
He has a yacht.
And more money than he knows how to spend.
Technically, we can go to the Bahamas.
I’m quiet for a long while, and Brandon glances at me from the corner of his eye before pulling into a random restaurant parking lot. It’s a Mexican diner, not even open yet, since it’s only ten in the morning. When he’s parked, he turns to me, grabbing my hands and pulling them into his lap.
“Look, we’ve both been busy this summer — you with your exec position in the sorority, and pole…
me with this national client we’re in the bidding war for…
both of us working hard at Okay, Cool after everything that went down in the spring with Kim…
and now, school is back in session, it’s the last semester before you graduate, we’re both hard at work, and I just… ”
He smooths his dark thumbs over my wrists, his eyes that are usually so intense, soft and vulnerable now.
“This might be our last chance to spend some real, quality time together before life gets even crazier than it already is.”
My heart melts into a puddle right there on the floorboard of his expensive ass car, and I lean over the console, kissing him long and hard.
“Let’s go to the Bahamas,” I whisper between kisses. “You’re right. Everything else can wait.”
He sighs, wrapping his arms around me until he’s pulling me into his lap. I squeal and laugh, but then my next breath is stolen by the erection growing in his slacks.
“This would be a lot easier on the yacht,” I say, rubbing the seam of my leggings against his hard-on.
“Maybe,” he says, sucking on my bottom lip and releasing it with a pop. His lips trail down my neck as my head rolls back. “But these windows are tinted, and you’re sexy when you say I’m right.”
I bark out a laugh that’s stolen with another kiss, knowing tinted windows or not, if anyone walks by, they’ll know what’s going on in here. I have yet to be fucked by Mr. Church without screaming out his name a time or two.
“How long has it been since you fucked me?” I ask, slipping my hand between us and gripping his cock hard.
He groans, flexing into my fist through the fabric of his slacks. “Too long.”
It’s only been a week, but I agree with the sentiment, and both of us lose our ability to go slow and take our time with foreplay.
Instead, I lift up on my knees just enough to unfasten the button on his slacks and slide the zipper down, then I’m yanking down on his pants and briefs together.
He lifts his hips to help me, and as soon as his shaft is free, I turn into a trapeze artist.
“What the hell are you doing?” Brandon asks with a smirk when I start flipping upside down. I pause long enough to peel off my leggings, and then I’m ass up, face down, with my pussy in his face and my arms straddling his thighs.
I don’t have to answer his question with words. Instead, I take the tip of him in my mouth, slowly at first, just enough to swirl my tongue and get him wet. He groans, palming my ass cheeks with both hands before smacking them hard.
I yelp, taking him all the way in my throat, and then I’m rewarded with a lash of his tongue on my clit.
It’s not easy, balancing on my forearms in what is practically a yoga inversion with my legs straddled around his face, but Brandon holds onto my thighs and ass, taking his share of the weight and making it easier for me to focus on getting him off.
It’s been a year now since I met this man, since he stole my breath away in the elevator at Okay, Cool and then I spent months trying to avoid him, trying not to give in to his devilish stare and sexy confidence.
But I was a goner from the first time I laid eyes on him, since the first time he laid eyes on me.
And I was a fool to ever think otherwise.
“Goddamn, Ashlei,” he groans, flexing his hips until his cock bulges in my throat. I do everything to keep from gagging, letting him hold himself there for a long time before he withdraws. Then, he’s assaulting my pussy with his tongue, his fingers, burying his face between my thighs.
My legs shiver and quake around him, and when he circles my clit time and time again with his tongue, working it in rhythm with his fingers inside me, I have to take a break from sucking his dick.
I have to just hold myself up and let everything else go as an explosion of fire and stars invade my vision, all the blood rushing to where his tongue drives me to climax.
I rock my hips against his mouth, and his free hand grabs my ass and pulls me into him, letting me know he can take it. Each new wave of my orgasm hits harder than the last, and I ride his face until I’m spent, until I’m nothing but a mess of shallow breath and trembling muscles.
When I’m done, Brandon hits a button that sends his seat back a little farther. Then, he leans it back and flips me over in a complicated tangle of limbs until he’s on top of me and I’m half bent over the console, half bent over his seat.
Without a chance to catch my breath, he slides inside me from behind, stealing my next breath with the raw sensation of being filled after just climaxing so fucking hard.
I cry out his name, holding onto the leather seats for dear life as he pounds into me hard, harder, over and over, punishing and claiming.
And when he’s ready to come, he pulls out of me and flips me back over, climbing up the seat to empty inside my mouth.
I swallow every drop.