Ivy swallowed hard, her throat dry. She couldn’t even form words, terrified that her voice would betray her identity. Every instinct screamed at her to run. How in the hell was she supposed to give her former boss a lap dance? Winn—the man she had once drunkenly begged to touch her, the man whose lips had found hers not once but twice, scorching her soul both times. And now here she was, dressed in scraps of glittering fabric, her mask the only fragile barrier between them. If she touched him now, if she felt the heat of his body against hers, she feared she might ignite.
"Is this forty thousand dollars worth of a lap dance?" Winn finally broke the silence. His eyebrow arched. He watched her fumble with the edge of her mask, the way her fingers trembled just slightly before she pulled her hand away. Then she bit her lip—ah yes, that familiar habit of hers. She always bit her lip when she was cornered, when she wanted to curse him out. He felt a pulse of heat shoot down his spine just watching it.
She turned her back awkwardly, desperate for a moment of reprieve from that piercing gaze. The music changed, Usher’s "In This Club" filling the booth with its pulsing beat. She forced herself to breathe, to summon the same confidence she used when working the pole. She closed her eyes for half a beat, reminding herself: he’s just another man, just another client. She whispered that lie over and over until her body finally obeyed. Her hips began to sway, slowly at first, testing the rhythm, until the music took control.
She stepped closer, then let herself sink down into his open lap, the leather creaking beneath them. Her body brushed his as she shimmied back and forth, forcing herself to treat him as if he were faceless, nameless, just another shadow in the booth. But she felt every inch of him beneath her, and her pulse spiked so violently she was sure he could feel it. Each shift of her hips pressed her against him in ways that left no doubt: this dance was going to cost her more than forty thousand dollars.
Winn held back a groan, his jaw tightening as his cock sprang to life instantly, straining against the fabric of his trousers.
He let his hand glide slowly around her waist. His palm burned against her bare skin, the thin strip of fabric doing nothing to stop the searing heat of his touch. Then, with sudden authority, he gripped her tighter, pulling her flush against him. Ivy gasped, her breath sharp, betraying her surprise. She froze for a heartbeat. She told herself she should shove his hand away, that she should remember why she wore the mask, why she was here. But he was Winn. He had always been Winn. And the dangerous truth was, she didn’t want to say no.
"You feel that?" he whispered against her ear. His breath was hot. "That’s what you do to me." Her body tensed, then trembled. And oh, did she feel it. His cock was hard, pressing against her through his trousers, throbbing with every subtle movement she made. It was undeniable, unignorable.
"Move." Ivy obeyed. She had no will left not to. She kept the rhythm up, rolling her hips as the music swelled around them. Her ass brushed against his cock through the fabric, each drag of her body over his making her pulse stutter, making his breath hitch.
Heat pooled between her thighs, and she could feel herself growing wet against the thin barrier of lace that did nothing to keep her modesty intact. She wanted to moan so badly, wanted to let the sound escape and fill the booth, to let him know what he was doing to her.
And the way she heard him grunt behind her—oh Lord, it was over for her. Her hands moved of their own volition, sliding down and finding his thighs. She gripped him hard, nails biting into the fabric of his pants as if she needed to anchor herself to reality, or else she’d float away on the storm of desire rattling her chest. She was pulsing in places she didn’t even know she could feel alive, every nerve in her body screaming, touch me, take me, ruin me.
Emboldened by her surrender, Winn shifted, his control fraying with every second. His fingers slid between her thighs—not quite touching her heat. It was a wicked tease, the promise of his touch, the shadow of what she wanted most. His other hand rose higher, curling around the curve of her ribcage before hovering dangerously at the swell of her breasts. He just let his hand linger. His restraint was killing him, and he knew it was killing her too.
In his head, Winn cursed himself. He wanted to marry this woman. He wanted her to stand by his side, to save his business. But here he was. His cock strained painfully.
Before he could stop himself, Winn spun her to the side, pulling her effortlessly until she lay cradled in his arms. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, still clinging to the fragile illusion that the mask protected her identity. She thought the shadows were her shield. He let her keep the lie, for now, because it made her reckless. Because it let her come to him. The rightful source is novel[f]ire.net
Questions burned in his mind. Why tonight? Why had she changed her mind after weeks of refusal? Why didn’t she keep saying no, the way she always did? Maybe if she had, maybe if she’d stayed away, things wouldn’t have spiraled into this messy, tangled knot between them. He could have kept his walls, his focus, his sanity. But now? Now he knew she wanted him too. Maybe not in words, maybe not even fully in thought. The hunger was mutual, a dangerous reciprocity.
His hand traced down the elegant line of her throat, his thumb brushing the frantic pulse beating there. She was alive in his arms, trembling, resisting and surrendering all at once. He leaned down slowly, his lips hovering a breath away, giving her a chance to stop him. She didn’t. She couldn’t. And then he bent his head and kissed her.