Dance for the Billionaire(7)
Her student loan had gone towards paying household bills and keeping her brother and sisters fed and clothed. Her evening job at Waitrose had been physically exhausting and as a result had affected her studies. Dancing at the club had enabled her to be at home with her siblings six evenings a week and provided the extra money to pay for the course materials and expensive text books she needed for her degree, instead of spending hours in the library using their ‘Reference Only’ copies.
The job at the club had changed her life for the better.
Now, just one lap dance could make her dreams come true.
Please, please, please, please, God! she prayed fervently, yet felt guilty about bothering Him about such a matter. It felt wrong to pray about it, clad in nothing but a robe and three strategically placed tiny triangles of material held together by flimsy straps.
But, if He answered her prayer, this would be her last night in the club.
It was too much to hope for and yet she found herself praying desperately.
***
The dancer walked slowly into the room, her smooth skin glowing with youth and vitality.
My God, she’s even more beautiful close up!
Dominic barely restrained the urge to get up and touch her as she closed the door behind her.
She placed a handbag on the small table by the door and stood staring across at him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
She quirked a beautifully-arched eyebrow, widened her stance, then placed her hands on her hips and continued to stare at him. After a long pause she finally answered, “Grace Jones.”
“That’s not your real name.”
“Does it matter?” Again the raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” he insisted.
“Sorry. If it was important you should said so before you paid the money.”
Dominic smiled and shook his head. She was confident for someone of her age—she looked about nineteen, but likely had to be over twenty-one to work in the club.
“Okay,” he conceded. “You win this round of negotiations.”
“Is there a special song you’d like?” she asked, coming a little closer. But not close enough for him to reach out and touch her.
“Private Dancer.” It was clichéd and overdone, but it fit the moment.
The rules disallowed the clients touching the dancers. Dominic swore under his breath. He would have a hell of a time keeping his hands to himself.
She pressed a few buttons on a panel on the wall and the introduction of the song filtered through the speakers in the private booth. She hesitated fractionally, as if she was nervous, then gave a little shake of her head and undid the tie of her robe.
It fell apart to reveal the matching black lingerie she’d been wearing, to the crowd’s disappointment, when she’d finished dancing on the stage. But instead of disappointment, he’d felt a strange kind of relief when he’d realized that she wasn’t going to reveal herself completely to every man in the room.
His eyes met hers and Dominic acknowledged just why he hadn’t wanted her to strip entirely—he wanted to be the only man who saw her naked.
“Come to me,” he commanded softly, settling himself more comfortably in low, armless chair he’d occupied while awaiting her arrival.
***
Heart beating in triple time, Chantelle straddled his muscular legs. She wasn’t frightened—a single press of either alarm button near the chair would summon one of the club’s four bouncers.
She’d never been this close to an adult male, black or white, before. It should have felt strange, but it didn’t. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and her eyes to his as she started to slowly undulate her waist and move her hips in perfect time to the beat of the song.
Her stomach clenched as once again she felt a sort of electric shock run through her as she held his gaze. His eyes were a beautiful hazel, she realized and shivered in surprise—she’d thought they would be blue. His thick hair was dark, and wavy though it was not particularly long. His nose was bold and well shaped. His full lips were another surprise—shaped in an almost perfect Cupid’s bow, and so…kissable.
Kissable? Where the hell did that thought come from?
“Tell me your name,” he demanded again, holding onto her hips and pulling her forward onto his lap.
Chantelle gasped as she felt the hard length of his erection beneath her. She took a deep steadying breath and her nostrils filled with his woody, subtle yet heady aftershave as she continued the dance. Seated on his lap, her legs in the high-heeled shoes were almost in line with her ears. She moved her waist in small circles, imitating the moves she would make if they were making love and she was on top.