“Well,” she murmurs, voice low and amused. “You clean up dangerously sexy.”
I lean against the bar, relaxed. “You look like lust with a liquor license.”
She smirks, stepping closer. “What are you drinking tonight, Professor?”
“Whatever you recommend, Z baby.”
Her breath hitches at the nickname. Her fingers glide over bottles with practiced precision. “You trying to behave?”
“No.”
She pours deliberately slow—maintaining eye contact.
“You nervous?” she asks quietly.
“About what?”
“Seeing her dance.”
I consider that.
“I’m curious and aroused that the thought,” I answer honestly. “But never nervous.”
Her lips twitch.
“You look good in here,” she adds, softer now. “Like you belong.”
I meet her gaze. “I belong wherever my women are.”
The air between us shifts.
Heat. Recognition.
She slides the glass toward me. “When you say things like that on purpose—be prepared to follow through.”
Her gorgeous neck is exposed. Perfect for the taking. I grab her throat gently and pull her to me. “I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” I murmur as I kiss her lips.
Before she can respond, the lights dim further. Music begins to pulse through the room, low and hypnotic.
Zaria straightens. Her professional mask sliding back into place.
“She’s first up,” she says.
I take my seat with my glass in hand. My heart is steady but alert.
Somewhere behind the curtain Lena is preparing to step into a version of herself I’ve only imagined.
Tonight I meet Soleil.
The way Zaria’s fingers linger against the bar and her eyes flick between me and the stage. I’m not the only one anticipating what’s about to unfold.
The room shifts before she even appears.
The lights dim deeper into a thick and saturated violet hue. A hum of eagerness runs through the crowd. Anticipation tightens the air.
As I take another sip of my drink, she steps out.
Soleil.
