Some say darkness recognizes darkness. That might be true, but we also see the light. We know when something shouldn’t be there. And this woman, this Crown Jewel, is all light. Even if her eyes open and shadows take over as if she’s resigned herself to a fate she wasn’t a willing partner in planning hours ago.
Her hand falls back to her side, choosing a different option for her. One she can do.
Her steps are small, but she gets closer to me. I don’t move. My feet are flat on the ground but far apart as I lounge back in the surprisingly comfortable chair. I might have to get one of these for the house. It’s quite relaxing while still not feeling as if I’m sinking into a chair that I’ll need help to get out of later.
When she’s close, the shadows play along her skin. I know she can’t see all of me, just what one would see in candlelight, but she looks me over anyway, from the tips of my shoes to the tailored suit I’m in. My neck is exposed, but from this angle, my scar probably looks more like a shadow than the gruesome gouge along my skin that it really is.
I keep my face neutral as she takes me in, my eyes on her face. I’ve seen her body. Been looking at it longer than I’ve been here. But her face? I didn’t need to see it before to know she was young. Her movements and actions speak to that.
But now I know she can’t be more than in her early twenties, if that. Her jawline is straight, like I expect they want in a prima ballerina. Her blonde hair is tied tight to her head in a bun, either from repetition with dance or just for ease with her aerial movements. Her eyes, wide and doe-like, pull me in to a point that I have to adjust in my seat to hold myself back and let her run this show.
I can’t see their color, something I wish I could. I would even pay extra if she showed me. Telling me wouldn’t do them justice, as I bet they’re just like the rest of her, more than a simple color or category. Because she’s more than just a dancer. More than a stripper. Just more.
Her movements become bold as she raises one leg and slides it over mine before doing the same with the other, sitting on me and then adjusting to allow her knees to slide into the space between my legs and the sides of the chair to kneel.
I raise my eyebrows when she just waits there.
With a nod, either to me or herself, she slowly lowers herself and rocks her hips. Her hands stay firmly on the armrests on either side.
Honestly, it’s not the worst lap dance. Not in the top ten, or even thirty, I’ve had, but not the worst. Though that’s only because the girl puked on my shoes after.
“Where did you learn that?” I speak up, hoping it will reduce some of her anxiety. But from the flinch at my voice, I fear I worsened it.
“Learn what?” She seems genuinely confused, and I can only guess the thoughts going through her head. I doubt she thinks I’m complimenting her moves, at least not since she’s been in this room.
“The floating through air on sheets thing.” I use my hand to mimic what she did in the air, flittering it about beside us. Doing everything to not touch her more than she’s touching me.
“Took a class.”
I huff at her response. Another thing I bet no one taught her along with dancing: how to talk to the paying customers. She’s meant to be alluring. Teasing. Sometimes slutty. But never honest.
“What’s your name?” Not sure why I keep talking. Her movements have gotten better-ish. More sliding over me rather than bouncing on a yoga ball. But her voice? I like it. It’s soft, not harsh from smoking like so many strippers. It’s not the baby voice others put on either. It’s real. Like her.
“The Crown Jewel, but you can call me CJ.”
I glare at her words. I don’t like them. That’s what everyone else calls her. That’s not whatIwant to call her. “What’s yourrealname?”
Her moves falter.
“Jessica.”
“Liar.” I find myself smiling at her, proud that she didn’t tell me the truth. I know it’s a lie even if I don’t know her personally. She is many things, but not a Jessica. I’d bet my entire inheritance on it, and I’ve got a lot to inherit.
Time suspends between us as the songs continue and she keeps her movements going. The longer I sit, the bettershe gets. Not amazing, but more relaxed enough to bend her arms so they’re not rigid wooden planks gripping the armrests for dear life.
“Not much of a talker, huh?”
“Didn’t think you paid for that.”
I’m not sure who’s more surprised at her words, me or her. She stops moving completely, covering her mouth with her hand as if that would have stopped me from hearing what she said, while I swallow my spit and choke on it.
“S-s-sorry. I didn’t mean to. I….”
Her words trail off as I shake my head and attempt to clear my throat, all while trying to keep my distance. Which isn’t easy since when she stopped talking, her ass landed on my thighs and she’s now sitting comfortably on me. She’s completely oblivious to it, of course.
I really wish I had a drink right now. Water, whiskey—hell, even milk would work, but I have nothing to help me other than time.
“It’s fine.” I don’t have to speak. I don’t have to do anything, really. I already paid, and apparently I can do whatever the hell I want. But the need to comfort her and let her know it’s fine is burning in my soul. “You did nothing wrong. I was just surprised is all.”
