"I feel... strange," she admits, her breath coming faster.
"Good strange or bad strange?"
"I don't know. Good? Maybe?" She shifts slightly, and I feel her ass press more firmly against my straining erection. "Really good, actually."
"Good. I think. I've never felt like this before."
Christ. She's turned on, and she doesn't even understand what's happening to her body. The innocent admission nearly destroys what's left of my self-control.
"Keep moving, honey,” I tell her, my voice rougher than before. "Don't think. Just feel. Focus on how it feels and follow that feeling.”
She does, rolling her hips more deliberately now, and I can see the exact moment when instinct takes over. Her head falls back slightly, her lips part, and she makes the softest little sound that goes straight to my cock.
"There's... something..." Her voice is breathless now, confused. Her movements become more urgent. "I feel like I need—I don't know what I need. Something's happening?—"
She grinds down harder, faster, chasing something she doesn't understand. Her breathing is coming in short gasps. Her hands come up to grip the armrests over mine, her body arching.
"Oh God," she whimpers.
“That’s it. That’s my girl," I encourage, my voice barely above a growl. "Let go for me."
"I can't—it's too much?—"
"Yes, you can. You're so good, so fucking perfect. Come for me."
She makes a sound I'll remember for the rest of my fucking life—half-sob, half-moan—and her whole body goes rigid. I feel her shake, feel her thighs clench, feel the way she grinds herself against me as her orgasm crashes through her.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
When she comes back to herself, she's staring at me with wide, wondering eyes.
"What was that?" Her voice is dazed.
“You’ve never had an orgasm before?” I ask her quietly.
“That was an orgasm?” She's silent for a long moment. “No, never. I didn't know it would feel like that."
I let out a slow breath. Her first orgasm. It should have been with someone who cares about her. A boyfriend who’s crazy about her. A high school sweetheart. Not a stranger in a strip club for rich, deviant pricks.
She starts to stand. Her legs are shaky, and I steady her automatically.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For...for being kind. Most men here aren't."
"Most men here are pieces of shit who don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
She quirks a brow sassily. "You paid thirty-five thousand dollars for a lap dance."
The moment the words are out, she freezes. Her eyes widen, and her hand clamps over her mouth.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she apologizes through her fingers. “I didn’t mean that.” A sheen of tears fills her eyes, and I want to kill whatever bastard or bastards put that kind of fear in her.
“Hey,” I speak slowly and soothingly. “Don’t apologize, doll. Never apologize to me for speaking your mind and saying what you think. You don’t have to fear me. You understand? I’ll never hurt you."
She studies my face like she's trying to decide if I'm telling the truth. Whatever she sees there must satisfy her because she nods.
"I believe you."
The words slay me.
