I was exploring what was inside the Pandora box that James and Calla were causing me to open within myself. I knew at Provocateur I could be pleased by watching others experience pleasure, and so tonight I would leave my inhibitions at home and see just how nasty it could get.
I spent way too long in front of Lena’s mirror before I left, but when I caught my reflection one last time, I couldn’t deny it—tonight, I looked like danger.
A sleek black sheer bodycon minidress clung to every curve, my thighs hugged by sheer stockings that disappeared into thigh-high leather boots. My pierced nipples were on full display in the dress, as a black leather trench cinched me in, making me look untouchable until I chose otherwise. Thick gold hoops brushed my jawline, and my curly hair hung free down my back, making my gorgeous face stand out. My makeup was full glam, my lips shining like I was a performer tonight. I looked like I could break hearts and cash checks in the same night.
And I felt as good as I looked.
When I walked into Provocateur, the lighting was dark, sensual, hitting me between my thighs first, then vibrating through my chest like a sensual heartbeat. The air was thick with smoke, perfume, and sexual freedom. Men’s eyes trailed me instantly, women’s too. Hands brushed my arms, voices slid into my ears, “Can I buy you a drink? You playing tonight? Come sit with us, goddess.”
Every offer made me stand taller, every look made me hotter. For once, I didn’t shrink from the attention; I let it crown me.
I made my way to the stage just as the lights cut, and Lena, no, Soleil—took her place.
She glittered under the spotlight in a bikini made entirely of crystals, every curve of her body refracting light. Her hair had been straightened into big, soft waves that bounced as she moved. The opening chords of Kelly Rowland’s Motivation thumped through the speakers, and the crowd lost their minds.
Soleil owned every beat. She twisted on the pole with sin-slick grace, hips rolling, legs splitting wide as the crystals caught the light and threw it back into the audience.
And then she found me.
Her smile was wicked as she stalked across the stage, straddling me where I sat at the edge. I laughed, already digging into my clutch and pulling out a stack of singles.
“You better not play me,” she mouthed, before swinging one leg over and lowering herself onto my lap.
The club erupted.
She rolled her hips down slow, pressing her soaked bikini bottom against the thin stretch of my dress. My breath hitched as she ground herself onto me, her curls swinging forward, brushing my face.
I made it rain on her, bills fluttering between us as she rode me to the beat, arching her back so her breasts glittered inches from my mouth.
“Fuck,” I gasped, heat flooding through me as her ass dragged across my thighs.
She laughed low, leaning in close, lips brushing my ear. “Play along, best friend.”
And I did. I grabbed her waist, grinding back up into her, letting the crowd scream and holler as if I wasn’t one heartbeat away from forgetting this was just a show.
She rocked harder, faster, her bikini scratching against my thighs, her breasts grazing my lips, until the club was a frenzy, voices chanting her name; they loved her and made sure to show her by making it rain all over the stage.
By the time the song ended, Soleil stood, blowing me a kiss, drenched in light and money.
I was drenched too—sweat, lust, and the electric charge of the entire room watching us.
I stumbled away from the stage, heart racing, and found a dark booth tucked in the back where the shadows swallowed me whole. I needed to breathe, to hide, to process.
Especially once they announced the Black Dahlia was up next.
I tucked myself away, body humming, eyes on the stage—until movement at the door made my stomach clench.
James walked into Provocateur like the place belonged to him. Alone. His stride confident, no hesitation, just pure sex appeal.
The lighting in the club was low, amber and red shadows licking at the edges of everything, but he glowed in it, black slacks hugging his thighs, a button-down cut open just enough to tease the ink sprawled across his chest. Chains dazzling under the lights, heavy, masculine, drawing my eyes straight to the broad lines of his body. He moved slow, deliberate, like he knew every gaze in the room had shifted to him the second he crossed the threshold.
My throat went dry.
Because I’d already seen him stripped down to his hunger at the cookout, on his knees, eating Calla like he needed her to breathe, I’d already touched myself to the sight of it. And now here he was, dressed like sex incarnate, scanning the room with that hooded stare that made my thighs clench.
I sank deeper into the shadows of my booth, not ready for him to see me, not ready for what might spark if our eyes locked.
The bass cut suddenly, pulling my gaze to the stage.
