“You going to dance at it?” she asks. “You can probably put together a routine with the moves you already know.”
“I wouldn’t have any idea how to go about it.” I stick my feet into my sweats.
“Come early next week. I’ll show you some transitions.”
I pause. “Really?”
“Sure. I love it when my girls get dancing gigs. He your boyfriend?”
“Not yet.”
Terra glances back at him. “Won’t be long.”
Is that true? I practically propositioned him before.
But something feels different.
I hurriedly finish dressing and shove on my shoes. The other girls are gone. Terra cleans the poles.
When I push through the glass door, Merrick stands up.
Everything I think of to say seems wrong for the heated way he’s looking at me, so I simply fall in beside him as we walk down the empty hall.
The morning sunshine bears down on us, even though the autumn air is cool. “Thanks for bringing me,” I say.
“You do this every Saturday?” he asks.
“Yeah, and actually …” I hesitate. “Terra offered to show me some transitions before class next week. If it’s not a bother to add a little more time to the outing.”
He passes me my helmet. “I could watch you pole dance all fucking day.” His voice is low and gravelly, and I can feel the vibration of it all the way to my toes.
“Terra says I know enough to put together a routine. I just have to find a place to practice.”
He nods. “I’ll get you a pole.”
I push the helmet onto my head. “At the clubhouse?”
His voice is almost a growl. “Hell, no. At my bar.”
“Really?”
His gaze holds mine. “I want you to dance for me.”
Key parts of my body flush hot. “I’d like that.”
He nods and sits on the bike. “We have to get back.”
I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his middle. He’s strong and sturdy, and the muscles of his belly shift and flex as we back out of position and turn toward the street.
I press hard against his back, imagining he is mine, and we are entwined on his bed with nothing between us. The fire in me stokes hotter, and my fingers spread across his belly as we take off down the street.
I want so badly to feel more of him, his skin, the indentions that cut across his torso. I try to picture him naked, erect, my hands gripping him.
I’m dying. It feels so close, but I can’t do anything about it. He might hold back, even now, after the dancing and him telling me he’d put up a pole. The club is watching me, after all.
And I can’t do anything yet. I have to figure things out. What happens when a mouse moves to bunny? Where would I live? Do they kick me right out? How strict is the house mouse rule?
I have to handle this carefully.
