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Music thumped from one of the voyeur rooms close by. It had been silent until now. On BDSM nights, voyeurism could get a bit rough. The men and women up there did rough things to each other, so I texted one of my bouncers who would be on the floor.
Is everything okay out there?
A moment later, I got a reply.
You’re going to want to see this.
I groaned inwardly.
If it breaks the rules, you have to stop it before it gets out of hand.
The next reply didn’t come right away.
I’m serious, boss. You want to see this.
I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I paid my security a shit ton of money. The least they could do was their jobs, but if I was needed somewhere, I would go. The last thing I wanted was for something to happen in my club that wasn’t tasteful. I didn’t want anyone to go home with emotional—or physical—scars. BDSM night could get out of hand if it wasn’t handled the right way.
I walked through the hallway until I reached the room where my bouncer was stationed. The room was dark with flashing lights giving the show a spectacular feel, and everyone stared in awe. The sexual tension was thick in the air, lust so powerful, I could taste it.
On the platform that raised her just a little higher so everyone could see, a woman danced around a chair. She flipped her hair and moved her body like the music was her lover, like she was having sex to the beat, moving her hips sensually, back arched.
“What’s going on here?” I asked my bouncer, walking to him.
“Look,” he said.
It took me just a moment to realize that the dancer showing off her moves wasn’t just anyone.
It was Oaklee.
“What the fuck…” I breathed.
I watched as she moved to the beat of the music like she was fucking it. She moved her hips, swung her ass, and arched her back, putting her breasts on display through the see-through lace bra. The underwear she wore barely left anything to the imagination. Her nipples showed through in the flashing lights, and when she turned around and touched her toes, flipping her hair over her back as she sensually straightened, her ass was perfectly visible in just a lace G-string.
The thigh-high boots made her look like she’d escaped from a high-class porno.
No, that made her sound cheap, andnothingshe did up there was cheap. Most people paid good money to see someone like that.
I stared, and my cock grew hard in no time, lust settled at the pit of my stomach.
Everyone else stared, too. She commanded the room’s attention, and when I glanced to the guys, some had their hands down their pants. A few women sat on chairs, their hand between their legs or on their tits, but no one had their eyes closed. They were all staring, taking in the way Oaklee moved.
I wanted to whip out my cock, too, but not to get off while I watched her.
I wanted to grab her and fuck her.
Judging by the look on nearly everyone’s faces, they wanted it, too.
A pang of jealousy shot into my chest.
Mine.
Where the hell had that come from?
I wasn’t ready to unpack it. Oaklee didn’t belong to me. If she had, though, there was no way in hell I was letting her dance like that in front of the others. I wanted her all to myself.
I stared, and the longer I stared, the more turned on I became. Turned on… and pissed off.
I wanted her. I wanted them to stop staring at my female. They could back off and find other people to stare at. There were more than enough of them in my club—hell, on BDSM night, there were kinks to appeal to anyone.
