Okay,so maybe I was wrong. This isn’t ballet, but whatever this is… It’s stunning.
I set my drink aside, completely absorbed by the performance unfolding before me. Six pole dancers—three men, three women—spin, slide, and contort their bodies around stainless-steel poles with jaw-dropping grace. They move in perfect unison, their core strength unbelievable, their flexibility mesmerizing. It’s hypnotic—athleticism and artistry woven into one fluid motion. I can’t help but be impressed.
I lose all sense of time, so transfixed that I jolt slightly when four of the dancers twirl offstage to a sudden eruption of applause. Snapped out of my trance, I quickly join the cheers, glancing over at Elijah, who looks just as awestruck as I am.
Turning back to the stage, I see two men remain—one pole standing between them. I uncross my legs and stretch out, just as brilliant white lights begin to swirl around them. Their arms move with fluid precision, reaching—first for the pole, then for each other.
Now we’re talking.
I’m vaguely aware of Elijah watching me, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the performance. The music swirls from above like a canopy of birds in flight, and suddenly, I’m part of it. My mind lifts, weightless, carried by the rhythm, moving in sync with every measured step, every slow, deliberate touch. I’m completely swept away.
Their leotards are the color of bare skin—and shiny, almost wet-looking, like liquid, or lube, poured over layers of smoothmuscle.Let’s go with lube. They move together like a single, living thing—fluid, taut, unbreakable. A knot of limbs. A coil of arms and legs, turning endlessly, a ribbon of infinity.
There’s beauty in their struggle. Their bodies twist and stretch with aching precision, locked in a dance that’s half fight, half foreplay. They don’t just move around the pole—they seduce it, battle it, use it as the final barrier between them.
On the sly, I glance at Elijah. He, too, is caught up in the raw, hypnotic swirl of this sexual frenzy. I reach over and take his hand. He squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back.
The lights flicker, and my attention snaps back to the stage, back to the dance, back to?—
Glossylips.
I gasp—audibly. My breath leaves my lungs is awhoosh. In fact, I completely forget about breathing altogether. Bright lights splash across his pretty face, and gold glitter rains over those irresistible pouty lips.
Noah.
I shift in my seat, spellbound by the way his body molds itself around the pole. Pressing, folding, and flowing like water over steel. My dick stretches against my thigh, reaching for him, wanting in on the dance.
I’d love to dance with you, Alex.
He wraps a leg around his partner’s waist… just like he had mine in the back alleyway of Gravity. My hips move with the motion of their seductive sway… their submission… their depiction of fucking.
I squeeze Elijah’s hand as Noah tightens his grip on the pole. Long, slender fingers wrap around its girth while his body undulates with a slow, sensual power, every movement charged with raw intensity.
Jesus Christ.
I squirm in my seat, unable to find a comfortable position. I’m very confident my dick could be used as a pole at this very moment.
Elijah leans into my shoulder.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”
Beautiful doesn’t come close. Noah is fuckingbreathtaking—clear blue eyes, glittering lips, sandy-blond hair twisted into a French knot. Christ.He’s so damnpretty.
Then it hits me like a punch to the gut. Elijah’s comment throws me off completely. What wasthatabout?
“Are you checking him out?” I snap, jealousy flaring before I can stop it.
He smirks, eyes sparkling. “Not quite. But Iamchecking you out, Alex.”
His gaze slides down my body, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing my hand before he looks back toward the stage—leaving me burning with a heady mix of desire and doubt.
Relieved, I breathe out and let myself settle into the moment, matching his quiet stillness as the dance winds to a close. The pole sinks soundlessly into the floor, and at last, their bodies melt together in a tender embrace.
I reach down and adjust myself as the other man’s body falls over Noah’s—unmoving, satiated—curled around Noah’s limbs like a comma wrapped around a word in a sentence. Darkness sheaths the two dancers, and bright lights explode like snapping stars.
Elijah releases my hand and rises to his feet, joining the rest of the audience in a thunderous standing ovation. I, on the other hand, need a second to gather myself. It feels like I’ve just had the best sex of my life—without even being touched.
Finally, with legs that feel less than steady, I stand and add my applause to the roar as overhead lights flicker intostrobe mode. The six pole dancers return to the stage, swinging effortlessly around the poles before lining up for their final bow.
