Private Dances

Elle

I find room three easily.

The door stands before me, large and proud. The number three, engraved on a worn gold plate, shows a faint chip at its edge, but it’s been polished enough that most wouldn’t notice.

I did though.

Since I arrived at the door, I'd done nothing but stare at it as I tried to summon up the courage to press the card Roxy gave me against the reader.

So far I've done a terrible job.

Just think of the money, Elle.

Think of the money.

Drawing in a deep breath, I force down the wave of nerves crawling up my throat and shut my eyes as I press the card to the reader.

There is a beep, then a click and the door falls open.

I hesitate at the entrance, unable to go in but knowing I can't stay out. I could always run away and tell Roxy I'd changed my mind.

She'd understand.

But just how long did I expect her to keep understanding?

Stepping deeper inside, my gaze darts around the room. Red lights bathe the entire space in a soft glow while another spotlight pierces the red, highlighting a mini stage with a pole extending to the ceiling. In the corner, a large sectional couch dominated the majority of the room while a few bottles of whisky chilled in the ice bucket on the table beside it.

Overall, the place was nice. But it wasn't the overall niceness of the place that caught my attention, no, unfortunately, that was immediately captured by the man lounging on the couch like he owned the place.

My client sat legs spread, an arm draped casually over the back of the couch, the other nursing a glass of amber liquid. Shadows obscure his face, concealing most of his features, but I can still make out the sharp angles of his face and the muscles hidden beneath the dark shirt he's wearing. The moment I enter, his eyes snap to mine, and all at once, I realise who it is I'm supposed to dance for.

Fuck.

Mystery Man?

“You're here.” he breathes, sounding relieved

I thought he left.

Apparently not because he was very much still staring at me. Lifting my chin, I'm determined not to let him see the way his mere presence affected me.

I tip my lips into a seductive grin, “You sound surprised.”

“Shouldn't I be? I was told you don't usually accept private dances” The corner of his lips tilts up in an almost teasing smile that does things to my insides.

Moving until I'm close enough to where he's seated, his eyes dip, tracing my curves ever so slowly before he finally drags his gaze to mine just as I bend over. I lean in until there's only a hair's breadth between us, lips hovering near his ear. “Looks like I changed my mind,” I tease, adding a sultry lilt in my voice.

My gaze flicks to the hand nursing his drink and a spark of pride ignites in my chest when his fingers tighten around the glass.

Got you.

Straightening, I spin around and make my way towards the stage. I grab the pole just in time as the music switches to something more seductive than the last song. My fingers trail down the length of the pole, the spotlight painting my body in both red and white as I begin to circle it. Dahlia takes over and I once again take a backseat as I watch the performance unravel.

Mystery Man watches me, his attention never deviating, almost like he's afraid he'll miss something. Every movement is a tease, every breath a promise I don’t intend on keeping.

The music slows and in one fluid motion, I drop to the floor on all fours. Desire twists his features and the air shifts into something so fucking wild and dangerous, it almost takes my breath away.

I crawl to him, knees sliding across the floor, inch by inch until every distance between us is eliminated, He drops his glass on the table, far enough so it doesn't spill as I rise up to my knees, letting my fingers glide up his thigh, his stomach, his shoulders, until both my thighs are draped over his lap, straddling him.

Well, almost.

Before I'm able to completely lower myself against him, his hands snap up to my hips, stopping me. “My God, you're beautiful” he murmurs, fingers caressing then pressing hard enough against my sides that I'm aware of their presence. Electricity zips up my spine replacing the familiar churn in my stomach that usually came with being touched.

He thinks I'm beautiful?

“Is this okay?”

I blink. Then blink again.

Was he…

Most men didn't usually ask for my permission.

“Would you stop if I said no?”

He nods, “In a fucking heartbeat, Angel”

He says it so simply that it's easy to believe him. But I know better.

A second ticks by.

Then another.

And I nod

“Words, Angel. I'm going to need it to know that you understand what I'm asking you.”

Swallowing, my lips part and a very low “It's okay” escapes them.

The corner of his lips tips up and a gasp makes its way past my lips when he loosens his hold around my waist, allowing me to sink further until I'm fully seated on his lap before lowering his hand to my thigh,

This position is extremely awkward despite how comfortable it feels. I'm slightly elevated so I nudge his forehead with mine. A small action that startles me.

He’s so close.

His eyes are hazel, at least I think they are. God knows I can barely make anything of substantial detail about them given the terrible lighting.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to sound seductive but it just ends up coming out all wrong.

What is wrong with me today?

First, I was disappointed when he left before I finished my performance, and now I'm failing at the one thing I'm supposed to be good at.

He tilts his head as though trying to get a better look at me and nerves flutter around in my stomach.

“Looking at you.” He replies, fingers tracing the fabric kissing my thigh.

“You paid three times the usual amount just to look at me?”

He shrugs, lips tipping up. “ And if I did?”

“I'd say you've got more money than sense.”

Shit. I clamp my lips together but it's too late. The damage is already done.

I brace myself, expecting mystery man to shove me off him in anger.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he laughs. A deep, rich sound that rumbles from his chest and vibrates in the entire room.

“You've got jokes, huh?” he leans back, letting his hand drop lower almost to my knee.

I wait for the disgust to kick in.

Nothing still.

“You know, no one's spoken to me like that in a long time. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like.”

I lift a sceptical brow, “To be insulted?”

Did he have some kind of degradation kink?

“To be normal.”

There's a pause and a second where I wonder who this man before me was. Truly was. Would he tell me his name if I asked? Did I even want to know his name?

“Most people find normalcy boring”

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Not me. I quite enjoyed my time being normal”

I laugh, “So what, you're abnormal now?”

“Not necessarily.” He chuckles, gaze tipping up, “Let’s just say… normal doesn’t exactly fit me anymore. But I wouldn't consider myself completely out of it.” There’s something in his tone that makes it seem like he’s hiding something but I don't bother to ask him what he means.

My body is still pressed against his, and I should move. I know I should. This isn’t how the night is supposed to go. I came in here to dance and leave. That was it. Yet somehow I've wound up in his lap and it feels too nice. And I haven't experienced ‘nice’ in a long time.

“What’s your name?” he asks suddenly.

“You already know it”

He shakes his head, “I mean your real name. The one that only a few people, I assume, get to call you.”

I laugh softly, disbelievingly. “You know I can’t tell you that. Stripper confidentiality, remember?”

Tossing his head back, he looks up at me with just one eye, “Ah, yes, how could I forget?” His fingers flex ever so slightly.

“My turn,” I announce, suddenly feeling the need to take control of the situation.

“Your turn?” He cocks his head, “I wasn't aware we were taking turns now”

I shrug, “It wouldn't be fair of me to have you asking all the questions, now would it?”

He chuckles, shaking his head, “I suppose it wouldn't.”

“I’m glad you agree. Now tell me a lie.”

His smile is wickedly slow. “Now, there's an interesting request.” He sits straighter, this time his breath ghosting over my jaw as he whispers the lie like I'd requested “I’m the good guy.”

I raise a brow. “Is that supposed to be it?”

“It is” His lips brush against the shell of my ear.

“I find that hard to believe,” I reply, my voice coming out shakier than intended. His lips stretch against my skin and suddenly I wish they were touching me. Kissing me.

“Would it be easier if I said that I was the bad guy who wanted to be good…” He lowers his voice, lips hovering over mine now, “Only for you?”

My breath catches, heart thundering against my ribs as the air between us thickens with something electrifyingly dangerous.

He's so close. Just one tip of his head and our lips would meet.

What would that even feel like?

Biting my lower lip, I push away from him, shaking my head, “Such a cliché line, I wonder how many girls you've used it on.”

“None,” he answers without hesitation. “You’re the first.”

And fuck if that didn't thrill me.

His fingers on my thigh stroked my skin, his expression darkening with a hunger that wasn't there before.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs and as crazy as it sounds, in that moment, with his hands on me, and his lips only inches away, I'm sure I would agree to anything he asked of me.

And that scares me.

“I think we sh…” My words are interrupted by a shrill ring, piercing through the moment.

“Shit,” he curses, adjusting me so he can reach for his phone in his pocket. I help by moving myself from his lap, ignoring the wave of sudden disappointment that threatens to settle in my chest. His gaze settles on the caller ID, and in a second, the once almost playful energy that had surrounded him only a moment ago evaporates into the wind.

He swipes his finger on the screen before pressing the phone to his ear, “Talk.”

I find something else to busy myself with while he takes his call. There's a stain on one of the walls and I make a mental note to tell Roxy about it later.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says into the device, ending the call.

“Everything Okay?” I ask, unsure why I even care.

He sighs, slipping his phone back into his pocket, “I have to attend to something at work.”

Oh.

I nod, swallowing the need to ask him not to go. He reaches into his pocket and brings out a wad of cash, each a hundred-dollar bill. He counts ten of them.

“Here.” He says, handing it over. “For the dance” a pause, “And the conversation. It was nice.”

I take the money, muttering a quiet thank you before slipping the notes under the strap of my lingerie. He downs the rest of his drink and grabs his jacket, which was resting on the arm of the couch, before heading towards the exit. He pauses at the door, fingers hovering over the knob for only a second.

And then he’s gone.