Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
It was fascinating, in an odd way. It was designed for men to admire women’s bodies, to get a thrill out of seeing them contort this way and that. Yet… in a way, it was a bit like the French maid costume. It, too, was designed for man’s pleasure, but as Theo said, I’d taken it and made it my own.
And had had one hell of an exciting evening in the process.
Idly, I wrapped my hand around the pole. It had to take a lot of skill and strength for the women who knew how to do tricks on it. I’d never been very athletic, but I admired women who were.
I looked around the room. No one else was here, just me and the vacuum cleaner, and who was it going to tell?
Grasping it with both hands, I took a few quick steps, circling it. Then I jumped, hoping my legs would swing around, but they didn’t. I just kind of landed where I’d started. I tried again—same result.
But on the third time, it was different. Instead of landing in the same spot I’d started from, I did spin just a little, but then I stumbled forward, banging my shoulder on the pole before I caught my balance. “Ow.”
“Well, now I know who to hire the next time we put on a show down here.”
I jumped, almost losing my balance again when I heard Grant’s voice. He seemed to have a sixth sense about when I was up to no good in this room. “Um… hi. You scared me.” He was leaning against the wall near the door, his arms crossed in front of his chest. How long had he been here? “I was just vacuuming.”
He looked pointedly at the vacuum cleaner that was a good twenty feet away. “Clearly.”
He pushed off the wall and strode me, like a tiger who’d spotted its prey. Upstairs, at the dinner table, he’d been Grant, Theo and Ian’s friend. But down here, in this secret room, he was Grant, vice president and pledge master of the most notorious frat on campus.
And he somehow seemed taller, too.
“I’ll just go finish the carpet,” I said, but his gaze somehow pinned me in place.
“Give me your hand,” he ordered. His voice was soft but deadly.
I gulped. Was this some kind of punishment he inflicted on the pledges? Was he going to smack my knuckles with a ruler? But I somehow found myself obeying. My left hand rose shakily in the air.
He rolled his eyes. “The other one. I’m not placing a ring on your finger.”
Oh. I held my right hand out and he took it, raising it high in the air and then tugging it toward the pole. I grasped the smooth metal, but he shook his head. “Higher. Really stretch that little body of yours.”
Feeling foolish, I slid my hand up as high as I could, which sure didn’t seem all that high compared to a giant like him. He probably could’ve reached up and easily touched the season.
“Okay, face me, with your body perpendicular to the pole.”
Trying to follow along, I took a sidestep away from the pole and turned toward him. He shook his head and put his hands on my shoulders, repositioning me. “You were too far out, you shouldn’t have to lean in.”
I didn’t know why he bothered explaining when he was able to manhandle me into place like that. All the guys in the frat were taller than me, but being next to Grant made me feel especially tiny.
Grant stepped back, surveyed me, and frowned. “Kick off your shoes.”
He could have thought of that before putting me in this pose, but I did as he asked, toeing my sandals off and pushing them out of the way.
“Okay, take three large steps around the pole. Start with your inside leg.”
He micromanaged as I did so, telling me to point my toes as I stepped. To lean my upper body away from the pole. And even to walk with dignity, which seemed like a bit of a contradiction. Wasn’t the purpose of this thing to have women wearing as little as possible while zooming around on it?
At last, he was satisfied by my progress. “All right, this time, after the three steps, grab onto the pole with your left hand, about chest height.” He shook his head as I reached too high. “The height of your chest, not mine.”
Three graceful steps. Toes pointed. Arm taut as I kept my grip on the pole. I brought my left hand in, my body still facing outward.
“Not bad,” he said. “Now swing your left leg out. Keep it straight, toe pointed.”
“Do you give pole dancing lessons or something?”
He grinned. “I’m a fan of the artform. Now do it again. Gracefully this time.”
It took three tries before he deemed I was ready for the next step. “Okay, this time, bring your left leg in, and put it across the pole, with it just touching your ankle.”