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I don’t know what kind of one-way glass magic Dom invested in for this wall, but it’s worth it. I feel like I’m floating above the crowd, with an unrestricted view of Sarah on stage as she twirls around the pole, one leg bent and one leg stretched long, her hair hanging down her back in a blonde sheet.
“Do you like what you see?” he whispers, his voice hot against my ear.
I squirm, trying to relieve the building pressure as my body responds to the warmth he’s creating inside me already.
“She’s good . . . knows how to play up her features and be sexy without being sleazy,” I say, my eyes evaluating Sarah’s technique. “You know, Tina said something about a private lesson to work on a trick or two. I hadn’t thought of doing that too. I’m feeling a little like the Pied Piper of Stripperdom . . . women of all ages, stages, shapes, and sizes following me along to find their inner goddesses.”
My voice is hushed, excitement tinged with the responsibility of helping these women grow in their own self-confidence and power. I gasp when Dominick’s finger teases just above the waistband of my jeans, finding the sensitive skin of my back.
“I’d certainly follow you.”
I smirk at the promise, glancing back to see him watching me, not looking at Sarah at all. “Dom, do you ever watch any of the dancers?”
“Of course,” he says, still watching me. “Mostly the try-outs, and I try to catch each girl’s performance every once in a while, strictly professionally to make sure they’re fitting in well with the clientele. But I always watch your dances.” He leans into me and teases my ear with hot breath. “Unprofessionally. I watch you just for myself.”
His deep voice sends a thrill to me, and I turn back to watch Sarah just to keep myself under control. Still, Dom questions me. “Do you miss it? It’s been a bit since you’ve been on stage.”
I take my time before answering. I don’t want to sound needy, but also, I want Dom to understand the nuance of what I want to say. I don’t have the same skill with words that I do with my body. I can’t express myself quite so clearly.
“Yes and no. I’ve always been on stage, performing in one way or another, and I enjoy that rush of connecting with the audience. But really, it’s about me connecting with myself, with the shy insecurities, with the bold brashness, with the hopeful innocence and whatever else the piece requires of me. I get to experience and explore every facet of myself on stage.”
The truth feels exposing, making me vulnerable, and I work to retreat to safer ground. “Plus, the applause is pretty sweet,” I add with a grin, looking back over my shoulder. “I always thought you were clapping too.”
Dominick doesn’t smile back. Instead, he looks at me, looks into me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve, taking every word I say as a clue to some solution that ultimately explains me.
But I’m the simple one. He’s the enigma blanketed in layers of questions. I feel like I’m just beginning to get to know him, and it’s on his terms as he doles out tidbits of information like clues leading me deeper and deeper into his web.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, demand that he share a story with me, something, anything, just to learn about him. But before the words leave my tongue, he lifts me off his lap.
“Dance for me.”
That is certainly not what I expected. “What?”
Dom pushes back and rolls himself back to his desk. “You miss the stage, miss exploring who you are. Do that for me, with me. Let me see who you are, right now, in this moment.”
There’s no request in any of his words, merely orders, soft as they may be. I walk to the center of his office, and he presses a button on the console on his desk, letting the speakers in his office come to life with the music from downstairs.
“I’m not dressed for this,” I say awkwardly as I get a feel for the music.
Dominick’s grin is feral but supportive. “I know. That’s why this is sweeter. I don’t want your stage persona, Allie. I just want to see you. I want to see you express yourself, how you feel, how you . . . exist. Tell me with your body what you want me to know.”
I bend down, slipping my shoes off and setting them to the side, not in a sexy way, but just in a casual movement. Dom lifts an eyebrow but nods in encouragement.
“Good girl. Now dance . . . for me.”
The music fills me, throbbing bass and drums that click inside me. I open my eyes, watching Dominick as I feel the tigress inside me begin to stalk her prey, the man she wants.
