La troisième lettre était un adieu

The eyes shout what the lips fear to say.

-William henry

CAMELLIA

I needed a new vibrator.

Or maybe a fucking boyfriend.

My fingers fumbled across the nightstand, grabbing the sleek, cold toy. The second it touched my bare skin, a shiver ran through me.

I pressed it against my slick folds, groaning as the vibrations pulsed through me, teasing, demanding, insistent.

My hips rolled instinctively, grinding down onto it, arching into the friction, my body trembling with need.

I couldn’t stop the soft whimpers that spilled from my lips, my fingers clutching the sheets as I tried to keep control.

One hand slid up to my chest, cupping my breast, and pinching my hardened nipple between finger and thumb.

I tugged lightly, rolled it, letting myself moan at the sharp, delicious ache it sent down my body. My other hand pressed the vibrator harder against my folds, every pulse driving me wilder.

I alternated, squeezing both breasts now, my thumbs circling my nipples and my fingers kneading the soft weight, while I kept grinding down on the toy. My hips moved on their own, desperate, unrelenting, chasing the fire that built faster with every stroke and pinch.

The buzz of the vibrator, the ache of my nipples, and the slick heat between my thighs combined into a consuming storm.

I threw my head back, biting my lip, moaning freely as I pressed my palms against my chest, pinching, rolling, and tugging, lost entirely in the sensation.

The waves of my orgasm hit hard, each pulse of the toy dragging me closer, my muscles tightening, my thighs quivering, nipples burning.

I cried out as my body shuddered violently, clenching around the vibrator. My hands never left my breasts, squeezing and kneading through the tremors.

Even as the last shivers faded, I kept pressing the toy to my folds, fingers teasing my nipples, hips rolling slightly, greedy for just a little more, until I was slick, trembling, and utterly consumed by my own touch.

Shower? Check. Vibrator cleanup? Check. Getting paid to make dudes drool while I swing on a pole?

Hell yes.

__________________________

“Yes, yes, please faster”

I rolled my eyes at the moans coming from the other room as I added yet another coat of lipstick to my already red lips. A sigh escaped me as I stared back at my reflection in the mirror. My blue eyes were replaced with green lenses and my brunette hair tucked into the wig cap as red hair now adorned my shoulders. My feet hurt from dancing a few hours before but the night had only begun.

“Ariel hurry the fuck up, you're up” Bobby said, peeking into the room. His eyes landed on mine briefly before moving on to linger on my breasts which were being held by a bra two sizes small.

Motherfucker.

I didn't bother hiding them, knowing that a larger audience waited for me outside with eyes that were even more lustful and hopefully pockets to match. I restrapped the heels to my feet, rubbing at my ankles in a poor attempt to ease the soreness.

Just a few more hours.

“Ignore the pot bellied bastard, couldn't even pay me to sleep with him and I'm a bloody whore.“

Lily chuckled beside me, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she doused her clothes in yet another layer of perfume. She was older than most of the strippers here but was more free-spirited than the girls my age who worked here. They were all competing and all had some form of animosity for one another.

I had enough going on. The last thing I needed was some girl manifesting my downfall while smiling in my face.

A smile crept onto my face at her words. Bobby may have been nice enough to give a hopeless 22 year old with little to no experience a job but he was a very shitty pervert with an even shittier attitude.

“Might even start charging him per glance” I let out a nervous laugh, spraying glitter on my exposed skin as part of the finishing touches.Lily laughed again as I walked away from the changing room, the loud music I approached drowning out any other form of chatter coming from the other girls.

I made my way onto the stage, immediately swallowed up by the blinding glow of the club’s neon lights. Same colors, different night. The place was quieter than usual,less rowdy, more… tense. I could make out a few figures lounging near the back, their drinks casting soft glows as the girls on stage tried their best to keep the energy alive.

I'd still take this over dancing with a fever and a guy calling me mommy as he threw singles at me.

A group of men were seated around the empty pole I was supposed to take over and they didn’t look like the regulars who came to blow off steam and throw singles like confetti. No, these guys screamed serious. Four were seated, dressed like they just walked out of a boardroom, while five more stood behind them in tailored suits.

Something about them made my stomach twist but not in a bad way. It just felt more like my body suddenly decided tonight was the night I needed to impress. Usually, I gave just enough effort to get paid and dodge the creeps. But tonight? My body was humming,my heart was drumming and I didn't even know why.

I walked to the pole,One hand wrapped around the cool metal, my body following instinct as I swayed, dipped, and spun. The music throbbed low, sultry. Every movement was calculated but smooth, like I’d been born doing this. I hooked my knee, flipped upside down, letting gravity and muscle guide me, my skin catching the glow of the lights. I was far from being the best dancer in the club but tonight I wanted to be.

I couldn’t see his face clearly, the man seated in the center but I felt his deep and unblinking stare. It was like I was the only one in the room. I moved with the music, but it was like he was pulling the strings. Like the performance wasn’t mine anymore but it was his.

"For him."

The three men seated at his sides stood with no signal or warning. Just rose and walked to stand with the others behind him. Their eyes dropped and their backs turned but he stayed seated.

He leaned back casually, arms folding across his chest, legs spread with the kind of confidence that didn’t need words. He didn’t even blink or smile. Just stared.

The lights slowed and the music cut. Another girl should have been hovering by the edge of the stage, waiting for her turn by now while I stepped off, but I couldn’t move. My body felt wired, like it was still connected to him somehow.

His face wasn’t exactly clear but I could still make out the curls on his head, soft and tousled like he'd just run a hand through them. His arms remained crossed and his black shirt stretched over those muscles. The lights cast soft hues across his skin, just enough to contour the sharp angles

of his face. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, and lips that were pursed as he kept his gaze on me.

His lips moved. Just two syllables.“Mine.”

I didn’t hear it—couldn’t, not with the music still thumping in the background. But growing up with a deaf sister taught me how to read lips and months of working in a club taught me how to do it under strobe lights and sweat. You learn to catch what people say when they think you’re not listening.

Just for a moment, his eyes flickered red. It was bright and animalistic, unreal even.

But then the lights shifted again, casting flashes of crimson and purple across the room, and I was convinced it was just the strobe messing with me.

He stood slow, deliberate and the others immediately fell into formation behind him, following like soldiers. Or something else entirely.

I watched him walk away, heart still racing, body still burning.

What the hell just happened?