Dance for Me

Chapter Nine

I take a double shot of whiskey as I stand offstage waiting to be announced. As happy as I am to have this opportunity fall into my lap, I would be lying if I said I wasn't a nervous wreck. In the span of ten minutes, I have considered twenty different ways to back out. I can't shake the thought that this isn't my show. I'm not supposed to be up there. I haven't earned this.

To be honest, despite the financial benefits, I'm not sure I want this.

Being a headliner means standing under a different kind of spotlight. Even though most of these men are regulars, I don't know how keen I am with the idea of being their central focus. And I will be if I go through with this.

This was never Plan A or B. Stripping was a mean to an end. Going up on that stage tonight could change everything, but I'd be stupid to pass this up. I just want to make my money and leave. That's been my goal since day one, and it's my goal tonight.

As Felicia's song ends and she steps offstage, I pull at the hem of my shirt and straighten the tie hanging between my breasts. Tonight, I'm going farther than I ever have before. The idea that Ransom could be out there watching makes every cell in my body ignite. But it's only Wednesday.

My feet teeter in my heels as I step up the single stair onto the stage and stand just beyond the curtains, out of sight.

The room is plunged into darkness, as per my usual request. It gives me the time I need to walk onto the stage unnoticed, and take my place. Stretching my arm up, I let my head fall back and close my eyes.

Blue lights begin to spin around the room, fog crawls across the stage, and I hear Kota's growl over the sound system as he announces me. There are no cheers, no clapping hands, just the music as it filters down from the ceiling and expands throughout the building. Then the spotlight hits me, and I begin to move.

"Hot for Teacher" is my song of choice, kind of a personal joke. I know Ransom isn't here to hear it, but if he was, I imagine he'd be laughing right along with me. As I grind my hips and do my turns around the pole, I find myself hoping that he is here. I lack the guts to look. Even though I am used to the job, I will never get used to the exposure of it. Power or not, the idea of performing in front of a crowd is unnerving. The only way to survive the anxiety that threatens to creep up on me is to ignore everything and just dance.

The music consumes me, and I remind myself that this is a special performance. In order to be the head dog, I have to perform like one. Channeling my inner vixen, the one that gyrated in her lover-slash-professor's lap while his girlfriend watched, I drag my palms over my hips and up my sides, following the swell of my breasts as they continue to climb higher. Lifting my long hair, I release my top and let it flutter to the stage.

Every woman has a favorite part of their body. Mine are my breasts. They're round and full with smooth, pale skin and pert pink nipples. Any man I've ever been with has had nothing but nice things to say about them, so I am confident in showing them off now.

It's as I stand, whipping my hair back from my face, that I feel the intensity of His stare. I can't see past the gloom I've set for myself, but I know he's here. My insides turn molten instantly as I drop to my knees and thrust my hips. I'm on fire, thinking of our earlier kiss, of the way his hands feel on my skin, the scorching heat of his body against mine.

I can't think straight, and when the music ends, I miss my cue. The lights rise before I do, and I feel the horror of seeing dozens of eyes plastered to my naked body, but then my gaze lands on one set in particular and a curious sense of calm comes over me.

Ransom's smirk is contagious, and as he leaves his table and makes his way toward me, anticipation pours over me like hot candle wax—breathtaking, scalding, thrilling.