Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I continue my routine, knowing every move by heart, but I can’t stop watching him, fully aware that his eyes never leave me. It’s almost as if he and I are in a private room, and I’m dancing just for him. As I remove my bra and then bend, my legs spreading to tease the crowd before I take my panties off, I take in the man who’s captured my attention.
He’s standing by the bar, dressed in a typical power suit, sans tie, and even though he’s completely clothed, I can tell he’s built by the span of his broad shoulders and the way his shirt stretches across his chest. His jacket is unbuttoned and open, and his pants mold to his muscular thighs. His eyes are dark and piercing. He has a roman nose—slightly bent with a prominent curve—and his angular jaw is peppered with next-day stubble.
I imagine straddling him as I dance to “Rocket” by Beyonce, grinding against his groin. My fingers stroking the scruff on his face while his hands glide down my sides and land on the globes of my ass, massaging circles into my—
The lights come down, and I’m snapped out of my— Holy shit, was I just fantasizing about a member? I shake myself out of it as I scoop up my clothes—not even remembering when I got naked—and hastily make my exit.
I don’t think about men, especially the members, and I never make eye contact. When I’m on that stage, when I’m giving them a lap dance, they don’t exist. It’s just me and the music. Yet, that man existed.
When I go to the dressing room to change back into my floor attire, I check on Ellie, who’s asleep on the couch since it’s after midnight, and then I ask Violet if I have any private room reservations.
“One,” she says, glancing at her tablet. “Room four.”
CHAPTER TWO
MICAH
“Who was that?”
“Who was what?” My brother glances around like he didn’t just witness the most delectable, mesmerizing, fucking hypnotizing woman dancing on the stage. I guess when you’re in the business he’s in, you become desensitized to the women, to the dancing…
“The woman who was just on stage,” I say, nodding in the direction she was a second ago, before the damn lights blacked out and she disappeared.
“A dancer,” he says, being purposely obtuse.
“No shit,” I growl, not in the mood for his crap. “I’ve never seen her here before.”
“That’s because you rarely come around and she’s new. Was working at Pussycats until it closed down. A bunch of women came here wanting jobs. Most were trash, but as you can see, she’s not.” He smirks. Not because he’s into her. My brother doesn’t fuck where he eats. No, he’s smirking because he knows what I know—I wasn’t the only man getting hard from watching her on stage. She’s not just sexy, she’s fucking gorgeous…and real.
Most women in this industry are fake. Fake tits, fake face, fake tan, fake personality. I’m not knocking them. You do what you have to do to survive, to get ahead in this world, and a lot of men like that shit. But I prefer real. And that woman on stage was…All. Fucking. Real.
Those perfect tits with rose-dusted nipples. My mouth was practically watering at the thought of wrapping my lips around them. Sucking the hardened tips into my mouth.
Fuck.
And those luscious curves. The way she danced, swaying her hips to the beat, like she was one with the music. When she dropped to the floor and spread her legs, all I could think about was her riding my cock to that same rhythm. I’ve seen dozens of women naked, but not a single one has ever had that effect on me.
“I want her in a private room.”
Lincoln chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s not like that.”
“What the fuck do you mean she’s not like that? They’re all like that.” I’ve never been with any of the women here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on. Lincoln might be the one who runs Wanderlust and Elite, but we co-own everything that’s part of Alexander Enterprises.
“Not her,” he says. “She only dances, does private shows, and will give the occasional lap dance, but that’s it.”
“You can’t be fucking serious. Does she know how much money she could be making?” A woman like her could easily bring in five figures a night. Hell, I’d pay six if it meant she’d spread those creamy thighs and let me in.
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” he says. “The guys are obsessed with her since she started here, some have offered to pay double…triple the going rate to get a room with her at Elite, but she won’t do it.”
My thoughts go back to the way our eyes connected, as if we were the only ones in the room. The way I could feel the heat between us—even from afar. She might not be willing to give just anyone her body, but I’m not just anyone.