The urge to rub my aching cock is strong, but I resist. The torture is part of the fun.
Cashmere lets the wrap slide down his body to the floor, stepping over it as he turns around to face us. My breath catches in my throat when his eyes settle on me and a slight smirk tugs at his lips. As he dances, twirling suggestively around the stage, bending his body at obscene angles, and writhing on the floor right in front of me, my mind conjures all the things I’d do to him if he let me.
Slowly, he peels out of the bodysuit, revealing his toned body, his dark hair flowing down his back as he tilts his head, then slithering around so it covers his face. Fuck, I want to touch his hair. It looks like silk, thick and shiny under the club lights. His body is fucking heaven, but it’s his face that makes me weak.I’ve never seen a man who looks like him. He’s tight-lipped when we talk, but I did get out of him that he’s of Brazilian, French, and English heritage, and what a combination. His features are delicate, all smooth skin and soft edges, but his eyes, sensual and unique in color, do me in. They hold secrets I’m desperate to hear.
He’s taunting me now, lying on his back and arching, his cock straining against a tiny rhinestoned thong. He knows I want to touch him and he’s playing into it for the audience. I don’t mind. As long as his attention is on me, whatever he does works.
He doesn’t know that I’ve been trailing him for months. I know where he lives, who he hangs out with, and the fact that he doesn’t have a romantic partner. In fact, he seems to be as celibate as I pretend to be. My motto is “if I can’t fuck him, I can fuck my way through a shit ton of stand-ins pretending they’re him.” It’s wearing on me though. I need to break Cashmere down. I need him in my bed.
He moves into impressive splits before swinging his leg around and rising effortlessly from the floor. With his legs spread, he bends at the waist, dragging his hand from his ass to his dick before standing again and doing a shimmy. His body shimmers under the light with glitter and a light sheen of sweat, and as he drags his hands down his chest to his stomach, my cock twitches violently. His nipples pebble under the exposure, and my mouth fucking waters with need.
I’ve convinced myself that if I could fuck him just once, I’d get over this obsession. I don’t want to think about anything outside of that. I’m not the guy who gets caught up in what-ifs. I live in the moment, and right now, I want Cashmere.
His set ends with him climbing a pole, and with only one leg wrapped around it, he leans back and swings in a slow circle as the curtain closes around him again.
As usual, the crowd goes wild, some of them whistling and standing to clap. Cashmere is talented and popular, one of, if notthe best dancer here. I feel a twinge of jealousy and possessiveness listening to all the cheers and hoots, and when the curtain opens again, the stage is flooded with thrown money.
Cashmere doesn’t pick any of it up; he never does. Another guy comes out and crawls around the floor gathering it all up. I don’t throw any up. Cashmere already knows if he wants my cash he’ll have to pay me a visit.
My server appears with a fresh drink and I nod in acknowledgment, leaning back in my chair and waiting for Cashmere to grace me with his presence. Does he visit me for any reason other than my cash? I’d like to think his interest extends further. If it doesn’t yet, it will. I don’t plan to move on until I get exactly what I want.
A few minutes go by before he appears, wrapped in a silky robe with fur around the collar. He smiles as he passes enthusiastic customers, slapping the hand of one of them away, drawing a soft growl from me. He beelines it straight to my table, like the good boy he is.
“Specter,” he says in his soft, obviously meant to be seductive tone. “May I sit?”
“You know you can.” I lean in. “Want a drink?”
“Of course.”
Lifting my hand, I wave to the server, who hurries over. “What can I get you, Cashmere?”
“The usual, Darcy. Thanks.”
Cashmere drags a hand through his luxurious shoulder-length hair, snapping a piece of gum in his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off his perfect face. When he’s up close like this, I can see the freckles that dot his nose and cheeks, even under his makeup. And his lips. Goddamn. Those things are made for sin.
“You’re in later than usual,” Cashmere says casually, but I catch it. He notices.
“I was busy, but I always make time to see you.”
He looks amused as he glances around the club before returning his sultry gaze to me. “Should I be jealous?”
I scoff. “Hardly. I was working.”
“Oh yes, the job you won’t tell me about.”
“You remember the deal. I’ll tell you when you’re in my bed.”
He smiles, shaking his head and playing with the two rings stacked on his right middle finger. “I admire your persistence, but it’s not happening. Not ever.”
“We’ll see. I’m not exactly known for walking away from things I want.”
“I’m not athing, Specter.”
“I know, gorgeous. You deserve to be worshipped and I’m more than ready to pray at your altar. Give me a shot. You won’t regret it.”
Cashmere affects an annoyed expression, but he does this every time we chat. Sometimes, I could swear he wants me, but for some reason, he won’t allow it.
“But don’t worry, I got time. All the time in the world for you, Cashmere.”
