Page 91 of The Heartbreaker

It was just a minor bump in the long, arduous ride of life.

But it was getting hard.

Harder actually.

Especially during the moments when I was completely alone with a guest. When I was solely responsible for entertaininghis eyes. When I became the object of his desire and I had to navigate those thoughts and not let them consume me.

The private dances—aside from when Ridge hired me—lasted for one or two songs, three max.

All I had to do was act.

Pretend.

Zone out and remind myself that I was doing this for the money.

I made sure to keep eye contact and constantly part and bite my wet lips and make the kind of sounds he would want to hear.

But during every instance, the set of eyes that gazed back wasn’t Ridge’s. Neither was the hair or the scruff or the sexy jawline or the Cole nose that I found so hot.

So, to get through it, to survive, I replaced his features with Ridge’s.

That was what kept me going. What made each second of the song more tolerable.

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

My back bolted straight, and my muscles tightened, and every piece of hair on my body stood up.

I grabbed his wrist to pull his hand off my breast and warned, “You can’t touch me there.”

The rules were explained to every guest who hired me privately the second they sat in this chair.

My waist was allowed; anything higher or lower wasn’t.

He’d agreed.

They all agreed.

With his hand now returned to his lap, I backed away from the chair and adjusted my skirt, trying to catch my breath in the process. I was halfway through the song, so my bra was already off and on the floor. There was nothing left to remove from my body. My skirt was so short that I was basically in only a thong.

To waste some seconds, I turned around and gave him my backside, lowering my arms to the floor, and tucked my face into my knees. I slapped my thighs together, shaking my ass, and glanced at him through the space between my calves.

He was leaning forward, his face far too close to my butt … like the asshole was trying to smell me.

I quickly rose and faced him, guiding him away by gently pushing on his chest, and stood on either side of his legs. A position I dreaded whenever someone was in this chair, but a position that was necessary for the job.

The outside of his thighs was barely touching the inside of mine when his hand returned to my breast.

Had he not listened to what I just said?

Who the hell did he think he was?

I grabbed the back side of his palm. “You’re breaking the rules again.”

“Fuck the rules.” His voice was like acid, burning through my skin.

And the moment those vile words left his mouth, his fingers tightened.

He wasn’t just holding it.