Page 50 of The Heartbreaker
She walked to the middle of the stage and gave the crowd a curtsy.
The crowd fucking roared, and the cash was already flying toward the stage before she even made her way to the pole. But once she was there, she pressed her back against the metal, slowly lowering until she was squatting. She gave several more smiles, teasing with the briefest sway of her hips, her legs then shooting out from each side, landing in a split.
That got the men to fucking scream.
A few were on their feet, hovering on the side of the stage, throwing bill after bill in her direction.
Addy didn’t get up. She didn’t move closer to them. She bounced in that position, holding the pole behind her, showing the men just how she would ride their cock if she were straddling them.
Another thought I didn’t fucking like at all.
After a few more beats of Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music,” she pulled herself onto her knees, unhooking the skirt, and she left it by the pole as she got on all fours and crawled toward the men who were standing for her. She kept her distance, but due to the narrow stage, she was still within reach. With her ass planted down, her legs spread, the thong covering as much as it could, she gave those men a taste of my dinner.
A hint of what I’d gotten to devour and what I planned on eating again tonight.
My fingers clenched around the stem of the glass as I glared at the crowd that was forming, at the money that was being flung at her, at the thought that each of these men was going to go home and beat off to this memory of her.
I was one of them. I’d jerked off to her pussy every fucking night this week.
Addy unlatched her bra, tossing the lace toward her skirt, giving her breasts a heavy, hearty shake.
There was another eruption among the men—cheers and hollers. But their attention on her was no longer my focus.
Because Addy had slowly lifted her gaze and connected it with mine.
A redness passed across every inch of her as she took in my eyes, a flush that ended at the hard, pebbled peaks of her nipples … which she was now squeezing.
Making my hard-on fucking throb.
TWELVE
Addison
What is Ridge doing here?
That thought repeated in my head as I stood in the middle of the stage, wearing only a thong, my hands circling my breasts, my fingers sliding toward my nipples—a move that I knew would make the men in the audience go wild.
And it did.
There were moans and shouts, and for every second I held them, squeezing the peaks, acting as though it was the most satisfying sensation in the world, more money was thrown onto the stage.
It wasn’t like I was counting the seconds, stalled in this position to see how much I could make. The reason I didn’t move was because I was frozen, unable to drag my eyes away from Ridge’s stare—a stare that was making me feel completely lost and filling me with even more questions.
Why did he come back to see me? Hadn’t I made myself clear?
But, really, was I surprised he was here?
Did I secretly want him to be?
I turned my back to him, slowly bending over to give the crowd a view of my ass, the way I could shake it—first with each cheek individually and then both cheeks together.
The move, one I’d perfected over my last couple of shifts, caused an uproar in the audience. So, I gave them several more sways while balancing on heels that were equivalent to standing on needles.
Was Ridge looking?
Did it matter?
I glanced over my shoulder, bypassing the eyes of the first couple of rows to focus on the middle, where he was sitting. He didn’t have to lift his gaze, dragging it from my ass to my face. Because, like he’d told me, he was one of the good guys, and the good guy’s eyes were already locked with mine.
