Page 72 of Lost Lyrebird

“You don’t have to do this unless you want to.”The way he’s looking at me, it’s like he’s begging me not to do it.But I’ve already made my decision.I’m doing what’s best for both of us in the long run, what will help keep him and his club safe.

“You’ll be watching, right?”My voice lowers with an edge of seduction, my body angling slightly toward him as I close the space between us.His eyes dilate as they roam over me.The intensity there lures me in, making it hard to think clearly.His lips part.I stare at him and nearly sway forward as he bites his bottom lip.The urge to lean in and taste him is oh-so tempting.

It takes everything I have to deny myself.

“I’ll protect you,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp.“That’s not ever anything you should have to question.”His words hang in the air between us, thick with tension.

I give him a grim smile.“Then I’m ready.Lead the way, Captain.”Do I let my hand rest on his chest and pat the Road Captain patch?Yes, I do.It’s to remind myself why this step forward is the right one—what I risk if I don’t put more distance between us.

CHAPTER 21

Don’t let your dreams slip from your grasp and fall into the lap of someone unworthy.

The bass from “Check On It”by Beyoncé thrums as I runway-walk down the stage and drag a silver chair out behind me, every beat pulsing through my body as I work my hips.

We’re on the second floor in a sectioned-off VIP area.The stage is about ten feet round, which means I’ll have to adjust my routine to fit the space.The client chose to sit front and center instead of on the long, L-shaped couch against the wall, so I take that into account too.

The routine is one I choreographed myself.It has a ton of attitude and sass.It was meant for a wider audience, but adjusting it to deliver some focused, sweet seduction shouldn’t be too hard.It drips sex; some parts are slow and deliberate, while others are fast—popping, twerking, and naughty movements that flash my best assets.I use the chair as a prop and place it as close to the edge of the stage as I can while still giving myself room to move around it.

Eye contact is key, and I make sure to reconnect my gaze with the suits often, playing around with different expressions while I bite my nail, play with the ends of my hair, and slowly rise from a bend where my ass is up and the main attraction—the enticement giving him a good glimpse beneath my skirt from his vantage point.

Midway through, he’s so enthralled that he’s lifted his drink to his mouth but has yet to take a sip of it, as if he’s forgotten it’s even in his hand.

He’s an older gentleman with nice eyes—a big tipper—and he’s become a regular over the last few months.He’s good-looking, in his fifties maybe, well-dressed, with money practically spilling from his suit pocket, but I barely see him.He’s a paycheck, a distraction, a golden ticket to Finn’s torture—because if I have to suffer through this, he can too.

Near the end of the song, when my skirt has been discarded, I crawl toward the client and curl my finger repeatedly to entice him closer.His gaze is focused on my face, but as I kneel, spread my knees, and begin to thrust my hips to the rhythm, it quickly moves down my body until it rests between my thighs.

I arch my back and pump my hips as I draw my sheer top up and over my head.After licking my finger, I trail it down my neck and chest.I let my hand guide his gaze downward as I tease my stomach, then palm my sex, continuing to rock and roll my upper body to the rhythm of the song, mimicking the way I ride a man in the throes of passion.My head swings from side to side, whipping my hair back and forth.A light sheen of sweat coats my skin.My mouth is parted just slightly, and I peer down at him through half-closed eyes.

The only thing missing is the man underneath me.

This is the scene I paint for him, and by the lust I see covering his features, he’s living out the fantasy in his head.

I ride out the song until the last few hard-hitting beats, then end in a sultry pose, with my chest pressed forward, one hand in my hair holding it off my neck, the other on my thigh.

A new song, a slower and mixed version of “Partition,” begins.I use the buildup to catch my breath and swing my legs over the edge of the stage.I cross them in front of the suit.Using his tie, I pull him closer and whisper in his ear, letting my heavy breath tease his earlobe.I relay sinful words, ones I know will level him, while my mind is locked on the man who’s been content so far to watch from the shadows.

I’m tempted to see how long Finn’s control lasts—if watching me seduce another man has any effect on him whatsoever.

The suit eagerly accepts my offer for a lap dance.

He holds out his hand to help me off the stage, and I keep hold of it so I can lead him to the couch.Surprise flits over his features when I pull him to me and then push him down to sit in front of me.He scoots back and gets comfortable, then smiles cockily up at me.

The intentional seduction of two men at once begins.As I dance, my hands trail over my skin—they’re an extension of the wave and current moving through my body as the music washes over me.

I infuse the grace of ballet and belly dancing, weaving them into my erotic movements.I give my brain permission to let go of the count and steps, and just feel, letting my hands roam where they may: brushing over the edge of my panties, fingers toying with the fabric, cupping my breasts, and playing with my hair.

The client visibly hardens.His need to touch grows, his eyes darkening, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip as if he’s craving a taste of what’s being presented.

While straddling his lap, I pin his arms to the side and hold them there long enough that he understands to keep them there.Then I’m free to simply enjoy the moment and play.The song’s beats guide me, and my body becomes another instrument, working in tandem with the rhythm.

I work myself over the client’s lap—graze his erection at first, then make more contact for longer strokes to build his cravings for more.

Leaning closer, I let my breath skate over the skin of his neck until he rewards my efforts with a full-body shiver.His words, when they come, are dirty and desperate.He begs to touch me.To let him take me home.Offers the world on a silver platter.

The effect I have over him sends elation through me, especially when the figure in the shadows moves and steps into the dim light.

The moment I meet the blue eyes from across the room, my movements slow.My gaze flirts on and off with his, saying,“This could be you.You touching me.You inside me.”My body screams these words, though my lips stay silent.