Open For Business || J.JK

1

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
♫ 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙢𝙚- 𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙩 ♫

𝙔/𝙣

Laughter and conversation floated around the room faintly, bypassing my ears like an unimportant lecture. When I'm up here, it's almost impossible to distract me. Nothing is more important in this moment than connecting with the audience through my performance.

Sweat is starting to bead on my skin, traveling in slow and steady trails down my neck. I release a soft exhale before dropping to my knees. In the same breath I crawled forward and progressed enough to recapture a few gentlemen in the front row.

With every beat of the song I picked for the week blaring through the speakers, my back arched further meaning I picked up a few howls from the audience.

My lips parted. My heart is beating out of my chest but in a good way. The way that makes me feel alive and charged with heat. This energy is the type that allows me to dance up here 4 days a week without second guessing myself. The energy mustered by my passion for dance and sexuality all at once.

That's the best I can do. It's truly indescribable.

Wisps of paper brushed my skin as the choreo advanced. From all directions. Testosterone crackled in the air, and instead of shrinking into it's potency, I thrived in it.

The white stage lights lining the ceiling above me were the only strong light source in the club. As you make your way further from the stage or the entrance, you might find yourself in a dim lit corner. When I first started working here, the girls told me that the lack of lighting was to ensure the audiences attention on us when we dance.

It's also, "mood lighting." Gets guys hot and ditzy apparently. Gets them ready to mindlessly throw commission at us on stage.

Anyway, the lighting situation works to my advantage because I can avoid getting distracted by the crowd. If it does happen (which is a rare occurrence), my eyes are drifting to a familiar left corner of the bar. Second seat away from the wall.

That's where he sat every four nights to watch my set.

Tonight I managed to catch a glimpse of his outfit. He's wearing what I believed to be black jeans and a barely-buttoned white button up shirt. His hand clenched around his glass, slowly raising the amber nectar to his lips and taking a sip. Tension lined his features beneath the fringe of his dark waves. His eyes locked with mine briefly before I shook off his gaze.

My throat bobbed with a swallow.

I wanted to curse myself for looking over there. It's happened a couple of times so he must not be surprised, but I don't know why my body physically reacts to him when it does. My cheeks are burning like hell. I rolled my eyes then flipped my hair over my shoulder and teased at one of the bra straps.

For some insane, out of world reason, I'm hyperaware of my bosses presence tonight. It might be because I'm ovulating, or because of how personal this song is to me, but I'm almost embarrassed to go on with my dance tonight.

Thankfully, I got my mind at ease by the time I made it to the pole dance.

And once I wrapped up I practically moaned with relief. I needed a cold towel behind my neck and Tylenol. And maybe some alone time in my room tonight with my vibrator.