Kimberly Dean - Private Dancer

Her toes curled again, remembering that floor. That pole!

His eyes narrowed and the spark turned into something more calculating. ‘All right, here’s my deal. If you dance and you don’t enjoy it, we’ll close down the club for a month.’

Her breath caught. ‘A month?’

‘Bas,’ Remy warned from behind her.

Crowe held up his hand. ‘Will that settle the gripe with your church?’

Alicia’s lips moved, but nothing came out. It was more than she’d expected and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Her father would be thrilled with the outcome – as long as he didn’t know the means she’d used to achieve it. A month would give things time to quiet down. Church members would move on to other issues, hopefully not so volatile.

‘Yes.’

The word was out of her lips before she knew it. Before she could take it back, Bas’s chair rolled back and he stood. Behind her, a sound came from Remy as if he’d been punched in the gut.

She knew how he felt. She’d just agreed to dance for these men.

She lifted her shaky fingers to her lips. She was horrified at her impulsiveness, yet suddenly so excited, the proof was in her panties. All that heat and tightness had finally let go. She was wet.

‘Excellent,’ Bas said, moving around his desk. ‘Let’s go to wardrobe and find you something to wear.’

Her hair flew over her shoulder as her head whipped towards him. ‘What? Now?’

‘No time like the present. I want this disagreement solved.’

Hunt finally pushed himself away from the wall and was in their space. Alicia rose, not wanting to be in a submissive position next to him, but standing wasn’t much better. He towered over her and his mood buffeted her. He was not happy about this.

‘What do we get out of the deal?’ he growled.

‘If she enjoys herself, Alicia will get her father to close up shop and move on.’

She nodded mutely. That was reasonable. It would be a fight, but she could do it.

‘And she’ll dance at the club for a month.’

Her lips parted on an exhale. She couldn’t agree to that. One time was a risk, but she couldn’t dance here full time. Others would find out. The scandal would be horrific.

‘No risk, no reward,’ Crowe said with a steely smile.

Oh, he was a tricky one.

Alicia felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. Her breasts were still peaking against the soft fabric of her top and the wetness in her panties was threatening to seep into her jeans. How had she got herself into this situation? What was she supposed to do?

Dance. Nervous as she was about it, that was the one thing she knew she could do. At least once. The rest would just unfold as it would.

But the pole!

She couldn’t lie about this. She’d already seen how the dance worked, and honesty was above all else. They would know if she’d enjoyed herself.

And so would she.

‘All right,’ she agreed, steeling her spine. ‘I’ll dance on your stage.’

‘Fuck that,’ Hunt said, stepping into her space and stealing her air. ‘For a month, you’re going in the cage.’

Alicia stared at herself in the mirror, horrified and transfixed in one improbable moment. What was she doing?

Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her stomach. Thank goodness Chanteuse had helped her with her wardrobe. She doubted she could have handled trying on the Satin Club’s skimpy outfits in front of either Bas or Remy. Still, the costume she’d ended up with was little more than a bikini. Make that a little less …

Her fingers brushed against the low-riding edge of the bottoms. They barely covered her pubic hair, and she’d tried on several pairs before she’d found ones that would.

Her face flared, indescribably hot.

She kept herself tidy down there . She just didn’t realise that most of the dancers waxed. She bit her lip. The mere thought of letting some aesthetician touch her, see her private area and groom her …

Her fingers pressed against her throat. Oh, things were spiralling out of control so fast, her head was spinning.

She turned to see herself from behind. The G-string fit her like a glove, but covered much less. The tiny bands of fabric that lay against her hips continued around to the small of her back. The stretchy fabric outlined the top of her buttocks, but left them bare. She’d never, ever, displayed so much skin. Her butt looked rounded and firmed, muscled from so many years of disciplined exercise, but the thong design let a thin strap of material part her rounded cheeks and delve into the crack between them.

That intimately placed strap of fabric bit. And rubbed.

She shifted in discomfort, but the binding material only moved with her.

How was she supposed to dance in this? She’d already used the bathroom to clean herself up once. With this intimate caress following her around, she’d be in a constant state of distress.

And arousal.

Oh, heavens.

She faced the mirror again. She couldn’t go out there where everyone could see her like this! Her breasts looked plump and firm, overspilling the tiny pink cups of the bikini top. She tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of herself. She’d always been self-conscious about how full she was up top. For as sleek and toned as the rest of her body was, her curves were generous. Almost too generous for a dancer.

But that’s what they wanted her to do – dance. Dressed like this. In that dreadful, conspicuous, tempting cage.

She pressed her legs together so tightly, her ankles rubbed and her knees ground.

‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. She couldn’t stand it. Dancing was one thing, but the touching? By strangers? Men with sexual intent?

Her private area clenched, threatening to dampen again.

She doubted she’d be able to step out of this room in this get-up.

But she’d agreed to a deal.

The thought whispered through her mind. She didn’t give her word lightly, and there was a huge reward waiting if she lived up to her part. There was a reason she was here, stripped down bare. Her fingers clenched. She had a fundamental disagreement with the two men who stood somewhere outside the dressing-room door. What they called ‘pleasure’, she called ‘sin’. They might enjoy the things that went on in this club, but what about the dancers? Did they feel objectified? Ashamed? Dirty?

She hoped her church’s picketing had caused some self-analysis, but the situation had become stalled. Something needed to be done before a peaceful protest turned into something ugly. Bas had given her an opportunity to push past that barrier.

She just had to dance.

In these tiny strips of sparkly fabric.

That left her virtually naked from the back.

Her stomach twisted. ‘But you’ll get your way …’ she insisted to her reflection.

There was no way she was going to enjoy this. It was so much more than in her dream. More nerve-wracking. More scary. More immoral. Her palms were damp and her pulse was racing. The thought of walking out into the main room sent a wash of cold through her. And climbing up into that cage? She felt like she was going to be sick.

The end was worth the means, though, and the end was a foregone conclusion.

Now. She had to do it now before she lost her nerve.

The heels of her borrowed shoes clicked against the floor like a countdown clock as she walked to the door. Bas would be there to accompany her to the stage. She had to think of it as a stage, because that was what it was. Once she started thinking of it as a cage, she would lose it.

Her fingers were tremulous as she opened the door. When she saw the man waiting for her, her nipples pinched just as surely as if he’d reached out and nipped them himself.