Page 120 of The First Taste

I let myself slide down until my hands can touch the floor. Then I gracefully round into a back bend and rise once more. Composing myself for a moment, I lift onto my tiptoes and execute a half-pirouette. Planting my right foot, I sweep my left leg skyward, then fold my body into the splits again.

All of this takes just a heart beat… or so it seems. Before I know it, the song shifts. The applause makes me turn pink.

I blink a few times and then run down to the end of the stage, collecting the cascade of dollar bills that I earned. After I sweep up most of them and grab my bikini, I hurry off stage. A minute later, I have my bikini on again and the money stashed in a little locked drop box beside the stage.

I didn’t really have time to count, but the dollar bills felt weighty against my palm. One more step closer to independence.

I strut out to see at least five tables signaling to me that they want a private dance.

That’s the least favorite part of my night. But at least guys are interested in what I can provide… I credit Mia with giving me tip to improve my onstage presence.

Lifting my chin, I’m about to walk toward the closest table when one of the dark-suited managers raises his hand to me.

I shoot him an odd look, but he continues waving me over. I look at the table of customers, hold up a single finger, and then scoot over to the bar.

He sniffs, rubbing his nose. “You got a guy waiting for you in the platinum room, darlin. The customer isn’t a regular but he’s very rich and very private. This customer is to be treated with kid gloves, you got it? Whatever he wants, you give.” He looks me up and down. “Whatever’s legal, anyway.”

I am absolutely sure that he means all but the last part. My heart rate picks up. I nod my head, glancing at the tables.

“Hey,” the manager says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Don’t worry about them. Worry about the guy in the platinum room. You could easily make three or four times as much tonight as you would’ve normally. Now get going.”

Eyes widening, I nod and scurry toward the Club’s staircase. I bite my lip, trying not to look worried. Usually I’m not called in when customers choose dancers for the luxurious private rooms. Then again, it’s only been a few days since Mia gave me a critique to earn more on stage.

Maybe it has started to work. Maybe it is really my time to shine.

As I climb the stairs, I try to convince myself that I deserve to be called back to the most expensive private room of all.

Calum

Irecline on the red velvet booth of Club X’s platinum room, sipping a tumbler of expensive whiskey. My eyes are focused on the gleaming silver pole in the center of the room. Beneath it, low lights seep from the bottom of an elevated stage. The walls and floors all echo the same shade of dusty, iridescent red.

A low melody is pumped through unseen speakers, the sound brash against my ears. As I look up at the door, I see the top of the blonde’s head through the open doorway as she climbs the last few stairs.

Anticipation slides down my spine. I take her in as she mounts the steps. Long blonde hair, blown out to fall over her slim shoulders in a gleaming mass. Tawny hazel eyes, high cheekbones, a pert nose, and a small slick of hot pink on her mouth. Her lips alone are an invitation, parting as she lays eyes on me.

My gaze slips down to the rest of her body. She wears a sheer white kimono, an iridescent black bikini underneath that, and tall silver heels. Her tits are pushed up, looking small but tempting. As she stops at the door to toe off her heels, she turns and gives me a glimpse of her long legs and fantastic ass.

She’s a dead ringer for Honor. At another time, in another setting, she could be the delicate prima ballerina. The same one that broke my heart back when I was young and foolish enough to still believe in that fairytale.

She enters the platinum room quietly, tilting her head as she takes me in. “I’m Cerise.” She swings her hips as she struts toward me, her eyes wide and innocent.

Like she doesn’t work in this fucking club and make her money by grinding on strange men. Like she isn’t working me right now, trying to figure out my weaknesses.

Her feigned innocence does something to me. It makes my cock hard, yes. But it also makes me think dark thoughts.

Violent thoughts.

My mouth tightens just a little. “You can call me Mr. X.”

Her eyebrows lift just a fraction as she comes close to me, putting a hand on the velvet booth. She leans down, giving me a peek of her creamy cleavage. “You want me to dance for you, X?”

My cock stirs. Her tits are small and firm, pressed up by her bikini top. I drag my eyes up to her face, my voice erupting in a guttural rumble.

“Mr. X,” I correct her sharply. “And yes. I want you on the pole.”

She flashes me a smile. She turns, hips swaying, and heads back toward the door. “How long do you want me, baby?”

She presses a discreet button and her music comes on, sultry and low. She turns toward me, an eyebrow lifting. “Is this loud enough?”