Dance for Me

by J.C. Valentine

  We’re just getting started.

  ***

  Work Wednesday night is a bitch. The first thing I hear upon entering Mirage is, “Tamera called in sick. You’re headlining tonight.”

  My head whips up in shock, seeing Kota standing there in his open leather vest, showing off a toned physique and a dusting of dark, curly hair. His expression is grim but expectant.

  “Headlining?” Thrown by his announcement, my hands pause in the task of latching my bra. That spot is reserved for the most popular dancer. It took Tamera years to work up to that position. “Why not one of the other girls? Someone who’s been here longer?”

  “Because no one holds a candle to you, Pussycat,” he says with a smirk. “You’re on in ten.”

  I’m left standing alone in the middle of the dressing room in nothing but a bra and thong, my mouth gaping open. As the seconds tick by, a slow smile creeps into place. Headlining is the highest form of praise here. I could make rent with the tips from one dance alone. It is in that moment I like to think my parents are looking down at me from above, giving me that little boost I so desperately needed.

  With tears in my eyes, I whisper, “Thank you,” then I suit up for the hottest performance of my life.

  NINE

  I take a double shot of whiskey as I stand offstage waiting to be announced. As happy as I am to have this opportunity fall into my lap, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a nervous wreck. In the span of ten minutes, I have considered twenty different ways to back out. I can’t shake the thought that this isn’t my show. I’m not supposed to be up there. I haven’t earned this.

  To be honest, despite the financial benefits, I’m not sure I want this.

  Being a headliner means standing under a different kind of spotlight. Even though most of these men are regulars, I don’t know how keen I am with the idea of being their central focus. And I will be if I go through with this.

  This was never Plan A or B. Stripping was a mean to an end. Going up on that stage tonight could change everything, but I’d be stupid to pass this up. I just want to make my money and leave. That’s been my goal since day one, and it’s my goal tonight.

  As Felicia’s song ends and she steps offstage, I pull at the hem of my shirt and straighten the tie hanging between my breasts. Tonight, I’m going farther than I ever have before. The idea that Ransom could be out there watching makes every cell in my body ignite. But it’s only Wednesday.

  My feet teeter in my heels as I step up the single stair onto the stage and stand just beyond the curtains, out of sight.

  The room is plunged into darkness, as per my usual request. It gives me the time I need to walk onto the stage unnoticed, and take my place. Stretching my arm up, I let my head fall back and close my eyes.

  Blue lights begin to spin around the room, fog crawls across the stage, and I hear Kota’s growl over the sound system as he announces me. There are no cheers, no clapping hands, just the music as it filters down from the ceiling and expands throughout the building. Then the spotlight hits me, and I begin to move.

  “Hot for Teacher” is my song of choice, kind of a personal joke. I know Ransom isn’t here to hear it, but if he was, I imagine he’d be laughing right along with me. As I grind my hips and do my turns around the pole, I find myself hoping that he is here. I lack the guts to look. Even though I am used to the job, I will never get used to the exposure of it. Power or not, the idea of performing in front of a crowd is unnerving. The only way to survive the anxiety that threatens to creep up on me is to ignore everything and just dance.

  The music consumes me, and I remind myself that this is a special performance. In order to be the head dog, I have to perform like one. Channeling my inner vixen, the one that gyrated in her lover-slash-professor’s lap while his girlfriend watched, I drag my palms over my hips and up my sides, following the swell of my breasts as they continue to climb higher. Lifting my long hair, I release my top and let it flutter to the stage.

  Every woman has a favorite part of their body. Mine are my breasts. They’re round and full with smooth, pale skin and pert pink nipples. Any man I’ve ever been with has had nothing but nice things to say about them, so I am confident in showing them off now.

  It’s as I stand, whipping my hair back from my face, that I feel the intensity of His stare. I can’t see past the gloom I’ve set for myself, but I know he’s here. My insides turn molten instantly as I drop to my knees and thrust my hips. I’m on fire, thinking of our earlier kiss, of the way his hands feel on my skin, the scorching heat of his body against mine.

  I can’t think straight, and when the music ends, I miss my cue. The lights rise before I do, and I feel the horror of seeing dozens of eyes plastered to my naked body, but then my gaze lands on one set in particular and a curious sense of calm comes over me.

  Ransom’s smirk is contagious, and as he leaves his table and makes his way toward me, anticipation pours over me like hot candle wax—breathtaking, scalding, thrilling.

  Standing, I collect my top and exit stage left.

  I’m not in the dressing room for more than thirty seconds when the door opens and Bernice pokes her head inside. “Joe, that man from the other night is here to see you. He says you know each other?” She looks uncertain, but I wave my hand.

  “Let him in.” Running a brush through my hair, I watch in the mirror as Ransom walks up behind me. Even in the low light, his dark eyes and hair are striking against his sun-kissed skin, and as he moves closer, his arrogant gaze travels down my body. Settling his strong hands firmly on my hips, he dips his head to trace his nose along the side of my neck.

  “Damn, you smell delicious.”

  The stubble on his cheek scrapes over my skin, causing every nerve ending in my body to tingle. It’s like pins and needles, only it feels good. “Ra—uh, Mr. Scott,” I quickly correct myself, reminded of his preference for formalities. “I thought you were done with this?”

  I watch his expression for something, anything, but it remains fully focused as he continues to explore my nakedness with hands and mouth. Everywhere he makes contact feels like a burn. “Done with what?”

  “With us,” I say, an embarrassing moan leaving me as his hand boldly sneaks beneath my thong and traces through my wetness.

  “I could never be done with this,” he groans, his voice pitching lower before sinking his teeth into my shoulder. “Fuck, you’re so damn wet. I was going to order us dinner before I took you to bed, but your sweet pussy just ruined all of that.”

  His fingers push through my slick folds and plunge inside, tearing a moan from me. Distantly, I hear the clink of his belt buckle, followed by the lowering of his zipper. I gasp at the sudden emptiness as he pulls his fingers out of me, and then I hear as much as feel my thong torn from my waist. I’ll feel that later, but for now, the only pain I want to pay attention to his hard cock pounding into me.

  “Bend that sweet ass over,” he commands as he wraps his hand around my nape and shoves me down, forcing me to throw out my hands and brace myself against the vanity. Grabbing his cock, I watch him in the mirror as he rubs it between my legs.

  “You’re a tease,” he accuses as he slaps his cockhead against my aching clit. “You made me come in my pants.”

  Breathless, I say, “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

  His hand lands hard on my ass, and I scream from the sting of it. My arousal turns painful. “My date didn’t like it.”

  “Oh?” I pant, reeling from the word date. Not girlfriend. Date. The bastard. But I don’t feel sorry for what I did. Instead, I feel anger take root in my gut, and I’m unable to keep the bite from my words. “Didn’t she enjoy watching you clean away the mess I made?”

  “No,” he says wickedly, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “She especially didn’t enjoy having to lap it up with her tongue.”

  I want to laugh even as jealousy tears through me. He let another woman touch him, taste him. Not that it was a big surprise, but suspecting a
nd knowing are two different things.

  “Too bad she couldn’t make you come in your pants. Maybe she’d be the one riding your dick tonight instead.”

  “Who says she didn’t?”

  My eyes narrow, and I am ready to tell him to fuck off, when he shoves his cock into my ass. His hand clamps over my mouth before my scream has a chance to carry. Moisture burns my eyes as he pounds into me. I’ve never grown used to his size and being untried there, verges on excruciating.

  Stars float behind my closed eyelids as I struggle to even out my breathing. Ransom continues to take me hard, making it difficult, if not impossible, to do. I’d tell him no, but he loves it, and I love pleasing him. Even if it means I won’t be able to sit down right later.

  I’m a sick person, I know this. Ransom doesn’t deserve me, and I deserve so much better than him. Trouble is, I can’t seem to make myself walk away. One look, one touch, that’s all it takes, and I’m back under his spell.

  “I love fucking your tight little hole,” he growls into my ear, and presses in deeper, holding his hips against mine long enough for me to feel the full length of him. “You think it was funny messing up my pants? I wonder if you’ll be laughing when I fill your pretty little ass with my cum.”

  I’m sure I won’t be laughing at all. His filthy words stir something inside of me, and despite the weakness in my knees, I feel an orgasm lurking in the shadows. I won’t give the thought voice, but I want him to fill me. I love feeling his juices leak down my thighs after he uses me, hard. It’s his mark, his own personal brand, and I wear it proudly.

  If he knew the way I really felt, turned on by his aggressive, deviant behavior, he’d drop me faster than I can blink. He doesn’t have to tell me this for me to know it’s true. Ransom is the kind of man who gets off on instilling a little bit of fear. I can see it in his eyes, which is why I will never let on how much I love it.

  A few squeaks of surprise, a couple of moans, and some heavy panting are all it takes to push him over the edge. I don’t get mine, but he pumps his hot semen into my ass with a roar so loud I’m afraid someone will barge in to investigate.

  Still lodged deep inside me, Ransom’s softer side makes an appearance as he pulls me up and wraps his arm around me, holding my back to his chest, ensuring I don’t fall over. It’s a big possibility, considering how wobbly my legs feel right now. He lingers long enough that his cock shrinks back, slipping from my body of its own accord. Semen wets my cheeks and inner thighs, slowly leaking back out as I stand up straight. Turning me in his arms, Ransom smoothes my hair back from my face and flashes me a lazy but devastating smile.

  “I’m staying in room two-oh-five. I’ll have dinner waiting when you get there.” Gripping my chin, he tilts my head back and his mouth covers mine, his tongue sliding over my lips and into my mouth before he releases me. After tucking himself back into his pants, he reaches into his wallet and hands me a key card. “Let yourself in.”

  I bite my lip as I watch him turn to leave. This man confuses me. One minute he’s a brute, laying waste to my body and emotions, and the next, he’s almost sweet. I wish I could figure him out, but he’s like a puzzle that’s impossible to solve.

  Studying the hard piece of plastic in my hand, I find myself questioning the wisdom of meeting him tonight. I know I’m waffling, set on walking away one minute, and diving back into bed with him the next, but I don’t know how to turn my back on this man. Not certain I even want to. The only thing I know for certain is how I feel when he’s standing in front of me—alive. I’ve never felt more alive than in the moments we steal.

  Ransom is my drug. Each time I feast on his body, I fall deeper into my addiction. Tonight, even with my ass already beginning to ache, I know I will show up at his door. The secrecy shrouding our relationship should cause me shame. I know he’s hiding something from me. I used to think he was just a businessman who breezed into town a few nights a month to fuck me senseless and leave again, but now I know different. So what reason would a man who lives in the same city I do have to rent a hotel room, unless he has a secret?

  The fact is, even though a part of me cares, it’s not enough. My desire for him is more powerful than his truth. Without another thought, I clean myself up and get dressed.

  TEN

  “You didn’t have to do this.” Annie steps back to allow me inside her apartment.

  When she texted me early this morning telling me not to wait for her before class, I panicked. The idea of going in alone gave me hives. So I did the only thing I could think of—ransacked the kitchen cabinets for a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle and showed up on her doorstep an hour later, fully prepared to play nursemaid.

  “You’re sick. I bring soup.” Heading straight for the kitchen, I pour the chicken noodle soup from the container into a soup cup made by the same company, nuke it in the microwave, and return to the living room where I find her curled up in a corner of the couch. “You look like death warmed over,” I say as I hand her the bowl.

  She looks at it with a mix of longing and repulsion, and then takes a tiny sip. “Campbell’s, Joe? You shouldn’t have.” The mirth in her eyes gives me a chuckle.

  “It’s double noodle, too,” I point out as I take a careful seat across from her. After spending the night with Ransom, it’s a miracle I can even walk. I count my blessings, because that man is unequaled when it comes to his skills in the sack.

  After taking a couple more bites, she sighs, sets the bowl on the table, and curls back under the blanket draped around her shoulders.

  “So, what’s going on with you? Flu? Bad breakup?” I ask hopefully. I haven’t forgotten about Jason’s inability to show up at the bar last week, and I am holding firm to my conviction that she needs to drop him on his ass, and fast.

  Annie rolls her eyes. “You wish.”

  “I really do.”

  “It’s complicated,” she says softly, then burrows deeper into her blanket.

  “What’s complicated about saying ‘Hey, we should see other people’? The guy is a douche. Do you have any idea how many guys at school would kill to go on a date with you?”

  I’m not even exaggerating. Annie is the kind of girl that sparks men’s primal instincts. She’s got that whole cute and innocent vibe about her. Hell, most days, even I want to wrap my arms around her and shelter her from the world.

  “It just is, Joe, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now. What’s up with you?” she asks, changing the subject. I let her, only because I don’t want to fight when she clearly needs her rest. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you limping in here.”

  Shit. I thought I had done a pretty decent job of masking the Quasimodo routine. That’s what I get for letting Ransom use me so hard last night. My only solace comes from knowing that I used him just as hard. With any luck, he’s feeling it too this morning. I scoff, waving her comment off. “I was not limping. I just strained a muscle is all.”

  “Mmm hmm. Let me guess, yoga really kicked your ass this morning?”

  Not yoga, I think to myself. I can tell by her amused expression that she isn’t buying my excuse. She’s always been able to see right through me, so I don’t even know why I bother trying to lie.

  I feel a sudden wave of doubt slam into me. She doesn’t have it together any more than I do, but I still consider asking her for advice. It’s selfish of me, and yet, maybe it will make her feel better to focus on something other than her screwed up love life.

  “Annie…” I hesitate. How to form this question? “Assume you know someone who is involved with someone that they probably shouldn’t be.”

  Perking up, I now have her full attention. “Is this someone I know?”

  “Purely hypothetical.”

  She purses her lips. “Okay, I have no idea who these fictional people are, but they’re in a relationship?”

  “It’s more sex than a relationship,” I clarify. “But what if one of them wants it to be more than that?”

/>   “I guess it depends on who the other person is and what they want. What are they like?”

  “Well, they’re both smart, serious about their career, friendly, and attractive. They have a lot in common, actually.”

  “That’s a start. What are they like together?”

  I look toward the window framing the back of the couch and choose my words carefully. “They have fun. Sometimes they laugh, but mostly it’s very intense. Recently they’ve been spending some time together outside of their normal routine, and it’s making things…complicated.”

  Annie frowns as she studies me. I shift uncomfortably under her close scrutiny, fearing she’ll be able to see right through me. “If these two people have agreed to have a purely sexual relationship, and one of them is changing their mind, then I think that person has a duty to tell the other person how they’re feeling so they can decide how to proceed.”

  “What if the other person decides they want to end the relationship?”

  “It’s a risk, but in the end, it would protect both of them. Staying too long in a relationship that isn’t working anymore can do more damage than good.”

  I raise a brow at her remark and she purses her lips again, receiving the silent message. “Well, what if one of them is getting mixed signals,” I press on. “For example, what if they can’t tell what the other person is feeling because each time they see the other person, they’re different.”

  Annie is quiet for a long time as she mulls this over. I wait patiently, because it’s either sit here and do nothing or go to class and face Ransom. When I left his room this morning, he was the same distant and dismissive man he was last week. If I attend his class only to have him look at me with softness and caring again, I’m going to scream. Hiding out in this apartment for a few hours seems like the safest bet at the moment.