A Dance for Him (2 page)

The place has filled up since I left, and the VIP tables are now fully occupied - it looks like some sort of bachelor party has arrived in the meantime.

Well, as long as they tip well, I suppose! …

A lot of whistling happens when I turn my back to the audience, flip my skirt up and start gyrating. I like this part the best - the light isn’t as bad, and I don’t have to look at anyone, so that’s when I think of Dr. Morland, of how he looks at me, of what he would think if he saw me dance.

It’s enough for the rest to come naturally - the segueing into a split, the hair whipping as I wriggle out of my skimpy bra (more whistling), the writhing about on the floor, the twirling around on the pole.

I end by leaning against the pole in my earlier position as the song wraps up, and various dollar bills flutter onto the stage, along with a bunch of balled-up bills, tossed one by one as though they were spitballs (ugh).

It’s his signature move, the creepy guy of whom I’d said to Brandi that he wasn’t here tonight. Damn. He’s not the only guy around who pulls that move, but given that they all landed on stage in the same batch and in the location where they usually end up, I know it has to be him.

As I get on my knees to pick up the money, I glance vaguely in the direction of where he tends to sit, careful to use my peripheral vision so that I don’t make any direct eye contact with him.

And it
is
him in his usual seat, though unusually enough he’s not alone but with a bunch of other guys from what I assumed was the bachelor party.

He’s already staring at me, so I just smile tightly without looking at him and turn my attention to the table at large, so it looks like I maybe didn’t see him.

Except that two seats away from him, at the same table, there’s someone who looks all too familiar, who’s
also
staring at me.

As we make eye contact he reaches into his wallet and tosses a twenty-dollar bill onto the stage, making his friends snicker.

He doesn’t seem amused in the least, though, and his friends’ teasing doesn’t appear to be registering with him - he’s pale as death, and he’s clearly recognised me.

As I have him.

It’s Sebastian Morland.

CHAPTER TWO

It can’t be her, can’t possibly be … And yet I know it is her, know it has to be her, given the way she turned pale and froze briefly when she saw me, as though she’d gotten quite a jolt.

My best student, whom I’ve longed for in vain for much of the term. That sweet, innocent-looking little thing, who blushes bright red whenever we so much as make eye contact, whether in class or in my office.

I’m pretty sure she has a bit of a crush on me - she’s always finding an excuse to come and talk during office hours, and she’s always a bit flirty and nervous and giggly in a sweet way. All the usual stuff, you know, the extra-bright smile, the hair-touching, the extended eye contact …

Fuck, I lose myself in those sparkling blue eyes just like
that
, without even trying, and she’ll just gaze back at me, a huge smile on her pretty face, her eyes soft, her lips gently parted as if in unconscious invitation.

It’s not like I don’t get this sort of thing from students (not to mention colleagues and friends and random women) all the time, but there’s just something different about her. I don’t know what exactly it is, but it’s new to me, this combination of dizzy boner-generating lust and heart-melting tenderness that she induces in me.

I’ve never done or said anything to her because I don’t want to scare her, and besides I can’t fuck a student, it wouldn’t be right. Every time I say goodbye to her after we talk I find myself wishing I’d met her somewhere else - anywhere else but in the classroom.

Except that after she walks out of my office, I end up telling myself not to be stupid, that even if I did meet her somewhere else, she’d probably be too young and innocent for what I’d like to do to her. Because my tastes run kinky - they always have - and that’s not about to change any time soon.

But now it seems she’s not so innocent …

I just can’t get those images out of my head, those images of her with her lovely tits bared and her long legs spread as she writhed on the ground. I’ve spent a lot of time fantasising about her and wondering what she looks like naked.

Well, now I know.

And she’s more perfect than I’d even thought possible.

But what do I do now? If she hadn’t already caught on to the fact that I want her desperately, she must know by now.

I gave her that twenty in an impetuous moment, because that asshole Caleb was throwing all those balled-up notes at her, after making a whole bunch of crude comments about how he liked to do that so she’d have to get on her knees on stage in front of him and pick them up one by one, because it was a great way to check out her jiggling tits. “They’re all sluts, of course,” he said, “this one’s a bit more stuck up than the rest but I bet if I throw enough money at her she’ll eventually let me fuck her.”

I could have killed him for talking like that about my precious girl - my best student, the only one of them who isn’t some kind of pretentious flake. If he’d been some random guy, I probably would have. Hell, even if he were just some random guy who happened to be the son of the dean, which he is, I’d probably have punched his lights out by now, at the very least.

But he’s the cousin of Brandon, the groom-to-be, my best friend in college - and the only reason I’m even in a strip club to begin with …

Fuck, Caleb’s started going on about her again. She’s working the floor now, and he’s tipped one of the floor managers to ask her over to our table. Says he wants to buy a dance and maybe also treat Brandon to the best tits and ass he’s going to see for a while. Possibly in the VIP room, even. Because his bro deserves the best.

In the meantime, my poor baby’s over in the other corner of the room, probably trying to avoid Caleb, possibly trying to avoid me as well.

Fuck.

The floor manager makes his way over to her, talks to her and indicates our table.

She looks over, ever so reluctantly, and Caleb waves and ostentatiously blows her a kiss.

There’s a brief flash of panic and distaste on her sweet face before she rearranges her features into a strained smile and starts walking over here. Yes, I’m rather beginning to suspect that Caleb was the one who suggested this club for the bachelor party - she clearly knows who he is, and almost certainly wants to avoid him …

When she approaches, Caleb breaks out into a big grin. “Gentlemen. There she is. My beautiful girl Tiffany. I couldn’t pass up a chance to introduce her to you, she’s the best lap dancer in this club …”

I can’t take it any more, she’s looking stricken, and I saw how she winced when he called her his beautiful girl. There’s no fucking way I’m going to stand by and let Caleb humiliate her in front of all of us … and Brandon, you may be my best friend from college, but you already have a lovely fiancée, I don’t even know what the hell you’re doing in a strip club when you have her, and more importantly,
Paige is mine
.

“I’m glad you introduced her to us, Caleb,” I interject imperiously before he can continue, pretending to be oblivious to the fact that he’d declared earlier he was going to book her for himself and Brandon. “Because she’s quite charming. So, Ms. Tiffany, I’d like to see you in the VIP room. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

She’s looking at me, wide-eyed. I’d like to say that I see unmixed relief on her face but I’m not sure what it is that I
do
see.

She’s clearly glad not to have to stay here in Caleb’s presence, but there’s something else more complicated, I don’t quite know what exactly. A sort of distance.

I almost feel like now there’s a wall between us that never was there in the past …

Or perhaps she’s just trying to remain professional. Which is more than I can say for myself, ha!

A fine professor I’m being, indeed.

Caleb was looking too stunned by my interruption to say anything, but now that I’ve snatched her out from under his nose and she’s just about to lead me off to the VIP room, I can see him start to glower.

“Well,
someone
clearly has a crush,” I hear him say mockingly behind us, to the scattered laughter of the others.

Fuck them.

CHAPTER THREE

I can’t bring myself to look at him as I lead him to the VIP room. I have no idea
how
I even want to look at him.

Of course I’m relieved to not be around the creepy guy. Fuck, I don’t know what I would have done if Mr. Creep bought a lap dance right there, so that I’d have to grind against him in front of Dr. Morland. That would be gross. I’d never be able to look him in the eye ever again.

Instead, I’m going to get to grind against
Dr. Morland
himself. Gorgeous, smoking hot Dr. Morland. Maybe I’ll feel his manly hardness against my body as I rub up on him. I’ve fantasised about this so long, and now I’m finally getting to do it.

And yet I feel vaguely queasy about the whole thing, even as my insides are clenching in excitement at the thought of making him come in his expensive jeans. Perhaps it’s because I never wanted him to know about my job at the club, never
expected
to see him in the club.

Never expected to see him in a place like this, period.

Fuck, I really didn’t think he was the type. That was a huge part of his charm. I knew a rich, attractive man like him would probably have what one could euphemistically call a “bachelor existence”, but I was thinking in terms of lots of girlfriends, with maybe the occasional one-night-stand pick-up.

I wasn’t thinking that he’d be just like all the rest of the guys here …

I mean, a man like him must have tons of women after him. Seriously. I’m sure he could easily pick up some supermodel type in a bar, why bother with a place like this? It’s true he was with a stag party, but he certainly knows his way around a strip club if the first thing he’s asking for is time in the VIP room.

Who knows how many VIP rooms he’s been in, how many private dances he’s paid for?

I wonder if he’s ordered up the infamous “extras” as well in the past …

The irritating thing is that my body is betraying me, even as my romantic delusions are evaporating in short order.

It
might
be because of the stilettos, but I find myself still swivelling my hips seductively as I walk down the long hallway in front of him, to the most private room I can find.

Of course, that’s the way I always walk when I’m leaving his office, just so I can induce him to blurt out that “it’s very good to see you, Ms. Lytton.”

I mean, not that I think he doesn’t feel that way in general about me, but I find it highly
suspicious
that he always seems to say that when he’s standing behind me, looking at me as I wiggle my butt winsomely on my way out …