“There you are,” she says, sounding relieved. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Kota says you’re needed in the VIP lounge.” Her brown eyes flicker with amusement as her gaze drops to the foot I have planted in the sink basin.
It’s the best relief I can get from those damn shoes, and I don’t feel the least bit bashful about it. I lift my chin toward the paper towel dispenser, and Bernice rips a couple off, stretching her arm out to hand them to me.
“Did he say who it was?” Sometimes we get regulars. They’re easy, because they’re predictable.
But Bernice’s scrunched nose tells me I won’t like her answer. “Nope.”
I sigh. After the day I’ve had, I’m not in the mood to entertain. “Well, do you know who it is?”
“Nope.”
Great. This guy had better leave a big tip. “Let him know I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Will do, but a word to the wise, I wouldn’t keep him waiting too long. The guy looks important.” With a small smile, she ducks back out.
I sigh as I dry my feet and slip them back into the six-inch platforms. They pinch as I leave the bathroom, and I barely manage to paste on my happy face. I try to look on the bright side. I guess I’ll get to put on a show after all.
***
The VIP room is located at the end of the single dark hall located off the main floor and to the right of the bar. It’s lit by diffused neon pink lights and each of the six doors leading up to the last is closed, indicating that they’re all in use. As I reach the end of the hall, I feel a flutter of nervous anticipation. I never know what I’m going to find once I open that door. One man, or two? Hot or not? There’s no telling, but Bernice’s words about him looking important give me a small ray of hope. Whatever the situation that I am about to walk into is, it’s going to be more intimate than walking out onto that stage. And it’s going to pay even better.
My hand shakes as I turn the handle and walk inside.
The room is larger than the rest, big enough for a party of twenty to fit into the bank of red leather booths forming a semi-circle along the far wall. Kota claims the leather gives customers the impression that the establishment is classy. In reality, anything looks classy when the only source of light comes from a fluorescent tube. It’s just easier to clean up the mess when they’re through. A circular stage with four gleaming silver metal poles sits in front of the booth and takes up the majority of the center of the room. The wet bar to my right ensures that bachelors can get shitfaced while they have their dicks teased, but tonight, it stands empty.
This evening’s venue is small, and as I set my eyes on the two figures seated directly across from me, I find myself wishing for a party.
A woman a few years older than me dressed in a black pencil skirt and plunging red blouse that matches her lipstick gives me an eager, heated look as I enter the room. She looks like a firecracker, and I decide to call her Red. Ten to one, this was her idea. Probably looking to spice things up in the bedroom. This often happens with couples coming for a dance together. It makes no difference to me. Money is money, and it’s not my place to judge someone else’s relationship. But I am judging, because I recognize the person beside her, the face staring back at me. I’d recognize that easy, laid back pose and those dark eyes anywhere.
Maybe it wasn’t her idea, after all.
My worlds have collided again—merging like pools of mismatched paint spilled across the linoleum floor. I hadn’t expected to see my mystery man again, but here he is, sitting in front of me, waiting for me to touch him. It’s enough to steal my breath.
I don’t know what he’s doing here, and I hate that he brought someone with him, but I can’t stop my eyes from eating up every inch of his delectable frame. He is a vision in a black suit, the first few buttons on his crisp white shirt undone to reveal a smattering of chest hair. As if that wasn’t enough to convince me that he was up to no good, the crimson glow bathing him from above, makes him look like the devil—utterly sinful and impossible to deny.
Professor Scott’s reluctance to reveal who he was meeting is no longer such a mystery. I wonder if he brought her here just to see how I’d react, maybe even as a punishment for attempting to dig for information. It’s something I can see him doing. Whoever this woman is, she must be from out-of-town, because I certainly don’t recognize her. I doubt very much that Professor Scott expected to run into his lover inside his classroom, just like I never expected for him to be one of my instructors. But my mystery man? Every move he makes is deliberate. Calculated. I have no doubt that tonight is a test of some kind.
I am out of my element. I feel betrayed, but at the same time, I remind myself there was never any commitment between us. Still, I can’t shake the vision of him doing to her what he does to me in that hotel room.
Has she taken my place?
The thoughts racing through my head make me sick to my stomach. I’m a wobbling mess, and I need a fucking drink to calm my nerves, but to his credit, Professor Scott appears completely at ease. And why shouldn’t he? He’s the one pulling the strings here. It makes me wonder how often he does this. Although the knot that formed in my stomach the second I entered the door is becoming tighter and tighter with each step I take, he shows no signs of emotion. I can’t tell if he’s bothered by my presence, or if he’s anticipating what’s to come.
I’d like to think that’s anticipation I’m reading in his eyes. Even though I never expected to give one of my professors a lap dance, I can’t deny that a part of me is elated that I finally get the opportunity to get even closer to the man who has dominated my every thought and emotion for months. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I shouldn’t even care that he has a girlfriend. He’s entered my domain, and if anyone should be feeling uncomfortable right now, it’s him. Tonight, I intend to show him what it feels like to be dominated.
Bolstered by this realization, I focus on the fact that I get to do to him what he has always done to me—sweet torture is my specialty. If he behaves, I might even let him touch me. The very idea of it makes me wet.
With slow, practiced movements, I set my knee on the stage and proceed to crawl across it. My eyes hold Professor Scott’s as I twist around, seat myself on the edge, and plant my heels on either side of his and the woman’s legs, spreading mine open wide. Professor’s gaze drops to my crotch, and I smirk at the hunger I see in them.
It’s the shot of courage I need.
“First rule: No talking.” My voice cracks like a whip, bringing both their attention to my face. This isn’t a house rule, but one of my own. I like my performances uninterrupted, and talking tends to ruin the mood. “If I ask you a question, a simple nod or shake of the head is all you need.
“Second rule: No touching. I will touch you, but you will not touch me…unless I let you,” I add with a sultry smile as I meet Professor Scott’s scorching gaze. He’s no stranger to this rodeo. He knows the rules. But I have no doubt he’ll break them in an instant if given an opening.
“Do we understand each other?” They both nod and my smile grows wider. “Excellent. Now, are we looking for a simple lap dance?”
The woman nods quickly, but her expression turns doubtful when she notices Professor sitting still as stone. My smile turns inward as I sense trouble on the horizon for this budding couple. I have no idea how long they’ve been together, but not knowing what each other wants is a sure sign of bad things to come. I know what he wants. I know exactly the kinds of dirty, nasty things get him off. Can she say the same?
“Since we’re not on the same page, let’s see if we can’t get us there.” I look at the woman, meeting her plain brown eyes. “For a basic dance, I’ll start on the stage and work my way down to you two, clothes on at all times. If you’re looking for more, clothes come off. Another step higher? I’ll touch and fondle, get your man off, above or below the pants, and if I’m in the mood, I might let you touch me in return.