I blink and turn around the chair again, but at the second turn, my eyes can’t help themselves anymore. I gorge myself on his body, watching him speed up, pumping himself. The harder he goes, the faster I move. It’s as if we’re both grounded at the moment and joined by our movement alone. The music booms through the speakers, but the silence between us is chilling.
Sexy, almost, in a wicked way.
Licking my lips, I take off my bra and jiggle my tits as I twirl around the chair and do my dance. He turns sideways slowly, exposing the size of his length, and oh, boy … it just about makes my mouth water. That’s how huge he is.
I love watching him, even though I was told not to. I remember the warning all too well, but what harm could it do when I can tell he’s enjoying it? And the funny thing is I’m actually enjoying it too. It’s not often that I can please a man without touching him … and the fact he looks that delicious, even when hiding behind a curtain, is just a bonus. God, I can only imagine what he might look like up close.
There’s no harm in fantasizing, right? Besides, it’s not like I’ll see him again … Plus, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to get off, and I’ll sure as hell get myself off when I’m done with this job.
Anxious to see where this is going, I speed up the pace and grind on the chair like a class act, which gets him all pumped up. I watch him intently from behind my lashes, making sure it’s not too obvious. Pants and soft groans are audible underneath the tone of the music, creating goose bumps across my body.
He sounds like a goddamn beast.
As the music comes to an end and I make my final move, he releases himself and the silence returns.
I wait; heavily breathing and sweat dripping down my body, I feel my pussy pounding between my legs. Nothing happens.
But it should.
He never said I could stop.
I can’t see a thing behind that curtain except for his silhouette. Now that the music has stopped, it suddenly looks more ominous. Thick, hot apprehension hangs in the air warming my skin even more as I gather myself. His unmoving body makes my heart race, and something inside me makes me grip the chair. Something I hate. Fear.
But I completed my assignment. I pleased him. He doesn’t seem tense anymore.
I have nothing to fear, right?
So then why can’t I shake this feeling of imminent danger?
Suddenly, the door cracks open just slightly, darkness looming beyond.
I suck on my lip and wait a second to allow him to speak, but he doesn’t, so I guess I’m done. Mission accomplished.
I slip my dress back on, grab my stuff, and walk away from the chair.
Right as I pass the curtain, a hand tears through and grips my neck.
Locked in place. Like a twig easily snapped in two.
The tight grip around my throat silences me, but he’s not choking me … Yet.
I turn my head toward the figure behind the curtain who stands tall like a mountain. His strength could crush me within a second … yet he doesn’t.
I stay put, my body frozen, as I realize any movement could mean my end. My eyes plead—no, beg him—to release me, but my voice refuses to cooperate. My mind isn’t wired to surrender. I fight fear like the plague, and I never give up.
Not for as long as I have another body besides my own to protect.
Seconds feel like minutes as we stare at each other, the only thing between us a thin, black veil. Threatening, he squeezes softly, but I’m not afraid of him. I know he can see it in my eyes as I glare at the curtain, refusing to give in.
But then he yanks my body closer to the curtain with just one pull.
A low, gravelly whisper emerges from the dark. “Your name.”
It’s full of unspoken desires and something else … unspeakable pain.
With a raspy voice, I respond. “Alexis.”
One. Two. Three seconds pass before he releases his grip on my neck and the hand slips behind the curtain again.
I could’ve died.
He could’ve killed me within seconds, yet he didn’t.
I grab my throat and cough, gasping for air. God, that was on the edge.
The figure turns around and leaves, disappearing through a door I didn’t even know existed.
I wonder what that was about … I could still feel his hand around my neck, claiming my skin as if it were already his to begin with.
For some reason, my whole body shakes from the encounter, but I brush it off. I’m not supposed to think about this at all. Clients are … clients. Nothing more.
But then why can’t I get his image out of my head?
I frown as I push myself to walk to the door. I have to get the fuck out of here.
My hand reaches for the creaked open door, and I step outside. I look around as I step forward into the hallway, checking my surroundings as I pass the staircase.