Only a fool would give up an opportunity like this.
Shockingly, he releases my wrists before locking his eyes with mine in the mirror. “Dance… with your hands on me.”
My pulse skyrockets when I dip my chin, agreeing with his request. I bob around him, in front of him, and behind him, before the sultry tension I’m trying to suffocate by remembering my responsibilities becomes too much.
Then I dance on top of him.
The landing of the cartwheel I’ve seen Mia do a hundred times confirms what I’ve known for the last ten minutes. He’s as hard as steel against the zipper of his trousers, and I struggle not to unnecessarily grind down.
As the music fades, I try to shift my weight from his groin to his thigh. Like earlier, he clamps my hips and holds me against him.
An unforeseen moan ripples through myO-formed lips when he rocks his hips upward, teasingly rubbing the head of his cock through the folds of my pussy.
Two more grinds and I’ll be done.
That’s how close to the edge I am. He smells so good and looks divine. He’s every stripper’s desired client. But this isn’t me. I left everything I knew because I refused to be a commodity, so why am I allowing someone I hardly know to pull me backward?
“Your time is up.” Disappointment feels heavy in my stomach. “If you want extras, it’s going to cost you.”
This time, I don’t receive crisp hundred-dollar bills.
I get a black American Express card and a four-digit PIN.
Goose bumps rise on my neck when his minty breath fans my lips. “Charge whatever you like. That card has no limit.”
When I glance at the two-way mirror where the manager convenes during private shows, I remember that this is about more than money or a climax I’m sure will be my strongest yet. It’s the means to live without guilt for a month, and a reason to keep going.
But more than anything, it’s about doing something for myself for a change.
It’s been so long since I’ve orgasmed that I’m overwhelmed by the buildup.
Imagine how intense the tingles would be if I surrendered to them?
There’s no conviction in my voice when I say, “We can’t do…thathere. We’re being watched.”
“There’s no one behind the two-way mirror.” He smirks, faking that my stunned expression is adorable, then adds, “It’s amazing the privileges money can buy.”
I huff. I know firsthand how easily the rules bend for the right price.
“Still, if someone finds out, I’ll get fired. Liaising with patrons is against the rules.”
“Hence the reason flames aren’t licking the walls of this property yet.” His fingers tap my hip in time with the thudding of my pulse in my ears. He’s either counting my pulse or syncing it with the needy throbs of his cock. “You also won’t get fired.”
I scoff. “You don’t know my boss. He fired a girl last week because her nip was closer to a nip and a half. The week before, it was because one dancer shaved instead of waxing.”
His expression announces he wants to tear Salvator apart with his bare hands, but the involuntary roll of my hips stops him. My body ignores my head’s screaming commands. It wants this man—desperately—and it’s willing to throw all protocols out the window to get him. Even if it’s only for one night.
“You don’t need to worry about Salvator or getting fired… though I might need to change your role so I don’t have to gouge the eyes of my patrons every night the instant you leave the stage. It wouldn’t be good for business to reset my clientele logbook to zero each night.”
My eyes dance between his, wide with shock.
That can’t mean what I think it does, can it?
He doesn’t own this club.
Surely not.
When his smirk reveals the details, my mouth drops open. “You’re a father. You can’t own a strip club. Camille?—”
