To myself.
It doesn’t matter if it’s been twelve years. It doesn’t matter who has shared our beds in that time or how far apart we’ve drifted. When it’s just the two of us, there’s still no denying what we are when we’re around each other.
A furnace.
One that burned so hot he had to leave Texas to escape it.
So instead of backing down and leaving the room, I take a step toward the pole and wrap my fingers around the cool metal.
Goose bumps prickle my arms, but it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. It’s Dean’s eyeswatching my every move. His gaze following my fingers as they slowly slide down the pole.
I’m wearing a bra since I already stripped my shirt off in front of the club, and there’s not much to the outfit I have left. But if he wants a show, so be it.
The song changes, and I erase any doubts. I ignore the voice screaming that there’s no coming back from this.
Gripping the pole harder, I slowly start to spin, gaining momentum, until I can hook my leg around it and rotate like the ballerina in my music box when I was younger. Except my cage isn’t a pink-and-white Victorian box; it’s Dean’s gaze watching me.
He’s inescapable.
My feet find the stage again, and I turn my back to him like I did in his bedroom. This time, I hook my thumbs in my skirt and slowly peel it down my legs, fully bending in front of him so he can get a good look at my fishnets covering my ass.
If there’s one thing that can always get Dean’s attention, it’s a pair of fishnets. I noticed it the few times I wore them at Ransack back home, and I haven’t forgotten.
Glancing over my shoulder, I throw my skirt at him, and it knocks him square in the face, which makes me laugh. When he pulls it away, he’s grinning as well, and it’s beautiful.
Comfortable.
There’s nothing particularly sexy about what I’m doing. I don’t actually know how to tease a man like this. Butthere’s always been this comfort with Dean, and it’s so incredibly hot.
“Is that all you got, princess?” He bites his lip, scanning me over when I turn to face him again.
I’m in a red lace bra and panty set with fishnets and cowboy boots. A little mismatched, although he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Not quite.” I smile, grabbing the pole again.
Each rotation, I snag his gaze, speeding up until I get enough momentum to jump, hooking a leg overhead, and hanging upside down this time. My arms burn because I’m out of practice, but I slowly turn with my feet pointing like an arrow, until I pause, facing him upside down from across the room.
“Where did you learn how to do that, Willa?” He sweeps me head to toe, his jaw clenched.
Carefully, I release my legs, dropping my feet to the stage until I’m standing with my back pressed to the pole.
“Practice.” I smile, and he shoots to his feet.
Dean skips the stairs entirely, climbing onto the stage in a single step and stopping in front of me. “Practice for who?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know—”
He grips my chin, angling my face higher. “So help me, I will spank your ass if you aren’t straight with me right now.”
I’m sure his words are meant to be a threat, but they have me clenching my thighs.
“Willa—”
“Pole classes,” I admit finally. “A girl hosted a class back home, and I thought it sounded interesting. But I’ve never actually danced for anyone.”
“Except me.”
Nervously, I bite my lip. “Except you.”
