“It’s iconic.”
“You’re not wrong.”
There’s nothing quite like classic Madonna. It’s been a while since I’ve performed this routine, but my muscles remember the moves. I spin and twirl and leap, falling into the music. I grip Flip’s shoulder instead of the back of the chair, moving around him. His eyes find mine in the mirror, hot and steady as I spin. Like he’s my sun. The center of my universe.
The nerves hit me again as I stop in front of him, bracing my hands on his knees. Our gazes lock, our faces inches apart as I kick my leg back and arch until my toe touches my crown. I push away and move into a spin, then drop into his lap for a moment before I roll my body back up. His fingers coast along my hip before I twirl out of reach again. The push and pull between us is addictive. I’m full of longing and desire, and it’s echoed back at me in him.
I spin around him one last time as the final lines play out, and I drop back into his lap, stretching my arm across his shoulder, eyes on his as I arc backwards. His hand settles against the small of my back, the other high on my thigh.
We’re both breathless as I meet his fiery gaze. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His voice is all gravel.
“How was that?”
“Fucking incredible.” He squeezes my thigh. “I’ll be your private audience anytime.”
“I’ll dance for you whenever you want.” I hop out of his lap, in love with the tension flaring between us. “It’s your turn.”
He runs his hands over his thighs. “For what?”
“To dance for me.”
He taps his chest. “Hockey player.” Then points to me. “Dancer.”
“I’ve seen you on the dance floor on club nights. You’ve got moves.” He lets me tug him out of the chair and take his place. I cross my legs, pointing to the sound system. “Entertain me.”
He leans in to kiss the end of my nose. “Careful what you wish for.”
I giggle as he moonwalks to the stereo and cues up a song. He pulls his hoodie and T-shirt over his head, revealing his gloriously cut chest and abs. His six-pack has a six-pack.
I bite my bottom lip, jittery with excitement as he gets into position.
“Ready to be entertained?” he calls over his shoulder.
“So ready.” I hit play and nearly die when the first strains of his rebuttal song blast through the speakers. It’s been a popular club song since the nineties.
Flip doesnotpull out the anticipated dance-club moves. Instead, he performs a legit striptease, minus the stripping. And while I used him and the chair as props, that has nothing on the way Flip uses it and me.
His muscles ripple and flex as he undulates on the floor at my feet. It’s pretty damn obscene, and I can easily envision myself naked under him as he rolls his hips. My mouth waters and then goes dry as he runs his hands up the back of my calves, moving around to push my knees wide. His hot gaze stays fixed on mine, tongue dragging across his lips as his palms slide up the inside of my thighs.
He rises, nose skimming the front of my shirt, lips brushing along my throat, hovering just above mine as he growls the refrain. Time suspends. My body feels like it’s on fire, there’s a pulse between my thighs, and he’s not even touching me. What will it be like when he breaks? I’ll be feral for him. I already am.
He spins around, back to my front as he glides down, head resting in my lap for a moment. He grins up at me, and then he’s on the move again. He shakes his booty and tosses a saucy wink over his shoulder that makes me laugh.
He pirouettes around me, bending to tuck his fingers behind my knees and press my legs together. Flip straddles my thighs and holds on to the back of the chair, undulating suggestively asthe song ends. He kisses the end of my nose and hops off my lap. “How was that?”
“So much thrusting and so many hip rolls!” I say breathlessly, like it was me doing the work, not him.
He smirks. “Haven’t you seen hockey warm-ups?”
I have an unreasonable number of video files of Flip humping the ice. Which I’ve often used as fantasy fodder. “That was a lot more than hockey warm-up inner-thigh stretches.”
“Denise, the women’s coach, suggested I take some classes for flow and floor work, but I could only go once because I accidentally fucked the instructor,” Flip explains.
I give him a look. “How do youaccidentallyfuck the instructor, Flip?”
“Well, you know…” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re twenty-five, and you’re horny, and I don’t actually need to tell you more about this.”
