Page 47 of Say My Name

“Everyone get the fuck out,” a booming voice demands from above. Devereaux grips the banister of the staircase, high above everyone, looking down, his eyes pinned right on me. “Club’s closed.”

Lots of mumbled protests ensue, but he doesn’t change his mind.

“I said get the fuck out.” His stern voice echoes throughout the club, making my bones shake, and this time, they obey.

I should grab my things and go, but the weight of his stare keeps me rooted to the spot.

“Adele, get everyone out of here,” he says as she moves to the bottom of the staircase. “Employees included.”

“Well, we have to clean up.”

His knuckles turn white as he grips the railing tighter. “Leave it.”

Everyone scampers back and forth, grabbing their bags, while I watch Devereaux descend the stairs. I’m an employee, so it’s time for me to go as well, but then Devereaux is by my side, his large hand clamping down on my shoulder. “Not you, Swan.”

I swallow. Nervous energy shoots straight through me, making my legs wobble slightly on my five-inch heels.

As soon as the club’s empty, Devereaux slips his hands into his pockets. “Follow me,” he says.

I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I obey.

When he comes to the room I was in earlier, he stops and fishes his phone from his pocket. He taps on it and the power’s magically restored.

“After you,” he says, sweeping his arm in an arc toward the door.

The same beat that was playing before the power went out is back on when I step inside.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You wanted to dance tonight. You told me to watch you, so here I am.” He sits on the white couch positioned in front of the stage. “Now dance.”

I think I might be sick.

The way his eyes clock me like a predator stalking its prey has my pulse racing.

“You want me to dance?” I swallow, my mouth incredibly dry. “For you?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His whiskey-colored eyes meet mine. “I’ve had a shit month, and I never let someone challenge me and not follow through. Now dance.”

I have to do this.

I can’t blow my cover, and I need this man to trust me. On shaky legs, I cross the floor and climb the three steps to the stage. My sweaty palm grips the pole, and I find the beat, swaying my hips. I’d like to think it’s sensual and alluring, but I’m nothing but awkward limbs and jerky movements.

Devereaux’s eyes rake over my body, causing goosebumps to explode over my flesh. Pole dancing looks easy in videos, but I’m here to say it’s not. I lean over, rubbing my ass against the metal, but now my boobs are ready to fall out of this tight-as-hell corset.

I stop the nonsense and face him. “I don’t know how,” I mutter.

He yanks at his tie and releases the top button of his white dress shirt. “It’s simple. Just make me fucking jealous of that pole.”

I turn back to the pole, pretending it’s Devereaux standing before me. My heart thumps with the beat as I slide my hand against the cool metal, like I’m wrapping it around Devereaux’s neck in a slow caress. Insecurity floats away as I move to the rhythm of the music, air-grinding with the pole. Devereaux makes a hissing sound from the couch, and I chance a look at him. His legs are spread wide, and he’s running a hand along the length of his jaw.

“Like this?” I ask, when I try another move I’ve seen in movies that has me lowering my body until I’m nearly sitting on the floor and then popping back up again.

“Yeah, just like that, Swan,” he husks out slowly.

I continue moving, focusing on the pole, pretending it’s him. It’s an intoxicating fantasy, and my nipples pebble against the material of the corset. I run one hand over my breast, needing a little relief.

“Do you like being a Greedy Girl?” he rasps.

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