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“I don’t give up.” His voice is a low rasp. “I need to know what happened, Grace. Why did you quit out of the blue and disappear? Why are you here now?”

I bite my cheek before responding, the wings flapping even more violently in my gut. My body wars with two impulses, to tell him to fuck off and to crawl onto his lap, bury my face in his chest, and breathe in greedy gulps of ocean breeze and leather.

I hold on to the first emotion arising from his question.

Pride.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

Steven sits up, his gaze sharpening as the predator wakes up inside him. “Did someone threaten you? Please, tell me. Let me help you. It can’t be because of the job offer, right? I told you I was going to put out recommendations for you.”

“I’m here voluntarily. That’s all you need to know. I don’t think we have anything in common anymore, Mr. Kingsley. I’m no longer working for you. I’m no longer your employee. I don’t owe you anything.”

My body spins away as I ball my hands into fists. Distance, that’s what I need, and the madness will dissipate. It’s always the woman that gets hurt in the end. I take one step toward the dressing room.

“Aren’t you my friend ?”

The words are soft, and yet they sound the loudest of them all. Heartbreak seeps into those simple four words, and I roll my lips inward to stem a sob choking me in my throat. My chest clenches, the pain of a thousand cuts threatening to cave me in, but I remain standing.

I won’t fall for anyone, or any man.

I won’t let myself be hurt again .

Clearing my throat, I reply, “We were never ever really friends, Mr. Kingsley. Can a bird ever be friends with a fish in the ocean?”

I hear his sharp intake of breath behind me, followed by a deep shuddering exhale.

My heart constricts, and I regret my words instantly, knowing I’ve inadvertently wounded him.

“We’ll never end well,” I whisper into the darkness in front of me, more for myself than for him.

A few seconds of silence is punctuated only by the sounds of our heavy breathing, as we’re no doubt embroiled in our own emotional turmoil.

The swirling madness threatens to pull us back into its grasp.

“I won’t rest until I find out what you’re hiding.” His voice is molten steel, the blade sharp and deadly.

It helps. His anger keeps me tethered to the deep waters, where I should be instead of daydreaming about soaring in the skies.

“Well, I can’t help you there.”

I take a few more steps toward the dressing room, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“I bought the place for the night, Genevieve, ” he spits out my stage name like it’s a dirty word. “Is this how you treat your paying customers?”

The agony in my chest flares and throbs, his cruel tone slashing fresh wounds in my chest. Yes. Be angry, Steven. It’s better for us this way. It’ll never end well.

Pulling my shoulders back, I paste a fake smile on my face and turn around, finding Steven’s intense gaze boring holes into me.

A muscle tics in his jaw, his lips flattening in displeasure, very much like the day he ripped into his team in the conference room, his control barely held together by the thinnest string.

“Why, Mr. Kingsley, that was remiss of me. I forgot you were my paying customer. Please forgive me for my oversight.” I stride toward the control panel in the corner, my fingers shaking as I hit play on the random shuffle mode for the music .

Walking back toward him, my feet falter as I hear the first chords of “You’re My Stars” radiating from the surround-sound speakers, every sultry beat and aching melody wrapping around my heart in a firm grip.

My eyes flash to Steven, finding his gaze impenetrable, a bottomless pool of black. His own chest rises and falls rapidly. His hands are clenched tightly, fingers digging into the plush seating.

I remember how he stood up on the stage at Lunasia, slowly rolling up his sleeves, revealing his sexy, muscular arms. How I wanted to trace the veins there and to kiss the tension out of his frame.

Resuming my walk, my heart kicking against my rib cage, I approach him and gently push his tense shoulders back so he’s settled on the sofa.

Slowly, I crawl on top of him, my legs straddling his, and I take my first inhale of his intoxicating scent, which rushes in my veins like a shot of adrenaline, giving me an instant high.

The song plays in the background and I sway my hips over his lap, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

His nostrils flare and the inky darkness of his pupils completely overtakes the amber hues.

His lips part and our breathing mingle in the mere inches between us, cloaking us in a sensual haze.

An aching heat climbs up my body, my skin feeling fevered as I press closer to his hips, rotating my ass in a way I know men love, and a moan escapes my lips as my chest grazes his.

Everything is different with him. The heavy-lidded gaze, the harsh pants of his breath, from any other man would make me cringe with revulsion, but with him…

it makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never had before.

I inch my dress up and settle my bottom firmly on his lap, my core clenching as his hard erection hits my clit. He hisses, his hands finding my waist.

I throw my head back and thrust my breasts toward his face, my nipples pebbling under the crystal pasties I had on tonight. Everything feels so heavy, so sensitive.

Belatedly, I realize his hands are on my body, and I wrench them away and whisper, my voice a throaty moan, “You can’t touch me. Those are the rules.”

Gritting his teeth, his nostrils flaring, he gives me a terse nod and fists his hands to the sides of his lap.

I slowly unclasp the fastening behind my neck.

I’ve never done a private lap dance for anyone before.

It wasn’t something I was comfortable doing, but somehow, when I saw him sitting here, all his coiled energy and banked tension focused on me, I couldn’t stop myself.

I want to drive him crazy with need, like he has ever since I met him.

You have all the power.

Camille’s words echo in my brain, and for the first time, I believe her.

What else could explain the fevered gaze in Steven’s eyes, the way his lips are parted in a half snarl, the way his muscles are locked and tense, like he’s using all his remaining restraint to stop himself from reaching for me?

The thought gives me another rush of euphoria and I slowly let the top of my dress fall to my waist as I lean back on his lap, my hips ghosting over his steel rod in a rhythm driving me wild. I can feel my breasts swaying, mere inches away from his face.

“Fuck me,” he groans as I straighten back up, my hands skimming my stomach before curling around each breast, playing with the heaviness, pushing them together, squeezing them, molding them.

Every sensation is a caress straight to my core, and I can feel myself leaking out of my thong, but I couldn’t care less.

The song crests, the singer belting out, “You’re my stars in the skies, my everlasting high…our souls intertwined…”

I let out a whimper. The music. His body heat. The way his hardness yields to my softness. The way everything feels too sensitive, too raw.

My eyes flutter open, finding his heavy, half-lidded gaze moving from my aching breasts mere inches away from his mouth to my parted lips as I let out another moan .

The sensations in my pussy heighten with every pass over the tent on his pants and the last vestiges of rational thought leave my mind as I bear down on him, grinding my clit along his length.

“Holy fuck,” he growls as his hips arch up, thrusting into me.

His hands find the tops of my ass and his fingers dig in so tightly it almost hurts, but only adds to the maddening pleasure gathering between us. The thought he shouldn’t be touching me barely registers because I need his hands on me more than I need my next breath of air.

I gyrate and move faster, my tits shaking and swaying to the song.

His nose skims the tips of my breasts, his teeth making an appearance as he scrapes across the tender flesh.

I mewl, my body bouncing on him harder, the burning heat gathering between my legs like a storm.

His thrusts are stronger, every movement swiping precisely past my entrance to my clit, unleashing fresh torrents of wetness, no doubt leaving a mark on his slacks.

But I don’t care. My mind is on hiatus, my body a slave to the sensations only this man can provide to me.

He brings his lips up to my neck, softly kissing and sucking the tender column as I fall back once more, bouncing on his hard cock, which I’m surprised hasn’t dug a hole out of his pants yet.

He nips and grazes my pulse points and growls, “Yes, you greedy girl, make yourself come on the cock that has been hard only for you for the past nine months.”

His words belatedly register in my mind as the sharp pleasure builds to an aching point and I bear down, rubbing his tip over my swollen nub and everything explodes in a flash of white light and glittering stars.

I let out a throaty scream, and he smashes his lips on mine, his hips thrusting erratically, humping my wet, thong-clad pussy.

His tongue dives in and he conquers my mouth in a blazing heat and a thousand sensations, prolonging my orgasm, as the walls of my pussy throb in aftershocks.

With a loud groan, he shakes against me, his mouth still tangling with mine, as if trying to swallow me whole. I feel a wet warmth seeping from his pants, and he drops his head onto my breasts, his mouth panting heavily, his breaths sending shivers over my damp, sweat coated tits.

Another song is playing from the speaker now as my body cools down from the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had, and we didn’t even have sex.

The sounds of our breathing are harsh in the room and a renewed heat crawls up my face as I realize what we just did, how I performed my first lap dance for him and came all over his lap.

Belated horror crashes into the party, an unwelcome guest, and I scramble off his lap, my hands shaking while I adjust my dress and pull everything back in place.

My legs wobble and my eyes finally sweep back up toward his face and what I see sends another scorching heatwave through me.

Fevered eyes. Parted, swollen lips. My lipstick smudged on his face.

His hands are curled against his lap in tight fists once more as he sits there, stupefied, his nostrils flaring, like he wants to haul me back into his arms and finish what we started.

My core clenches, feeling empty, needy, achy for him, and I quickly back away a few more paces.

“Hope my performance was satisfactory, Mr. Kingsley. And you’re banned from Trésor from now on. You can’t disrupt my life like this.” If I explain to Sofia about the situation, she’ll back me up. I know she will.

He flinches.

And like a coward, I run away.