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The crowd quiets down after clapping enthusiastically for the couple, and before they leave the stage, Lulu thanks them, then addresses the crowd, just as two assistants show up to clean.
“The next one will be more casual. Another person I met in uni.” I laugh at that, making a mental note to thank her later for that cover. “Someone who discovered pole dancing whilst there. I know, our expensive education has certainly taught us some useful skills, right?”
The crowd laughs and I can’t help but admire how nonchalant she is in front of an audience.
“So, she’s a good girl. She won’t show you the goods, but she has the body of a goddess and she’ll make you wish you’re that pole. So please… enjoy the show.”
As I walk toward the stage, the light begins to dim, hiding me in a darkness that I welcome. My inhibitions begin to dissipate with each step that gets me closer, and Lulu gives my hand a reassuring squeeze when I pass by her. When my foot hits the first step up to the stage,God Be Youby Nostalghia pours from the speakers, filling the atmosphere and my veins. My muscles respond to the slow, sultry beat, tingles spreading under my skin as I take my first step onto the stage, but they’re good tingles. Like the ones you get before your first kiss with someone new, or the first touch in just the right place, or the anticipation of a cock slamming into you that first time.
The red spotlight hits only one pole, and as I force the rest of my nerves away, I dare a look toward the crowd, breathing out in surprise—I can’t see anyone. The whole place is bathed in darkness, apart from the dim light under the shelves at the back of the bar, and the fire exit signs, making me feel… alone. The good kind of alone. It’ll allow me to sway my hips on the rhythm of the music, to undulate them as I drop lower and lower to the floor, to step slowly toward the pole as I run my hands from my throat, down my breasts and to my waist, untying the see-through jacket and dropping it to the floor, my leather strapped body on full display.
And when I’m a couple of steps away from the pole, I throw my body into a handstand right next to it, swinging my legs around the metal on a collective gasp from the hidden crowd. I don’t get up right away… no, I grasp the pole behind me, letting it spin as I tighten the tops of my thighs around it, legs falling almost parallel to the ground, my ass rolling against the metal. At this point I forget there’s a crowd… the music floods me, the ecstasy takes over, filling me with lust as I raise my upper body, gripping the pole and opening my legs as wide as they allow.
I release the blocks in my mind, dancing against the metal bar, rubbing, splitting, dropping to the floor in moves that I would make for a lover only, feeling tingles touch my skin like a sharp gaze that wants more than to look. So I move for that look, I touch myself for it, roll my hips for it, lick my lips and suck my fingers for it, hook one foot at the bottom of the pole and the other above my head for it, opening my legs in splits that make my muscles ache and tendons burn. And goddamnit, it’s so satisfying.
Before the last few seconds of the song sound through the speakers, my hands are above my head, the metal bar between my breasts, squeezed together, my legs rising, heels under my ass, and on that last note, my kneeling body hits the floor, legs open wide toward the shadowed crowd, palms on my thighs.
The club bursts into cheers and applause, so loud the next song is completely covered by their enthusiasm, and I can’t help but blush. I’ve only ever done this a few times. Yes, I go to a pole dancing club, since I don’t have one in my home, but actually dancing on stage, I’ve only ever done three times. And that first time doesn’t count, as I would rather not remember it. I laugh at myself as I rise to my feet, my muscles aching as the hired dancers come back to the stage to keep the atmosphere going in the background.
“You smashed it! You fucking smashed it! To the point that a few couples had to retire into the playrooms and the back tables, you were so fucking hot!” Lulu pulls me into a big hug as I step off the stairs, and as the lights lower to a dim level again, I can’t help but notice all the heads that turn to me as we walk back to the bar—men and women. Yet when I reach our earlier spot and grab the shot that Rachel already poured for me, I feel that cold breath again, those tingles wrapping around my throat in such a possessive way that it makes me want to drop my head back and let it choke me. As invisible as it is.
I swipe my gaze around the crowd yet again, and just as before, not one person stands out, but there are definitely more eyes on me now.
Yet this feeling, it becomes as uneasy as it is intriguing.
CHAPTERSEVEN
VINCENT
“Are you sure he’s coming today?” Finn asks as he sits next to me on the leather sofa.
“A password was requested, so I’m going to assume he is.” I pull out the little cup of Absinthe that I’ve been patiently waiting to be ready, the sugar now dissolved, and take that first satisfying sip that burns straight down my throat.
We run Midnight, a speakeasy in the center of the city, a very useful place when you want to have control over the people present in your bar, but it’s also very different from a normal bar. It was Carter’s idea. He loves this old-time shit, not sure whether it makes him feel distinguished or not, but the bar is filled with low lights, leather and wood, antique furniture and decor pieces, expensive and rare drinks, and signature cocktails that even Madds touches once in a while.
But this Absinthe… he got me with this. I didn’t know how to drink it properly until we opened this place and Carter found the right bartender to show me.
I crack my neck, impatient, even though we didn’t exactly set a meeting, waiting for Jonathan Rees to come in. He is truly a Ghost. He has a very peculiar way of doing business; very few people outside his faction know his face, or even his real name. We do, mostly because of Carter, not because of our business with him, and over time he has become a frequent customer of our speakeasy. And the man, even if he rules with an iron fist, is nothing as most expect.
“Even I’m not sure if he’s going to be down for this deal.” Carter comes from the bar, dropping into the wingback armchair to my left.
“He will. He listened to our terms, took his time doing his own research on the matter. And just the speculations around why O’Rourke and Holt want in on his territory are enough to make him want to be in.”
“And for the right kind of money…” Finn smirks.
“The Ghost won’t give a shit about the money. But it’s a perk of course.” Carter shrugs.
“Yeah… how lucky of Holt, marrying O’Rourke’s daughter, getting into business with him, just at the right time.” What Carter and his hacker team found was most enlightening. Turns out, old man Holt wasn’t that smart with money.
Carter’s gaze snaps to the entrance, and I turn to see Jonathan and his husband walking through, gazing inconspicuously around the locale, as they make their way toward an empty table.
“Give them a few minutes.” Carter picks up his drink and sips, his eyes not hitting the couple even once. “So how was the other night? You tried the new fetish club in town, didn’t you? Was it worth it?”
“I signed up,” Finn replies quickly. “I’ve had five people already recommending me and only three of them are women. That told me enough.”
“Yeah, that you attract both men and women.”
But Finn winks at Carter in response, unaffected by the comment. “I know you’re jealous, baby, but it’s okay, you can join too.”
