Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 8: The Solar System

DAMON

When the spotlight shines down on Emery, a tidal wave of silence washes over the club. It's brief. A fraction of a second. But I notice. I notice the moment all the fucking men in the room forget how to breathe. All their lecherous eyes gaze upon her like she's a holy relic, a symbol of salvation and sin, a goddamn prize to be won. And I'm right there, with them, soaking in every inch of her soft skin as she makes her way to the pole.

With graceful ease, she grabs the pole, spinning around it like it's the sun and she's the entire fucking solar system. She's Venus– beauty and harmony. Mars– rage and destruction. Saturn– discipline and strength. Uranus– rebellion and freedom. But mostly, she's Neptune. Dreams. Illusions. Escapism. I'm mesmerized as she soars through the air, her hair flowing with every spin.

Blonde doesn't suit her. Now that I've seen her in the wild. It takes away from the raw beauty of her face, the curved dip of her nose, and the plumpness of her cupid's bow. Tonight she's wearing all black. Like a cat. A symbol of evil. But it's all a rouse. Cats were never evil. They were guardians. Keepers. Protectors of the kings. Tonight, she is the king. The way she commands the room. The way she elicits exactly the type of reaction she craves. The pleasure in her expression as men drool over her isn't that of disgust. No. It's of pride.

Detaching from the centerpiece, she takes her time with every section. Milking each man for everything he's got. The view from the upstairs VIP booth gives me a bird's eye view of her. I see it all. Every bend. Every dip. Every fucking movement. When she reaches the middle of the stage, she spins around, dropping backward on her knees and arches her back. With calculated timing, she unzips the leather bra, squeezing her tits together, and slowly, painfully, they burst out.

And it's no longer silent in the club.

Her red lips curl into a smirk as the noise overpowers the music, and she arches her back further, trailing her fingers up her bare stomach to her nipples, and then she pinches them, closing her eyes as she lets out an inaudible moan.

Fucking hell.

I place my right hand on my growing erection, the left gripping the railing that I'm tempted to jump over. My knuckles turn white as she continues to stimulate her stiff nipples, rolling them between her fingers. That's enough! That fucking enou—

Her eyes spring open as she hears my command.

The room empties. No more noise. No more music. Not even a stage. From a dark, hollow pit, she stares up at me. Only me. Because there's no one else.

Her mouth opens just a sliver like she's surprised that I'm here. That I came back. Surprise quickly turns to intrigue. To a game. She knows I don't play fucking games. But she loves it. She loves it so much that she licks her fingers and dances them down her stomach towards her cunt. Biting her lip, she challenges me to a duel that's meant to test my strength, my restraint, my control over my emotions. She teases the hem of her panties, her gaze bolted to mine like an impenetrable metal.

I stand up, curling my rigid fingers around the railing, my cock throbbing with lust and fury. She grins up at me, radiating a glow of victory as she flips over. With a final wink that seals our battle, she moves on to the next section, and I'm left heaving at her absence.

"Can I get you another water, Mr. Cavanaugh?" Venus approaches the table, tray in hand. She follows my sightline. "Too bad she only works Fridays, huh? Georgie'd make a killing if she was a regular girl." She clears her throat when I don't respond. "Mr. Cavanaugh?"

"Tell her I'll be waiting," I say, refusing to look away as she teases all the wrong men. I snap my head toward Venus. "Go."

Venus disappears into the club, and I watch Emery until the lights fade and she's replaced by babydoll twins. Crumbling back into my seat, I hike my ankle over my thigh, foot bouncing as I calculate how long it'll take her to come upstairs. The seconds tick by as I stare at my watch. One minute. Two. Three. My patience wears thin. The hand keeps spinning, winding me up as the minutes pass and she's nowhere to be seen. It shouldn't take her this long. She's fucking with me. Another game.