I did that. I made him hard.
That knowledge is enough to make me wet all over again. Almost as wet as I was when I hid in my room and finger-fucked myself after he stared at me like that. Wishing the whole time it was his cock inside me.
I shiver, my whole body tingling with desire.
“Whitney, you’re up in five,” the backstage manager calls into the dressing room, disappearing just as fast.
I look in the mirror, gathering my courage. I don’t look too different than I do most nights. Same over the top makeup and wavy hair trailing down my back. The only thing that’s different is that I’m wearing a bit more clothes than normal. Something that will change real fast once I’m up onstage.
I take a deep breath. This is what I want. I’ve been hoping to get a job stripping since I first started at this club. The pay is so much better. Ridiculously better. And I need to save as much as I can if I want to start my own business eventually. This will get me there. That’s what I have to focus on when I go out there.
I stand and make my way to the edge of the stage, staying hidden in the shadows. This is right where Poppy was standing last night after she got ripped from the stage by that guy—Dax’s business partner. I saw the way he looked at her. I wish a guy would look at me like that.
Then I realize, that’s an awful lot like the way Dax was looking at me earlier. Possessive. Greedy. Barely contained restraint all over his face.
My breath comes a little faster, nerves with what I’m about to do mixing with the way thoughts of him make me feel.
That’s what I’ll focus on while I’m out on the stage. Dax. The way he looked at me like he actually desires me. The way his body responded to my naked one. The power and confidence that I felt because of that look. I try to channel that same feeling, letting myself go back to that place where that one look made me so hot and needy that all I wanted was for him to fuck me.
That’s what I need right now. And when it’s my turn and I step out into the blinding lights pointed at the stage, all I feel is sexy. Desired. Wanted.
All these men out there want me too. They want to see me take my clothes off. I make them feel things.
But the only thing that I think about as I begin moving to the music—peeling my costume off slowly, taunting the audience with just a peek here, then a little more there—is Dax. I pretend I’m stripping for him. Making him hard. Making him come.
I’m fully into the moment, lost in the fantasy playing out in my head. This job may be easier than I thought. All I have to do is pretend it’s just me and Dax.
When I walk off the stage and back toward the dressing room when I’m finished, I smile. Easy. That wasn’t complicated at all.
Pushing open the dressing room door, I reach for a robe and wrap it around myself. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turn back to the door when it creaks open again.
My eyes go wide.
Because things just got a whole lot more complicated.
My breath all rushes from my lungs as I say the only thing that comes to mind.
“Dax.”
Dax
Sitting out in the dimly lit strip club where everyone is unrecognizable in the haze of smoke and lights, I can’t drag my eyes away from the stage. I have to be seeing things. I wondered at first if I was wrong and Whitney didn’t have to work tonight because I didn’t see her working the floor with her tray of drinks.
Now I know why. She’s working in an entirely different way.
And I’m about to explode from the sheer delicious torture of it. I thought seeing her dancing in her room was bad, naked in the hall even worse. Those are nothing compared to seeing her writhing onstage, clothes flying off to reveal the body that I only just learned was way beyond perfect.
Holy fucking hell. I feel like my dick is about to revert ten years and make me lose all control and come in my pants. Because every fantasy is coming to life right before my eyes.
Whitney wraps herself around the pole onstage, grinding against it like I want her to on my cock, and I grip myself through my jeans, needing some kind of friction against this building need that’s taking control of me.
I groan out load, unable to keep it in. But who the fuck cares? Because every guy in this place is probably doing the same thing. It would be impossible not to because she’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Minutes fly by, and my mind struggles to comprehend what’s going on. Thought isn’t coming easily since all my blood has currently drained south. Since when did Whitney start stripping? Is that what I saw earlier when she didn’t know I was home? Her practicing?
Fuck. If I’d known, I would have given her plenty of time to practice with a live audience of one.