Page 27 of Lost Lyrebird

Like she’s asking for help.Begging.

A flashback crashed into me like the one I had yesterday.A guy in an alleyway.He’s holding an old red coffee can up to me.I can’t place it—this memory.And the tether to it breaks as the chorus explodes.

Lily’s fingers curl.She brings clenched fists to her forehead, and she begins to sway.In the next instant, she curls over herself and pounds her fists on the stage.In anger, in frustration, I don’t know.But she’s telling me something, and my entire body is triggered by it.My chest tight, my gut hollow, every muscle tense as if ready to go to her.An eerie feeling of familiarity floods over me.

The beanie falls off.Snatching it up, she cleans her face and spins on one knee around the floor.In profile, she falls back, her hips lifting and rotating in a circle.She stops, her pelvis raised, her arms dropping beside her.Silently, she cries out and rises as if shouting her pleas to the ceiling or sky above her.The move reeks of desperation.

But what is it she’s desperate for?

Fuck.

It sinks in that this isn’t an audition to see how much experience she has, nor is it a test to see if she has what it takes to make men adore her.This is an act.A story.It’s art she’s performing on that stage, not a hustle.

Bodie whispers, “Is it wrong that she’s dressed like a dude and I’m hard as fuck right now?”

I ignore him, and the chorus begins.Drums start to pound.In quick, harsh movements, she divests herself of her jacket, and her hair fans out as she gracefully rolls to her feet.A plaid shirt is now revealed, buttoned at the neck and open below, showing a white ribbed tank top.For a moment, I’m taken back to the flashback yesterday with Veno.

It can’t be a fucking coincidence, can it?

Lily’s knees bend as her hips rock.Her hands rise above her and cross.When they come back down slowly over her chest, she rips her shirt open and flings it away.The movement reveals more of her perfect skin, a pair of tits straining the fabric of the thin wife-beater tank, a black bra evident underneath.

When the tank eventually comes off, I drag my hand over the bottom half of my face becauseGod damn…the bra is sheer and hides nothing.

My cock hardens further, kissing my zipper and attempting a jailbreak.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bodie shift in his chair and adjust himself.He grates out, “If you don’t hire her, I’ll have you committed.Tell Prez you’ve gone full mental and have your ass locked up.”

He won’t need to.

She kicks off her shoes and pulls off her belt and jeans while dancing across the stage.The rest comes off as she moves toward the pole.Then she’s circling it once, playfully spinning around it.

This is when I see the massive black wings tattooed down her back.From here, they look like eagle feathers, and one wing is bent at an odd angle, as if broken.

She turns, holding the pole from above as she grinds her ass against it, using it as a tool to taunt us before letting go and bending over to touch the floor.She runs her hands slowly up her body as she rolls back up.The way the light touches her skin, the way it reflects off the silkiness of it, has me entranced.She certainly takes care of the gifts God has given her.

“Jesus,” I groan.

Bodie nods.“What I wouldn’t give to be that thong right now.Snug as a b—.”

“Shut up.”I backhand his chest before he can finish that sentence.Thankfully, he doesn’t.

As the guitar solo of the song riffs, she jumps and straddles the pole.When she gains some height, she becomes a wingless angel in flight, doing moves that I’ve only seen at conventions.Moves no other girl working here can pull off, spinning around the pole like she’s mastered the art, the muscles in her arms flexing.

It seems unreal that she can hold her body weight in these positions with her arms alone.Her toned muscles pop as she grips and releases her hold, even the ones in her legs, which work in concert to keep her airborne and spinning.

To say she’s experienced is an understatement.Lily works the pole with class, making it look like magic.A balance of ballet, acrobatics, and dance working perfectly as one, as she spins and tips upside down, like gravity doesn’t apply to her, toes pointed, hands poised.

This isn’t just something she’s good at.She must have practiced this for years.

She’s flawless.

The final chorus repeats, layering harmonies, and her movements slow and become reverent.She walks on air and uses it to spin in an unbelievably seamless flow.As the song winds down, she comes to a gradual stop, and her eyes flicker up to mine.

Defiance and some intense emotion stare out at me from her irises.Her breaths are deep.Her lips parted.Hair wild and untamed, her skin slick with sweat.I shift in my chair and blatantly make my dick more comfortable, letting her know that I more than loved everything she did up there.It’s inappropriate as fuck.But at the moment, I don’t feel like the boss.I’m just a man.A man who wants the woman up on that stage staring back at him, like I’m all she sees.

Another song starts.One that automatically makes you think of down-and-dirty sex.I doubt a priest could listen to it without getting hard.It’s “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails.

Lily scoops up the plaid shirt and puts it on, but leaves it open.She turns and stops.The sight of her about to walk away has my muscles coiling, wanting nothing more than to follow her.