I could see why they called themselves Temptations. Because he sure as fuck was the embodiment of one.
I didn’t need to know him on a first-name basis.
I always got what I wanted, and right now, that was him, right between my thighs.
That dancer was all mine—at least for this evening.
The audience watched, captivated by strong hands trailing down chiseled pectorals and abs, fingers pausing mid-descent to unbuckle their belts before effortlessly ripping them from their waists and then wrapping the bright white leather around their palms like restraints.
Dirty, delightful fantasies flooded my mind at the glorious sight.
With a quick flick of their wrists, all seven performers cracked their belts on the stage like whips before taking off like the members of a boy band, sliding over the edge and into the audience, who were all jumping and shrieking for their attention.
Catching sight of the man I had been eying, I downed what remained of my fifth glass and sashayed out of my booth, intercepting him just as he was about to approach a woman seated on the aisle of the second row.
Subtle wasn’t a word in my vocabulary, and with the amount of liquid courage in my system, being forward was not only my approach, but the direction I was heading with him.
I interrupted Mister Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous, possessively tugging on the waistband of his jeans before forcing him down into the nearest empty seat, straddling his strong thighs and gripping his chin between my fingers to get a good look at the man I had undoubtedly claimed.
My mystery man smirked up at me with wild blue eyes as he wound the leather belt tighter around his palm. There was something about him that called to the darker parts of me, and it wasn’t just sexual desire.
The dancer lifted me by my thighs, abruptly switching our positions as he gracefully lowered me into the chair. His palm, enveloping me in the strong scent of leather, caressed my collarbone before slowly finding its way up the side of my neck. Flowing with the upward motion of his hand, he used the pad of his thumb to press against the base of my chin, tilting my head back and to the side to expose more of me to him.
Bending further down, he leaned in close to my ear, my heart fluttering against my chest as I tracked his movements through the corner of my eye.
Here I was, fully convinced that I had this man right where I wanted him, and yet I now found myself silently begging for him to take me in every way imaginable. I was at his fucking mercy.
“Looking to play tonight, princess?” He murmured against my skin, his breath kissing the side of my neck as he rolled his bodyalong my lap. “We can play. I’ll even let you burn me if you’re a good girl—put that fierce fire of yours out with my tongue.”
I swallowed hard, my body trembling with need and an obsessive desire for more. He had rendered me speechless with his actions and those filthy fucking words.
I’ve yet to find a man who didn’t fear dominance, constantly bending to my will instead of putting me in my place.
There was a thrill in being brought to submission, and after so many years of always getting my way and holding power over others, it was exhilarating to be on the receiving end for once.
The dancer backed himself off my lap, towering over me at his full height—at least six-foot-one to my five-foot-four frame. His baby blues held me hostage for just a moment longer before releasing me with a flirtatious wink as he licked his lips in what appeared to be approval.
“I’ll take that gleam in your pretty eyes as ayes. Keep my seat warm, princess. I’ll be back for you later—and that’s a promise.”
And before I knew it, my prince charming was back on stage with the rest of the dancers, wrapping up their opening number.
Within seconds, I had turned from dominating to putty in his palm.
What else could this man do to me?
Oncetheshowhadstarted, the screaming and desperate attention-seeking energy was relentless, practically radiating offevery woman in the audience. Those with the closest seats and loudest voices were brought up on stage one after the other to be personally entertained and put on display by the performers.
A couple of the dancers tag-teamed their guests while others preferred a more intimate, one-on-one approach—the two scenarios equally romantic and erotic,because why the fuck not—the Eiffel Tower was both a romantic attraction and a sex position.Tomato, tomato.
Adventures always await those with an open mind. And mine was more than available, especially forhim.
When the last performance finished, the chosen woman was ushered back to her seat, and the mood lighting faded to a dim, deep red. “Play with Fire” by Sam Tinnesz began playing with a delayed introduction, and my attention was lured back toward the smoky stage—the song and atmosphere transforming to feel more like a siren’s seductive call directed solely toward me.
As the tempo of the music increased, the velvet curtains were drawn, revealing the bare chiseled back of the one man I was dying to see return to the stage.
One minor detail I had noticed throughout the evening was that every performer had a unique name embroidered in bold black lettering on the heel of their sneakers—his spelling Levi.
I had questioned the name at first, thinking they must have been branded to match their jeans. But after taking a second to inspect the rest, noting that with every routine the dancer had a different name, I knew it had to be his.
