Ass hole

"Stop." The command is given with an air of dark authority, a voice not used to being disobeyed. My breaths labour and I startle to note my nipples pebble.

Slowing, I say, "What is it?" I hate how breathy my voice sounds. My gown is hanging on by a single pinch of my fingers.

He motions to a settee with fingers I note are tattooed. "Music."

I draw level with it, seeing a playlist. I swipe up, brows furrowing. They're all classical music. Kind of dampens the mood on an erotic pole dance.

My eyes slide to his. "Which would you like me to dance to?"

"As tears go by. Rolling stone."

"Uh, no."

I see surprise briefly flash in his gaze, then interest. "What?" he asks, unsure he'd heard right.

"I said no." I am fully aware I am in danger of shooting myself in the foot--don't look a gift horse in the mouth, pandejo! My mama would say--but something about the man pricked at me. Maybe it's the level headedness, the cruel grasp on control. I am flighty, rambunctious and a hot mess. If I am to do something I've never done, I'll be needing familiar ground. "I love the rolling stones, but I think a lot of primordial dancers would roll in their graves if I twerked on a pole to this."

Did his lips quirk?

Folding muscled arms across his chest, he states, eyes never leaving mine, "I don't usually entertain breaches in the routine"--wait, just how often did he do this?--"but, I'd like to see you surprise me."

Oh?

My fingers part and my gown slinks down to the floor in one move. I hear his breath hitch.

In the mess that is my life, one good thing I can always count on is my body. Men love it, the wide curves, big breasts and fat ass that has been passed down generations of Mexican women. It's a wonder I haven't given in to Tina's urging to sell it. Guess I haven't reached rock bottom yet--but I am sure spiralling headfirst towards it.

Selecting a song--Pony--I step out of the black number slowly. I climb up to the raised platform, getting a direct view of the room. Hardwood and creme accents stand out in the large space, the dim lights sultry. My breaths come fast, the reality of my situation dawning fully. I'm in a lacy thong and bra set that covers fuckall and I'm about to put on a show for a total stranger.

The gleaming pole is cold when I grip it. The sensation travels down my body, sending tingles down to my clit. My breaths labour. Is dancing for a stranger what turns me on?

I sigh internally. But what a stranger. His eyes, which had previously been cool, are now raging with a raw intensity that has wetness pooling between my thighs. A strange thought sends my stomach knotting in apprehension. Would I walk out from this the same? Would this night be a constant tracklist when I had fun in the shower?

Despite the fact a large dent tents his expensive slacks, he doesn't make any move to adjust it to relieve some of his pain--or at least that's what I think, I don't have a full grasp of the male anatomy. A shortcoming sponsored by my ex who I've never been able to get it on with. At the time I hadn't known why, now I had a clear suspicion. My attention snaps back when the lights go off.

I clutch the pole tighter on reflex, a trickle of alarm going through me. "What's going on?"

My head snaps up when lights come on above me. It's dim, only covering the span of the platform. The man remains hidden from sight, but I feel him. Feel his hungry gaze on me.

"Why can't I see you?" I ask, a slight tremble to my voice.

"Because I don't want you to."

"Begin," he says coolly, but I note an undertone of hoarseness.

My heels clack as I do a slow prowl around the pole. I'd watched the strippers in the club long enough to grasp a few basic steps, but still, I feel a flutter of anxiety. Focus, June, twenty grand! A thrill rushes down my spine and I hitch a leg around the pole, doing a bold spin.

I feel his eyes on me, as palpable as a touch.

I can't see him, he could be doing anything on the other side of the room.

I grow breathless.

The music weaves through me, building to a climax. The sensual notes coupled with how wrong this is sends shivers of excitement surging through me.

I grind into the pole, throwing my head back on a beat. A low growl. Did I just hear the sound of his zipper being lowered?

Zaps of electricity has me drenching my thong. I attempt a corkscrew, working my upper body against the pole. When I come down, I feel the cool slide of the pole against my panties. A moan pushes into my throat.

My muscles ripple as I do a hip swivel, grinding into the pole. A hint of noise across the room. My breaths turn to pants.

Another memory juggles up and I mirror one of the moves I'd seen the downstairs. I wrap a palm around the pole, pumping it suggestively. A groan tears out of him and my skin tightens with arousal, a hotness fanning across my insides. My mind grows hazy with desire and for a split moment, I grow scared. What's happening to me?

I've never been this turned on in my life.

Masculine grunts break out of his chest and another noise gradually registers. He's jerking off.

My clit throbs. I do more stances on the pole before attempting another corkscrew and then a hip swivel. Sweat coats my skin and with each snap of my hips, I'm brought closer to the edge of something huge.

Anticipation builds in the air and I throw every caution to the wind. A moan tears out of my throat, head thrown back in wild ecstasy as I grind against the pole. Too much! Loosing control! His grunts grow louder, filling the room.

My orgasm bows my back. White explodes behind my eyes the same time the lights come on. The man watches me as I come apart, a dangerous intensity in his eyes.

I come down from my high, panting. What just happened?

I hold myself up on the pole, unable to muster up the feeling of embarrassment. We stare at each other wide-eyed.

He is dishevelled, dress shirt hanging out the waistband of his pants. Our eyes hold and a crackle of electricity whips the air. A wildness builds around us, bordering on insanity. I am unable to look away. And so is he.

He looks at me like he's just seen a ghost.

Like I've singlehandedly destroyed everything he believes in. A smile starts to pull on my lips but it dies the moment his voice rings out like a crack whip.

"Get out."

Shock chases away the haziness surrounding my brain. I grow ramrod straight, pushing off the pole. The music is still on full blast. "What?" I say, marching down to turn it off. Silence rings.

"I said get out. Money's at the top corner of the shelf. Get it and leave."

Something close to hurt tightens around my throat but I do as he says, throwing on my clothes even as questions zip across my mind. Is this part of the 'routine' as well? Does he get off on degrading women? He seems like a man with a lot of kinks. Jerking off in the dark has been enough indication.

I grab my purse, stashing the money inside. It barely fits!

When I look back to him, I note he's made it further across the room. He's turned away from me, his muscles working as he throws back a shot of tequila. Had I done something to unsettle him?

I remember walking in and thinking something was definitely off with him, and, mierda, I'd been right! That desperate grasp on control. That look I'd seen in his eyes when the lights came on.

A man starved.

I would've been scared if it didn't light me up like a Christmas tree.

Shooting a glare at his broad back, I clutch my purse tighter, turning away. I soothe myself with the knowledge I'll never see the asshole again.