He’s in a plain, white, button-down shirt and dark dress trousers, and bare feet.
But I can’t see his face because he wears a dark mask that covers his face to just above his mouth. The eyes are just indentations. He cannot see me, I don’t think.
I lean incloser to confirm.
“Where is Sarah?” he asks, his voice low and accented.
“She’s sick tonight,” I lie. “I’m her replacement.”
“No replacements,” he says.
I can’t tell how old he is, but I’d guess not much more than thirty. He has a sensuous mouth, with a fuller bottom lip than the top.
“Aww… give me a chance, big guy. You might like me.”
That tension never leaves his body. There is something really, really hot about this whole scenario, and I find myself genuinely conflicted.
I want to laugh this off like a joke. I want to shake my butt a little, take a selfie, and then run for it. That was my plan, kind of, but now? Now, some bizarro part of me really wants this guy to want me to dance for him.
The man’s jaw is tight, but he nods.
And I realize I have no idea what to do.
“Er…” I start.
Well,that’ssexy.
“Push the black button on the wall behind you,” he instructs, a hint of annoyance in his voice. More to himself than to me, he mutters, “I will have a discussion with Vasiliy about training.”
I step toward him. “What do I call you?”
“No names,” he replies flatly, “Not tonight.”
“Okay. Then…no name, what do you like? What does Sarah do that you like?”
His mouth twitches.
Amusement?
It’s impossible to tell.
I suddenly feel ridiculous for asking, and while this is supposed to be just a dare, I hate how much I care.
“Push the button. Then move your body.”
As I push the button, the door automatically locks. It sends a ripple of anticipation down my spine.
Fear? No. Not quite. It’s heavier. Hungrier.
Anticipation, thick with heat.
Music plays. A low, husky female voice sings a song that evokes a sense of yearning. It’s a sexy song, and I find myself swaying to it almost without thinking.
“Do I touch you?” I ask.
“If you’d like,” he says.
“Where?”
