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Wait. Why wasn’t he pissed off?
“Is he okay?” Graham looked past me at Sloane. “He seems to be on power-saving mode.”
She elbowed me in the side.
“You’re not mad?” I blurted.
“Why would I be mad?” He wet his lower lip with his tongue. My cock throbbed. “It’s not like you haven’t already seen everything.”
“I… that’s…”
He grinned at Sloane. “Mind if I borrow your date?”
“Take him.” She shoved my shoulder. “And he’s not my date.”
“Good to know.” He looked at me. “What do you say? Up for the full club experience?”
“Full experience?” I croaked.
He waved to the confessional booths. “How about a private dance? Ever had one before?”
“Not from a guy.”
“Perfect time to pop your cherry, then.” He held out his hand.
I let him pull me up. Sloane slipped a few bills into my pocket.
“Have fun.” She winked.
Graham tugged me toward the farthest of the booths.
“I don’t understand what’s happening. I thought you’d be pissed.”
“Why would I be pissed?” He pushed me into the booth, or whatever it was called, and pulled the curtain closed behind him. “You came to me. That means I get to be in charge.”
“You think that’s how it works?” I glanced around.
The walls were solid, and the booth felt private, even with only a curtain as cover. He shoved me onto a padded chair, the only furniture in the space.
“That’s how it works here. You’re on my turf now.”
I was so used to seeing him needy and broken. This snarky, electric version of him was next-level hot.
“Really?”
“Really.” He nodded to the curtain behind him. “The next set is going to start soon. When it does, it’s my turn to have some fun.”
“What are the club rules?”
“No touching. I can touch you, but only if you verbally consent first.”
“I consent.”
He smirked. “Arms, legs, chest, face. Those are the only places I’m allowed to touch you. Still consent?”
“What do you think?”
“I need the words.”
