Within the captivating world of power and allure, Cameron Miller and Anita Richards find themselves entangled in a magnetic dance of desire.
Drawn together by an irresistible connection that defies societal boundaries, the elusive CEO is consumed by...
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In my line of work no one ever really tells you, you're a therapist.
An unofficial source of comfort, draped in lace. Aside from displaying provocative dance moves for money, you have to smile, and listen.
Pretend to care about their problems.
After all the end goal is always the wallet - never the heart.
A bit harsh to say but it was true nonetheless, we give attention in exchange for something else.
It was a hard truth to swallow that nothing in this world is ever free, and you quickly realise it working in a place like Den of Desires.
My workplace.
And not to mention my personal hell.
But maybe I'm being ungrateful in my attitude towards the place. After all it was one of the most popular spots in the city and a safe space for anyone with big pockets and an appetite for places like the Den to come relax.
Under the glaring spotlight, I feel their hungry gazes devouring me, objectifying me like a piece of meat. The white lingerie does little to conceal my curves; if anything, it accentuates them, especially my posterior, mere inches from a patron's face. Despite the intrusive touch of fingers grazing my thong's lining, I maintain a neutral expression, locking eyes with a woman who slips a bill between my undergarments and skin. I hope it's a generous note.
Spinning around, I spread my legs wide apart in time with the music wearing a small grin at the feel of money cascading down my frame, the feel of the notes felt like gentle kisses along my flesh. It took a lot out of me not to just grab the money and leave the stage but as I stood up and grabbed the pole, I knew the crowd along with my boss wouldn't be happy having one of his best dancers act that way.
Spinning around I moved my legs in the manner Brooklyn had taught me and landed on my feet when the song came to an end. Wearing my usual dazzling smile at the applause, I swiftly moved off stage whilst grabbing the extra notes.
"I swear you tempt me to give women a try," Brooklyn whistled lowly when I walked into the dressing room. Rolling my jewel shaped eyes at the comment I took a seat by my station and released a heavy sigh.
"As much as I appreciate the compliment," I paused glancing briefly in her direction to purse my lips as my eyes raked over her frame in boredom, "you're not really my type."
Her hazel eyes narrowed upon me, before she scoffed, "Bullshit, I'm everyone's type."
Despite wanting to maintain a serious expression I couldn't help but laugh. In as much as I wasn't into women, I could admit Brooklyn was gorgeous. Standing at five foot nine, she had curves that could tempt anyone to worship her, with alluring cat shaped eyes and a nose similar to one you'd find on a pixie she was easily one of the favourites at the Den.
