Page 80 of Convict's Game

Holy hell, that was impressive.

Convict didn’t look at her. While his fingers slid over my sides and caressed my waist, grazing under my breasts, his focus stayed on me. Steady and hungry, like my reaction was part of the show. And God, I reacted. When she dropped into the splits and rolled her hips on the floor, I nearly whimpered.

His other hand eased under my dress from behind. He was close enough to me that anyone nearby wouldn’t get an eyeful, but my heart hammered.

Even as I inched my legs apart.

“Are you playing a game with me?” I whispered.

“Always, little gangster. I like you crazy.”

The dancer crawled across the stage, the crowd clamouring to get closer with their fistfuls of cash. Convict ghosted his fingers over my thigh then up to my ass, a light touch over my skin.

His breath ghosted over my ear. “The dancers sell an illusion. A tease that they are available and down to fuck. They allow access to parts of themselves that are otherwise tightly controlled and hook in the weak-minded men who think it’s just for them.”

A chair appeared. The dancer straddled it backwards, knees wide, chest arched high. She unhooked her bra with a teasing slowness. It hit the floor. She cupped her heavy breasts, shameless, confident, beautiful.

I was overheating. I didn’t know if it was the dancer, or the smirk curving Convict’s mouth when I peeked back, but I was wet and flustered.

“I could never do it,” I confessed. “I mean, I don’t have the body for it?—”

“Yes, you do. They’d be lucky to watch you. Then unlucky as I’d burn their fucking eyes out for daring to see what’s mine.”

My heart thumped harder. If he touched me now, I’d melt for him right here in the shadows of the strip club.

I arched up to speak into his ear. “Can we go upstairs?”

A spark of mischief shone in his eyes. Convict led me to a lift and hit the button for the third floor.

Third, not fifth and the cam girls’ floor. “We’re not going to your room?”

“We aren’t done with the tour yet.”

We emerged halfway along a corridor, and he tipped his head to the right.

“Down there is the sex club. You say you couldn’t strip, but a lot of the people in this building have already seen you mostly naked and got off to the image.”

Heat painted my cheeks. “I’m aware.”

He watched my reaction then gestured to a series of doors either side of us. “We can give them another show, or we can pick any one of these private rooms. Just tell me what you need.”

Either his challenge or the martinis bolstered me. I linked my fingers through his and drew him in the direction of the club. Turning a corner revealed a big room, painted black and with neon-pink low lights. The beat in the air mimicked my fast pulse.

In here, all pretence of civility had gone.

Three gold cages hung from the rafters, each holding a naked woman or man engaged in some kind of physical act. Then there were sofas, tables, and stations with people sprawled across them. Bare breasts, bodies, hands everywhere.

They were having sex. Openly, and with an audience of at least a couple of hundred people around the wide-open space.

On a padded mat beneath a wall apparatus, a man pulled a chained and blindfolded woman down onto his waiting cock, his head tipped back in ecstasy. Standing over him, another guy fed his dick into her mouth.

A muscular blond man tied an older man onto a stand-up cross, both of them completely naked and hard, then picked up a sex toy from a table.

I didn’t know where to look first. Or when to stop staring. I turned into Convict’s embrace and hid my eyes.

“Too much?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know.”