I tried to awaken something inside. My gaze roved over her large breasts, barely contained by black leather bands, then the roundness of her ass, and then the muscles in her thick, glorious thighs as they clamped around the pole.
Nothing stirred. Not the slightest hint of arousal.
These days, even basic interest remained stubbornly absent. No matter what I tried, I felt nothing but the same hollow echo that had taken residence beneath my ribs.
The emptiness wasn’t new, just more intense. Had I ever felt it so keenly before?
Yes, I realized. After cancer took my grandmother, and no one in the whole damn extended family wanted to take me, I’d felt this carved-out. A shell of a boy, dumped into the Alpha Protection System. That emptiness shifted to anger quickly, losing me a lot of decent foster parents.
Now, I couldn’t let rage take over. My Alpha nature was too damn volatile. I had to stay in control, even if it meant seeking a way to release the pressure every damn night of the week.
My mind wandered. It tried to dip into other memories, but I forced it down another path. A new stunt for our next show. It was getting harder and harder to up the ante and surprise the crowds. I wanted to modify the Kiss of Death for Xander. It needed to be fresh, nothing that would seem like copying Carey Slick Rider Hart’s back in the late nineties.
Imagining the trick, visualizing ramps set on either side of burning cars because that would please Asher, I started mentally calculating the angles, speed, and safety measures needed. The goal was always to get as close to death as possible without actually dying.
"Is something wrong?" the dancer’s voice pulled me out of my calculations. Without meaning to, I scowled at her. She seemed unfazed, managing a particularly fluid descent. “Did I bother you, baby?” she asked next, twisting around the pole andlowering her legs. She bent her knees and rocked out her ass as she stood. Then she leaned against the pole and crossed her arms to make her tits bulge.
Realizing I was glaring, I fixed my face. “I’m fine.”
She sauntered off the dais, hips swaying as she moved in my direction. “Then your eyes should be on me, handsome.”
Closer.
Nearer.
Beautiful body directly in front of me.
Still, I felt exactly fucking nada.
She lifted a hand, index finger coming to rest under my chin, and she gently nudged my face higher. Our gazes locked. I raised my eyebrows and forced a half smile I hoped was inviting. She licked her lips and trailed the index finger down… down… down each button of my dress shirt until she pushed beneath my belt, teasing like she’d go further if I let her.
Then she pulled her hand away, turned, and began gyrating against my lap.
The music shifted to something with a deeper bass, and she adjusted her rhythm accordingly. The lights pulsed in synchronization, giving the dark walls of the private room a hypnotic effect.
A stunning, half naked woman was dancing against me. And I felt bored.
I reached for my glass of cognac sitting on the nearby table. I turned my head, bringing the tumbler to my lips and tipping it back. It tasted like nothing on my tongue. Expensive nothing. It didn’t even warm my belly when it hit. I sat the glass back down. I tried to enjoy the dancer as she once again pushed her ass down and against my cock. She rubbed back and forth. My dick didn’t even twinge.
Five more minutes passed in this manner—her dancing with increasing determination, me watching with increasingdetachment, my body remaining cold to her efforts. The disconnect between what should be happening and what was occurring instead grew from uncomfortable to unbearable.
“That’s enough,” I said firmly, pushing her away.
She turned around, frowning dramatically, lower lip jutting out. “You got another half hour at least, handsome.”
“You’ve been lovely, but I have a prior engagement.” The lie fell easily from my lips.
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I withdrew my wallet, extracting several hundred-dollar bills. With deliberate movements, I placed them on the small table next to the unfinished liquor.
Her expression flickered with surprise before settling back into the pout. "You're really leaving?”
Without responding, I stood up and walked out. The door swung automatically closed behind me.
I tuned out the sounds as I moved through the labyrinth of corridors. Thumping base. Laughter. The occasional moan of pleasure. The sound of a harsh slap made my steps falter, but I kept going. There were clients who paid for that sort of thing. I’d even indulged a time or two, if I controlled when and where and how hard.
Control.
Slipping.
