“Please, mmm don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breaking.
She didn’t. She worked me harder as her saliva sliding down to my balls while she sucks and gags on my dick. When I feel her fingers brush further down until they’re rubbing the rim of my asshole, my body bows toward her. The pleasure is burning so sharply I think I might break. My release tears out of me in a ragged cry. My thick load spilling down her throat. She swallows every drop, eyes never leaving mine. It’s like she’d just claimed something no one else ever could.
She stands wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she smiles victoriously, “Told you I could handle it.”
I dragged her into my arms before kissing her like a starving woman. My hand sliding under her glittered costume to feel the slickness of her arousal waiting there. She gasped into my mouth as my fingers found her—stroking and circling until she’s trembling against me the way I had against her.
The red light above us flickered as it continues to cast us in shadow and sin. Her cries of pleasure joining mine in the empty club.
in this moment she became more than a stage name. More than a fantasy and a one-night stand.
Soleil was going to ruin me and not because she would mistreat me. But because she would leave me open and vulnerable, making it the perfect setting for love to bloom.
I was raisedto believe that too much freedom was dangerous and would lead you down a path of treachery.
My father, Pastor David Barré Sr. made sure of that. Every Sunday he filled the pulpit with talk of salvation and sin. Grace and punishment. He preached as if the entire world existed in black and white. I used to sit in the front pew with my hands folded over my lap as I pretend I wasn’t counting the minutes until the final hymn so I could breathe again.
When you grow up in a house like mine, everything about you is measured: your tone, your posture, your skirt length, your thoughts. Even your dreams must behave.
But I was never good at behaving.
I was delicate, sure. I was born with sickle cell disease. Always skating between pain and peace but beneath that frailty was something else—hunger. I spent so much of my life in hospital beds hooked to IVs as I watched my body betray me. When I could move, I moved. When I couldn’t—I was a prisoner of my own body.
Ballet saved me first. The stage became my sanctuary. I learned to turn pain into performance, control into grace. I was on track to be a prima ballerina, and maybe I could’ve been if life hadn’t had other plans.
Because the truth is, I didn’t just want to be admired, I wanted to be seen.
That’s how I found myself at Provocateur. A place where the lights are low and the music is thick. Where no one cares about the pastor’s daughter or the sick girl with the perfect pirouette. There, I’m not Lena Barré. I’m Soleil, the Midnight Ballerina.
On that stage I own every look. I control every sigh. I make every sin mine. I dance for me. For freedom. For the right to choose how I’m seen and what I give. I bring men and women to their knees through rhythm and control. I don’t apologize for it either.
That’s how I met Zaria. She’s beautiful and bold. Zaria was all curves and confidence behind the bar with a smile that felt like both a dare and a promise. She saw me. Not the image I showed others. Not the illusion of me. She wanted all parts of me and I wanted her just as bad.
Yes, Zaria is a transwoman. To me, she’s just a beautiful woman who turns every head when she walks into a room. Yes I love her. And no, I don’t care what anyone thinks. Not even my father. Being with her makes me feel alive in a way I didn’t think possible. Our connection is electric—tender one moment—wild the next. She’s my safe space and my escape. My peace when my world is filled with chaos.
But lately that peace feels fragile.
Calil Black. The fine-ass professor with a mind like lightning and a mouth full of temptation. He’s has been testing every bit of control I have left. I tried to ignore it. Tried to keep my world in two neat halves. The one where I help dancers get back to performing perfect pliés at Winston Hills Dance Academy and the one where I sin in platform pleasers.
But boundaries don’t mean much when a man like Calil decides he wants you and the universe has a cruel sense of humor because you want him too.
The night he walked in on me sucking Zaria’s beautifully curved dick at his brother’s house, of all places, was not on my bingo card. The look on his face said everything. The look on Zaria’s face told the rest.
They’ve been circling each other with quiet disdain since the moment I introduced them. I keep pretending I can control it, that I can keep my two worlds from colliding. But every time I’m in the same room with both of them, I feel the air shift. It becomes magnetic and deliciously dangerous. I went to show Zaria where the restroom was since I’d been here a handful of times, and as soon as we walked into the bathroom and I kicked the door closed behind us. I couldn’t help myself; I had to touch her. Kiss her. Taste her.
“Mmmmmm,” She moaned, fueling me further, “Baby, you wanna do this right here, right now?”
I ignored her apprehension as she leaned against the bathroom counter. I could feel her heart pounding in her chest as I dropped into a squat, face to face with the growing evidence of her arousal. I pushed her dress over her wide hips and pulled her thong to her ankles as I wrapped my soft lips around her dick. My tongue explores every inch of her length. The sensation was electric and I felt every shiver moving down my spine. Pleasing Zaria always made my knees weak. I closed my eyes to savor her taste. Savor the way she felt in my mouth. Bask in the way her hands gripped my hair, pushing herself deeper down my throat.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in walked Calil, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene before him. I expected shock, disgust, maybe even anger, but what I saw in his gaze was something else entirely: desire, intrigue, a spark of something raw and primal.
My eyes met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The air in the room grew thick with tension, a silentconversation passing between us. I could see the questions in his eyes, the curiosity, the hunger. And in that moment, I realized that he saw me, truly saw my commitment to pleasure.
Zaria froze, her breath hitching, but she didn’t stop fucking my mouth.
“I don’t care if we have an audience, look at me and suck this dick, Baby,” she ordered, causing my clit to pulsate in my panties even harder than it already was.
I continued to pleasure her, my movements slow and deliberate, a silent challenge to Calil. I wanted to see how far he would go; how much he would dare to explore. His presence added a new layer to our encounter, a thrilling dynamic that sent shivers down my spine.
