Page 10 of Promiscuous Lies

“But if that’s not enough for you, then dance,” he commands.

I don’t completely understand what his game is, but that’s a fuck ton of money that would usually take me multiple private dances to make. We don’t earn that much for a private dance unless the client is an excellent tipper. Even then, it’s very rare. There’s easily a thousand bucks on that table.

I lick my suddenly dry lips, then say, “Okay.” I approach him slowly. When I do private dances, it’s about matching the customer’s energy and anticipating their needs. Luring them to believe they’re getting more than a dance. But with Dutton, there’s an uneasy energy around him. He’s so fucking cold and calculated I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, let alone what he might want. And I don’t know if I want any fucking insight into this asshole’s mind, either.

If my boss wants me to dance for him, I will make him fall hard.

He wants my paid services, then this asshole’s about to get the most incredible show of his life.

I place my hands on his knees and separate them, keeping eye contact with him the whole time. He doesn’t blink or pull away as he watches me. It’s intimidating, but I don’t bend to thewill of powerful men. I rest a knee on either side of him, pushing my tits against his body as if riding him.

“Why do you keep stopping me from working?” I ask.

“Did I ask for a conversation?” he replies.

I lean in close to his lips, careful not to touch them. It’s the first time his gaze dips lower, and I curve a satisfied smile. This man doesn’t seem like the type to let people touch him, which gives me confidence that I can rattle him. I place my hands between us and caress his inner thigh as I roam my other hand up and over his stomach to his chest.

“I want to know. You are my boss, after all.”

“Yes, and you would do well to remember that.” His gaze flicks back to mine knowingly.

It’s disturbing how I can’t seem to break through that fucking icy wall of his. I don’t dance for other men like this,ever.But I want to ruin his night the way he’s ruined mine.

But maybe I’ll have some fun in the meantime.

“Do you get all your women to dance for you?” I ask huskily as I lower my hips and start grinding them, purposefully brushing myself against his cock. I smile with satisfaction as I notice his eyes dilate.

“Only the annoying ones,” he replies, and I can tell it’s taking all his discipline to keep his hands on the back of the couch.

I smirk as I stand and turn, bending over in front of him and looking over my shoulder at him. There’s still no music playing in the room, but there seems to be a tune and rhythm only we can feel.

I sit back down on his lap, my ass directly on top of his cock. It fills me with satisfaction that he’s hard, so he’s not entirely immune to my charm.

“Some would say you’re the annoying one since you keep stopping me from working.” I move in his lap, and he keeps his eyes trained on me. “I’m a veryhardworker, you know.”

“You’re working now, aren’t you?” His voice is gravelly.

“Seems very unprofessional that you’re getting me to dance for you.” I pout over my shoulder, and when I look back at him, his eyes remain an icy blue, but an inferno rages within them.

I bounce once on his lap, with a grin, and then twice, fully bringing his cock to attention. Okay, maybe I’m enjoying this way too much because I notice a sudden heat trickle into my lower abdomen. A sexual curiosity that has been dormant since Bentley’s father.

He smirks, as if he knows, and I hate that heseesme. His arms lift from the back of the couch, but when he goes to touch me, a knock comes at the door.

“Come in,” he commands as he lazily places his arms back where they were. I continue to move in his lap.

The door opens, and two men walk in. I haven’t seen them before. They look like criminals, and it’s obvious they’re twins. Both seem surprised to see me as they take seats near him.

Suddenly, the room crackles with dangerous energy, and I’m certain the men who just walked in are not law-abiding citizens. The bulkier one speaks first. “You paying for entertainment tonight?”

“Pay for us as well,” the one with the shoulder-length hair says, not looking up from his phone.

“You can both afford it yourselves,” Dutton says. “And, no, she will not be dancing for either of you.”

His hands finally land on my waist, halting my movements. When I look over my shoulder at him, he orders, “Take your money and leave.”

“Greedy.” The bulkier one chuckles.

“You don’t want me to finish dancing?” I ask, standing and laying my hand on his chest with a pout. I can tell he’s agitated when I put on the childish act that everyone else usually devours.

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