Page 3 of Watch Me

“All the girls here have the same kind of name. I wanted something with… gravitas.”

“Gravitas?”

This time, he throws his head back and laughs, and it’s the most intoxicating sound I’ve ever heard. His whole body vibrates with it.

I have the absurd urge to hug him—to bury my nose in his neck, press my body against his, and breathe in his smell.

“This is the last place on Earth I expected to hear a word like gravitas.” He narrows his eyes at me like he’s trying to figure me out, and the crinkles around them look sexy as hell. “How about Salomé? She was a ‘renowned seductress’ as well. And a dancer.”

I almost drop my bra in surprise. “That’s actually a great suggestion! Salomé. That’s biblical, right?”

“Mm-hm.” He presses his lips together to contain his smile, but his eyes still twinkle at me. We’re sharing a moment so unlike any moment I’ve ever had with a client before—a real moment, genuine and so close that I wonder what it would be like to just lean forward and spontaneously kiss him.

Instead, I just grin stupidly at him until he breaks eye contact first, dropping his eyes to my arm, where he lightly lifts my loose bra strap and says, “Now, where were we?”

Ah yes.

My job.

Mentally, I shake my head to get back into character, to drop the veil back down between us again and become… well, Salomé, this time. I squeeze my breasts together, let the bra drop into my palms, and then slowly pull it away.

“Good.” He exhales and stares at my body, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

Since I started giving lap dances, a lot of hands have been on me, but very few of them have been welcome. They’re just part of the job, part of offering my body up for money. But tonight, I want Nick’s hands on me. I’m craving his touch. I slip my fingers into his and slide his palms up my body until they’re cupping my breasts, his warmth pulling blood to the surface of my skin, giving me goosebumps.

His dark eyes are black with heat when he lifts them to mine. Such beautiful dark eyes—just like Tate’s, I try not to think. They may kind of look like Tate’s, but Tate has never looked at me this way.

“How does it feel,” he asks me, “when you’re on stage, knowing that all the eyes in the room are on you?”

“Oh, I don’t mind it at all,” I answer truthfully, circling my hips and pushing my breasts against his hands. “I’ve been performing for years.”

“I mean, how does it feel to have all those eyes on you when you’re naked? Men looking at your breasts, your pussy. How does it feel to perform for a room full of men who want to fuck you?”

His eyes search mine, looking for my reaction. But if he’s trying to shock me, he’s got the wrong girl. I know exactly what stripping is, and I know exactly why I do it.

“I like it. It turns me on to expose myself.”

Maybe I thought I would shock him back. But it’s clear he likes my answer because his lips curl at the corners, and his black eyes flash at me with even more interest.

“Why does it turn you on?” he asks. “Articulate it.”

“Articulate it?” I tease, lifting an eyebrow. “Is this a college class? Perverts 101?”

He indulges me with a smile but insists. “Tell me.”

It’s his dance, his time. If he wants to hear me expound on my inclinations as an exhibitionist, that’s his choice. So I search myself, as I have a hundred times in my life, for the reasons I want to be watched and give him a thoughtful answer.

“It’s about vulnerability, I guess.” I suppress a shiver as he brushes his thumbs against my nipples. “And power. Being naked in a room full of clothed people makes me vulnerable, but it also makes me feel more alive. More real. This, conversely, gives me power. If the men in the room, as you say, want me, then I have power over them. I have power because I have what they want—I am what they want.”

Even just talking about it turns me on. Some of my kinkiest fantasies involve being the only naked person in the room—something similar to what I experience at work, only this time I’m available for everyone to use… and use, and use, and use…

As if he can read my filthy thoughts, Nick’s eyes burn so hard with interest, it’s like watching kindling take fire.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “That’s good.”

I swivel my hips again, and this time I brush against a hard ridge in his crotch.

He’s hard.

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