The dance flows through me, each movement sensuous. When the song ends and I’m down to just the black lace, cash rains onto the stage. I’m scooping up bills when a twenty appears in my peripheral vision.
The man holding it has shaggy brown hair, a dimpled chin, and a smile that makes my skin crawl. Something about his eyes reminds me of Eric when he’d been drinking.
“Hello, Temptress.”
His voice has an oily quality that sets every instinct on high alert. I reach for the money, but he pulls it back.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? I can tell. You’ve got that innocent look.” His gaze travels down my body slowly. “I like that. Makes me want to be the one to tuck this into your panties myself.”
The smart thing would be to say no. But the other girls would do it, and I can’t afford to seem difficult. Pride doesn’t pay for Austin’s medication.
I turn to the side, letting him slip the bill into my panties. His fingers linger longer than necessary, brushing against my hip. My stomach churns, but I force a smile.
“Thanks, baby. I’ve got to clear the stage for the next dancer.”
I gather the rest of my money quickly and retreat to the dressing room. When I emerge onto the main floor in my lingerie, I scan for Alessio automatically even though I know he’s not here. I catch myself wondering where he is before I can stop the thought.
The fact that I care at all makes me feel pathetic.
Last night, I ignored Alessio’s preference about lap dances and gave one anyway. The customer was a nervous twenty-one-year-old celebrating his birthday, which made it easier since we were both awkward about the whole thing.
At least I’ve broken the ice now.
Dimple Chin waves me over to his table of drunk businessmen. They have that celebratory look of men who’ve either made money or ruined someone’s day. Every one of them watches me like a predator sizing up dinner.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he calls out. “You were hot as hell up there.”
“I’d like to get my hands on you,” his friend adds, actually reaching for my ass.
I step back. “No touching.”
But my voice lacks conviction. I need these men to want to spend money on me, and being uptight won’t accomplish that.
“Ignore this asshole,” Dimple Chin says. “How about we go somewhere private?”
My instincts tell me to avoid this guy, but I can't afford to be picky about customers, and private dances pay better than anything else I can do tonight.
“Sure, baby. Let’s go.” I force enthusiasm I don’t feel into my voice, hoping he can’t tell the difference.
The private rooms sit behind a purple velvet curtain, muffled from the main floor’s chaos. A bored-looking bouncer guards the hallway, barely glancing up as we pass. I lead Dimple Chin into the first available room.
It’s dimly lit but clean, with a small couch positioned in the center facing a pole. The whole process is predictable enough. Put on a show first, then move in close for the real money.
Before I can reach the music tablet, his hand clamps around my wrist.
“Come on, baby. Shake your ass for me.”
His grip is too tight, cutting off circulation. “I need to turn on music first.”
He releases my wrist but steps close behind me as I select a song. “Forget the music, baby. We both know why we’re really here.” His hands settle on my hips, heavier this time. “I paid good money for privacy.”
“That’s not what we do here, and there’s no touching allowed,” I say, trying to turn around.
“Don’t play hard to get, slut.” His voice turns harsh, and he presses against me from behind, his intentions crystal clear. Fear slices through me like a blade.
He spins me around and slams me against the wall with a hand at my throat. “You’ll do what I say.”
His grip tightens until I can’t breathe. Stars dance at the edges of my vision as he yanks down my bra cups. When he roughly squeezes my breast, pain shoots through me.
