pole, slender fingers wrapped around the metal rod.
An image of Thorn's cock and my hand collides with the image in front of me. My imagination rolls with that scene. My breaths come hard and fast. I curse him.
Kiki slings her leg around the pole and spins. That gorgeous hair tips back and grazes the ground at her feet.
She jerks herself up and drops in a crouch, ass to heels, and slides up, letting her sex barely touch the pole between her hands.
Kiki hops, her legs apart and thrusts forward, letting the bar split her through the hot pink leotard. I watch the lips of her pussy wrap the pole. She moves backward... and forward.
I'm dumbstruck.
She pops her eyes open. “Getting this, Simone?” She humps the bar then slides down.
She reverses her position, showing me her ass, and slides down the pole, her butt spread wide.
Then she jiggles it all the way up the pole.
Kiki takes off the top of her two-piece leotard with a tweak of a tie and spins it away.
It floats to one of the tables and lands over the unlit jar candle in the center.
Her naked breasts heave as she spins around the pole in a huge loop and dive. Her head tips back, and her tits move backward toward her neck.
She pops up, grabbing her breasts. She uses her hands as a pseudo bra and lifts, sculpting them like a push-up.
“See how it works?” she asks.
A male voice says from the back, “I do.”
I turn toward a tall man in a suit I know is hand-tailored for his body.
And what a body he has.
Deliberately sloppy dark blond hair dumps over deep golden-brown eyebrows, and his eyes are so light blue they're like glaciers. They pierce the gloom, miss me entirely, and tag on Kiki.
She looks as though she wants to barf. She's disrobed in front of all kinds of men, so why does this one make her stare like a wounded deer caught in headlights.
The guy strolls to where her pink top landed a few minutes ago, and he picks it up with two fingers.
His hand moves to his nose, the pink strings dangling from tapered and elegant fingers. He inhales deeply, a secret smile playing on his lips.
God.
I watch it play out in high-def.
Kiki is covering her breasts, her eyes round. “This isn't funny, Chet.”
I turn back to the man approaching the stage.
Cocky.
My eyes scan him head to toe.
Rich.
Italian shoes, hand-engineered cologne. The bouquet sits just out of my memory's reach.
His button-down shirt appears casual, but the cufflinks easily cost three thousand dollars, platinum with small glittering diamonds.
Jet black.
Chet dumps his expensive suit coat over the back of one of he chairs as his thighs press against the lip of the stage.
My eyes move to Kiki, who resiliently stands her ground.
“Give me the top, Chet.”
He shakes his head, and all that gorgeous hair slides around his neck, a cascade of low gold that nearly touches his shoulders.
He folds his arms, the halter top embedded between heavily muscled arms that stretch the pale lavender shirt.
“No,” he answers softly. “Come and get it.”
So far, Chet doesn't notice me.
“I'm training here, Sinclair,” she says.
Kiki desperately throws a pass.
I fumble but receive.
I turn to look at him, and those eyes nail me like icy bullets.
A flutter of moments pass while he takes me in. Then he dismisses me, and I instantly feel better, as though a cloud has passed over sun too hot to bear.
“That's not relevant, Kiki.”
She stomps a high heel, and Chet smirks.
“So is this, chump. Why are you here? For Mick? Use the phone, asshole.”
I cover my mouth as Thorn enters the stage.
The music thumps and the lights continue to pound Kiki with falling slices of color.
Thorn walks right up to Chet and takes a long look at him. His eyes fall over Chet’s shoulder at me, then move to Kiki. He lingers longest on her, and jealousy that is both instant and vicious sinks into me like smoke through cracks.
I seethe, hating myself for caring.
She’s a half-naked woman. It makes sense
An image of Thorn's cock and my hand collides with the image in front of me. My imagination rolls with that scene. My breaths come hard and fast. I curse him.
Kiki slings her leg around the pole and spins. That gorgeous hair tips back and grazes the ground at her feet.
She jerks herself up and drops in a crouch, ass to heels, and slides up, letting her sex barely touch the pole between her hands.
Kiki hops, her legs apart and thrusts forward, letting the bar split her through the hot pink leotard. I watch the lips of her pussy wrap the pole. She moves backward... and forward.
I'm dumbstruck.
She pops her eyes open. “Getting this, Simone?” She humps the bar then slides down.
She reverses her position, showing me her ass, and slides down the pole, her butt spread wide.
Then she jiggles it all the way up the pole.
Kiki takes off the top of her two-piece leotard with a tweak of a tie and spins it away.
It floats to one of the tables and lands over the unlit jar candle in the center.
Her naked breasts heave as she spins around the pole in a huge loop and dive. Her head tips back, and her tits move backward toward her neck.
She pops up, grabbing her breasts. She uses her hands as a pseudo bra and lifts, sculpting them like a push-up.
“See how it works?” she asks.
A male voice says from the back, “I do.”
I turn toward a tall man in a suit I know is hand-tailored for his body.
And what a body he has.
Deliberately sloppy dark blond hair dumps over deep golden-brown eyebrows, and his eyes are so light blue they're like glaciers. They pierce the gloom, miss me entirely, and tag on Kiki.
She looks as though she wants to barf. She's disrobed in front of all kinds of men, so why does this one make her stare like a wounded deer caught in headlights.
The guy strolls to where her pink top landed a few minutes ago, and he picks it up with two fingers.
His hand moves to his nose, the pink strings dangling from tapered and elegant fingers. He inhales deeply, a secret smile playing on his lips.
God.
I watch it play out in high-def.
Kiki is covering her breasts, her eyes round. “This isn't funny, Chet.”
I turn back to the man approaching the stage.
Cocky.
My eyes scan him head to toe.
Rich.
Italian shoes, hand-engineered cologne. The bouquet sits just out of my memory's reach.
His button-down shirt appears casual, but the cufflinks easily cost three thousand dollars, platinum with small glittering diamonds.
Jet black.
Chet dumps his expensive suit coat over the back of one of he chairs as his thighs press against the lip of the stage.
My eyes move to Kiki, who resiliently stands her ground.
“Give me the top, Chet.”
He shakes his head, and all that gorgeous hair slides around his neck, a cascade of low gold that nearly touches his shoulders.
He folds his arms, the halter top embedded between heavily muscled arms that stretch the pale lavender shirt.
“No,” he answers softly. “Come and get it.”
So far, Chet doesn't notice me.
“I'm training here, Sinclair,” she says.
Kiki desperately throws a pass.
I fumble but receive.
I turn to look at him, and those eyes nail me like icy bullets.
A flutter of moments pass while he takes me in. Then he dismisses me, and I instantly feel better, as though a cloud has passed over sun too hot to bear.
“That's not relevant, Kiki.”
She stomps a high heel, and Chet smirks.
“So is this, chump. Why are you here? For Mick? Use the phone, asshole.”
I cover my mouth as Thorn enters the stage.
The music thumps and the lights continue to pound Kiki with falling slices of color.
Thorn walks right up to Chet and takes a long look at him. His eyes fall over Chet’s shoulder at me, then move to Kiki. He lingers longest on her, and jealousy that is both instant and vicious sinks into me like smoke through cracks.
I seethe, hating myself for caring.
She’s a half-naked woman. It makes sense
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