Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I don’t say that in front of the customer, but my fists curl as I wait to explode when he escorts me to the back. Except he doesn’t guide me to the back; instead, we step into a private room.
He shuts the door behind us, then turns to look at me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Do you plan to fuck with me my entire shift?”
“Fuck with you?”
“Yes. I’m here to work and earn money. And you keep on fucking that up,” I say, frustrated.
He scoffs. “You seem to mistake me for a member instead of your boss.”
“I don’t care who you are. I only care about who’s paying.”
“I pay you to work here,” he reminds me.
His harsh blue eyes never leave mine, as if he’s studying me like I’m some sort of oddity. Then he reaches into his pocket and drops a wad of hundred-dollar bills on the table. My eyebrows furrow as he takes a seat and leans back, his arms stretching along the back of the couch as he nods to the money.
“But if that’s not enough for you, then dance,” he commands.
I don’t completely understand what his game is, but that’s a fuck ton of money that would usually take me multiple private dances to make. We don’t earn that much for a private dance unless the client is an excellent tipper. Even then, it’s very rare. There’s easily a thousand bucks on that table.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, then say, “Okay.” I approach him slowly. When I do private dances, it’s about matching the customer’s energy and anticipating their needs. Luring them to believe they’re getting more than a dance. But with Dutton, there’s an uneasy energy around him. He’s so fucking cold and calculated I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, let alone what he might want. And I don’t know if I want any fucking insight into this asshole’s mind, either.
If my boss wants me to dance for him, I will make him fall hard.
He wants my paid services, then this asshole’s about to get the most incredible show of his life.
I place my hands on his knees and separate them, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. He doesn’t blink or pull away as he watches me. It’s intimidating, but I don’t bend to the will of powerful men. I rest a knee on either side of him, pushing my tits against his body as if riding him.
“Why do you keep stopping me from working?” I ask.
“Did I ask for a conversation?” he replies.
I lean in close to his lips, careful not to touch them. It’s the first time his gaze dips lower, and I curve a satisfied smile. This man doesn’t seem like the type to let people touch him, which gives me confidence that I can rattle him. I place my hands between us and caress his inner thigh as I roam my other hand up and over his stomach to his chest.
“I want to know. You are my boss, after all.”
“Yes, and you would do well to remember that.” His gaze flicks back to mine knowingly.
It’s disturbing how I can’t seem to break through that fucking icy wall of his. I don’t dance for other men like this, ever. But I want to ruin his night the way he’s ruined mine.
But maybe I’ll have some fun in the meantime.
“Do you get all your women to dance for you?” I ask huskily as I lower my hips and start grinding them, purposefully brushing myself against his cock. I smile with satisfaction as I notice his eyes dilate.
“Only the annoying ones,” he replies, and I can tell it’s taking all his discipline to keep his hands on the back of the couch.
I smirk as I stand and turn, bending over in front of him and looking over my shoulder at him. There’s still no music playing in the room, but there seems to be a tune and rhythm only we can feel.
I sit back down on his lap, my ass directly on top of his cock. It fills me with satisfaction that he’s hard, so he’s not entirely immune to my charm.
“Some would say you’re the annoying one since you keep stopping me from working.” I move in his lap, and he keeps his eyes trained on me. “I’m a very hard worker, you know.”
“You’re working now, aren’t you?” His voice is gravelly.
“Seems very unprofessional that you’re getting me to dance for you.” I pout over my shoulder, and when I look back at him, his eyes remain an icy blue, but an inferno rages within them.
I bounce once on his lap, with a grin, and then twice, fully bringing his cock to attention. Okay, maybe I’m enjoying this way too much because I notice a sudden heat trickle into my lower abdomen. A sexual curiosity that has been dormant since Bentley’s father.