R-18: PRIVATE SHOW

Stella glided effortlessly on her heels, wrapping one leg around the pole before swinging upward into a flawless Aerial Invert. She was slender, her long dark hair cascading like silk, and her bright green eyes sparkled with something dangerous. Her skin, recently tanned—was smooth, glowing against the sharp lines of her face. The contrast only made her look more exotic, especially as she cast a predatory grin down at the crowd, claiming the attention of everyone within twenty feet like a queen surveying her kingdom.

Every head in the room snapped toward her. Conversation died mid-sentence. The man doing most of the talking leaned forward on his toes, craning for a better look.

“What a sexy bítch,” he muttered.

“Damn right,” another added. “Think we could get some of that àss? She looks like she needs to be fvcked.”

Cole’s jaw clenched. Something primal stirred in him. He didn’t just want her—he needed her. Needed to take whatever dark, sinful thing she awakened in him and burn it away with her body. His fingers twitched, aching to grab her, to climb onto that stage and claim her in front of every gawking bastard in the room.

Instead, he sat still, his glare sweeping across the crowd like a silent warning.

The music throbbed through the club, heavy with bass, each beat syncing with Stella’s movements as she spun, inverted, and twisted like her body was fluent in seduction. Every motion was precise, unapologetic—she wasn’t just dancing, she was commanding. Cole couldn’t look away.

She shifted her grip and slid down the pole in a slow, controlled spiral, her thíghs brushing the metal with practiced tension. When her heels touched the stage again, the crowd exhaled like they’d been holding their breath. Her lips curled, not in a smile, but in something darker. She knew what she was doing to them. Knew exactly how many pulses she had in the palm of her hand.

Cole’s gaze never left her. She moved like smoke and flame—hot, untouchable, consuming. The sick little voices in the room kept talking, but Cole barely registered them now. All he saw was her.

He wasn’t sure if it was lust or something more dangerous. Obsession? Hunger? Whatever it was, it sank into his gut like a knife. And it wasn't just about fvcking her.

He wanted to ruin her. Or be ruined by her.

Hell, maybe both.

Stella ended her routine with a flurry of aerial flips and gravity-defying turns that drew a gasp straight from Cole’s chest. Her long legs twisted mid-air, then extended as she descended with grace, landing like a blade sliding into silk.

She caught his reaction and her smile widened, sultry and smug. She gave an extra wiggle under his gaze, the hem of her short black dress bouncing just enough to reveal sculpted thíghs and toned calves—calculated, intoxicating.

Money rained at her feet like offerings. She stooped to collect them, slow and deliberate. When she finally stepped off the stage, a hush rippled through the bar. Every set of eyes followed her, starved and reverent, like they’d just witnessed divinity in stilettos.

Cole stood abruptly.

He moved through the crowd with a singular purpose, zeroing in on the back of the club where dancers regrouped after their sets. A blonde, long-legged and statuesque, peeled away from the group just as he approached.

“How much for a private show?” he asked, voice low and rough—like gravel dragged over velvet.

She smiled, knowingly. No need for pretense.

She stepped closer. “Depends what you’re looking for.”

Her perfume hit him first—sweet with a sharp undertone, like sugar cut with steel. She stepped in close, tilting her head as her fingers toyed with the strap of her dress.

““You look like the kind of man who wants more than a lap dance,” she purred, eyes flicking over him like she was already imagining him stripped bare.

Cole didn’t blink. “I’ll pay whatever you want,” he said. “Just make it worth it.”

Stella’s smile curved, slow and dangerous. “Oh, I always do.”

She turned without another word, walking toward the stairwell at the back of the club. Her hips swayed like she was still performing, like the whole world was still watching. Cole followed, his steps steady, purposeful—predator chasing predator.

She walked backward up the stairs, watching him with a teasing grin as if daring him to break into a sprint. The hallway above was dim, lit only by soft red bulbs tucked into the corners of the ceiling. Shadows danced across her skin.

They reached a heavy white door marked PRIVATE. Stella opened it and gestured him inside.

The room was larger than he expected—mirrored walls, low golden lighting, a bed draped in blood-red sheets that looked barely touched but thoroughly sinful. A chrome pole stood planted in the center, polished and gleaming. Two velvet chairs sat angled toward the stage like thrones.

Cole’s eyes swept the room with slow hunger.

Stella shut the door behind them and leaned against it, watching him. “Strip clubs are foreplay,” she said. “This is the show.”

She pushed him lightly toward the bed, then climbed onto the edge, straddling his lap with practiced ease. Her hips rolled slowly against him, deliberate and teasing, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Do you want to watch me?” Stella whispered, her breath warm and taunting.

Cole nodded, hands already sliding up to cup her bréasts. But she giggled, catching his wrists before they got their reward. She pushed him back gently and stood, her heels clicking softly as she walked to the stereo.

She pressed a few buttons, and a slow, explicit beat poured from the speakers—low and filthy, designed to crawl under your skin and stay there.

Stella approached the pole again and climbed with the ease of a woman who lived for the spotlight. She twisted her body into a Bird of Paradise, a move so intense it looked impossible. But she held it—perfectly suspended, like time had stopped just for her.

Then the lyrics dropped.

The song was obscene in the most poetic way—two lovers locked in mutual worship, eating each other out, confessing obsession between breathless móans. The raw hunger in the lyrics lined up with the rhythm of her movement so precisely, it felt choreographed by lust itself.

Cole chuckled under his breath and stood up, stepping toward her like a man walking into temptation on purpose. He wasn’t going to just sit and watch.

He was going to play along.

He ran his hands along the contours of her legs, smirking as he admired the tension in her muscles. “How long can you hold that?” he asked, fingers teasing the hem of her dress. “Two hundred extra if you stay like that while I eat you.”

Stella didn’t flinch. “Long enough,” she breathed. “Now get on with it.”

Cole chuckled, low and dark, as he slipped a hand beneath her thong. He squeezed firmly, earning a loud moan that made his blood surge. Then he dropped to his knees.

His mouth found the warmth between her thíghs and his tongue plunged in deep, hungry and deliberate. He licked and sucked, tracing her folds like he’d mapped them in a past life—working his way to the spot he knew would unravel her completely.

Stella bit her lip hard, eyes fluttering shut as her hips rocked instinctively against his mouth. Her breath came in uneven gasps, body trembling as she clung to the pole for balance.

“Oh fúck,” she choked out. “Please—keep going.”

He did. With pleasure.

Cole’s tongue worked faster, hungrier, drawing ragged móans from Stella as she clung tighter to the pole. Her thighs quivered above him, tension threading through her muscles like she was about to snap—or shatter.

He sucked harder, flicking his tongue over her most sensitive spot with relentless precision. Her hips jerked, a breathless cry ripping from her throat.

“Shít—don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t you fvcking stop.”

Cole growled softly against her, grípping her thíghs tighter to keep her steady. She tasted like sin—warm and heady—and he wanted more. Needed more. Her body rolled against his face, grínding through every stroke of his tongue.

She was close—he could feel it. Every muscle in her body was tightening, trembling. Her breath hitched.

A sharp cry tore from her lips as her órgasm hit, waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her legs trembled violently, and for a second, she nearly lost her grip on the pole.

Cole pulled back, face slick with her, lips curved in a wicked grin. He looked up at her with fire in his eyes, licking his lower lip like he was savoring the aftertaste of something divine.

Stella slid down the pole, legs barely holding her up. She was panting, her skin flushed, dress clinging to her sweat-slicked body.

“Fvcking hell,” she whispered.

Cole rose slowly, towering over her now, breath still heavy. “You ready for more?” he asked, voice rough

Stella didn’t wait.

She shifted into a Back Hook Spin, using the momentum to whirl gracefully around the pole. Her body spun in slow, seductive circles until she landed on the balls of her feet, chest heaving, eyes still locked on him.

“That all you’ve got?” she taunted, breathless.

He growled and stepped forward, but she was already climbing again. This time, she pulled herself into a Jade Split—her body upside down, one leg stretched vertically along the pole while the other extended outward in a perfect split.

She was open. Waiting.

Cole moved between her legs and, grípping her thígh and the pole, slammed into her in one smooth motion. She gasped, arching against the pole, the angle hitting deep and sharp. Her hands clung to the chrome above her as he fvcked her with controlled power, using the pole for leverage.

She móaned, trembling, but kept herself suspended. Her muscles burned, her skin slick with sweat, but she held on, riding every thrúst like she was performing for the gods.

Then she shifted—sliding down into a Shoulder Mount, her shoulders on the floor, legs hooked high around the pole, hips elevated like an offering.

Cole dropped with her, not missing a beat, and thrúst into her again, this time harder, his hands braced on the pole beside her head. The position had her split wide open, and he took full advantage of it. Each deep stroke pulled a ragged móan from her lips, and when her next órgasm hit, it shattered her.

Her scream echoed, wild and raw.

But she still wasn’t done.

Panting, she climbed again. Higher. Slower. Sweat dripped from her chest as she hooked into a Butterfly Hold, her back arched, one leg hooked high, the other bent out as she pushed her chest forward.

Cole came up behind her, sliding back in like he belonged there. He wrapped one arm around her waist and thrust upward, her body bouncing with every motion. His other hand gripped the chrome beside her head, anchoring them both.

She gasped, grínding back against him, her voice cracking as her pleasure spiraled toward breaking.

“Keep going,” she begged. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

Her body clamped around him, and she screamed as the third órgasm ripped through her—violent, uncontrollable, her legs trembling against the pole. Cole’s rhythm faltered, breath catching in his throat as the heat coiled in his spine, ready to explode.

He pulled out at the last second, hand gripping himself tight. Stella slid down the pole to her knees, chest heaving, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“Come for me,” she whispered.

That was all it took.

Cole groaned, deep and guttural, as hot spurts of cúm painted her chest—long, messy streaks across her bréasts and collarbone. Stella closed her eyes, sighing like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever worn.

She looked up at him afterward, glowing and wrecked, and ran a finger through the mess on her skin with a wicked smile.

“Told you,” she murmured. “Finale.”