Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

already seen how the dance worked, and honesty was above all else. They would know if she’d enjoyed herself.

      And so would she.

      ‘All right,’ she agreed, steeling her spine. ‘I’ll dance on your stage.’

      ‘Fuck that,’ Hunt said, stepping into her space and stealing her air. ‘For a month, you’re going in the cage.’

      Chapter Three

      Alicia stared at herself in the mirror, horrified and transfixed in one improbable moment. What was she doing?

      Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her stomach. Thank goodness Chanteuse had helped her with her wardrobe. She doubted she could have handled trying on the Satin Club’s skimpy outfits in front of either Bas or Remy. Still, the costume she’d ended up with was little more than a bikini. Make that a little less …

      Her fingers brushed against the low-riding edge of the bottoms. They barely covered her pubic hair, and she’d tried on several pairs before she’d found ones that would.

      Her face flared, indescribably hot.

      She kept herself tidy down there. She just didn’t realise that most of the dancers waxed. She bit her lip. The mere thought of letting some aesthetician touch her, see her private area and groom her …

      Her fingers pressed against her throat. Oh, things were spiralling out of control so fast, her head was spinning.

      She turned to see herself from behind. The G-string fit her like a glove, but covered much less. The tiny bands of fabric that lay against her hips continued around to the small of her back. The stretchy fabric outlined the top of her buttocks, but left them bare. She’d never, ever, displayed so much skin. Her butt looked rounded and firmed, muscled from so many years of disciplined exercise, but the thong design let a thin strap of material part her rounded cheeks and delve into the crack between them.

      That intimately placed strap of fabric bit. And rubbed.

      She shifted in discomfort, but the binding material only moved with her.

      How was she supposed to dance in this? She’d already used the bathroom to clean herself up once. With this intimate caress following her around, she’d be in a constant state of distress.

      And arousal.

      Oh, heavens.

      She faced the mirror again. She couldn’t go out there where everyone could see her like this! Her breasts looked plump and firm, overspilling the tiny pink cups of the bikini top. She tugged at the fabric, trying to cover more of herself. She’d always been self-conscious about how full she was up top. For as sleek and toned as the rest of her body was, her curves were generous. Almost too generous for a dancer.

      But that’s what they wanted her to do – dance. Dressed like this. In that dreadful, conspicuous, tempting cage.

      She pressed her legs together so tightly, her ankles rubbed and her knees ground.

      ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. She couldn’t stand it. Dancing was one thing, but the touching? By strangers? Men with sexual intent?

      Her private area clenched, threatening to dampen again.

      She doubted she’d be able to step out of this room in this get-up.

      But she’d agreed to a deal.

      The thought whispered through her mind. She didn’t give her word lightly, and there was a huge reward waiting if she lived up to her part. There was a reason she was here, stripped down bare. Her fingers clenched. She had a fundamental disagreement with the two men who stood somewhere outside the dressing-room door. What they called ‘pleasure’, she called ‘sin’. They might enjoy the things that went on in this club, but what about the dancers? Did they feel objectified? Ashamed? Dirty?

      She hoped her church’s picketing had caused some self-analysis, but the situation had become stalled. Something needed to be done before a peaceful protest turned into something ugly. Bas had given her an opportunity to push past that barrier.

      She just had to dance.

      In these tiny strips of sparkly fabric.

      That left her virtually naked from the back.

      Her stomach twisted. ‘But you’ll get your way …’ she insisted to her reflection.

      There was no way she was going to enjoy this. It was so much more than in her dream. More nerve-wracking. More scary. More immoral. Her palms were damp and her pulse was racing. The thought of walking out into the main room sent a wash of cold through her. And climbing up into that cage? She felt like she was going to be sick.

      The end was worth the means, though, and the end was a foregone conclusion.

      Now. She had to do it now before she lost her nerve.

      The heels of her borrowed shoes clicked against the floor like a countdown clock as she walked to the door. Bas would be there to accompany her to the stage. She had to think of it as a stage, because that was what it was. Once she started thinking of it as a cage, she would lose it.

      Her fingers were tremulous as she opened the door. When she saw the man waiting for her, her nipples pinched just as surely as if he’d reached out and nipped them himself.

      Remy.

      He was leaning against the wall again, his shoulders taking his weight, but he stiffened when he saw her. Her self-preservation instincts kicked in and she tried to close the door. He stopped her with one hand spread wide against it. Taking one step, he entered her space. His heavy gaze chafed as it moved down her body.

      Alicia quivered.

      The air had become charged, staticky and ready to spark. Goosebumps popped up on her skin and her breasts ached. Their tips were unbearably tight, pressing against the thin fabric and catching his attention. A muscle in his jaw worked.

      She let out a surprised whimper when he rubbed the back of his hard knuckles over an engorged nub. That was it, just a nudge, a hard bumpy caress and her breast felt like it was on fire.

      Unlike Bas, he didn’t smile. If anything, the line of his jaw only hardened.

      The door swung open as he pressed on it harder and Alicia had to accept the inevitable. It was time. She had to dance.

      If she didn’t, she knew she’d be flat on her back on the dressing room floor with this big, intimidating man rutting into her.

      Her private area clenched again, and this time wouldn’t relax.

      Hunt’s hand settled on her lower back as he accompanied her down the hallway. It felt hot and huge, his fingers tickling the line of her thong. She folded her arms over her stomach. Her breasts felt full and they bounced with every step she took. Her butt felt exposed and that insidious strap of fabric between her cheeks was driving her mad.

      Too soon, they were out in the main room.

      She sucked in a hard, nervous breath and felt every man’s gaze in the room turn to her. She felt vulnerable then. There was nothing between them and her. Their lecherous hands, those hungry eyes.

      Instinctively, she moved closer to the big man at her side. His hand slid from her back to settle at her waist.

      ‘They’re looking at you because you’re hot,’ he said softly. ‘Dance, and they’ll be begging at your feet.’

      Her breath hitched. She’d been told she was beautiful before, both in body and spirit, but being hot was something else entirely. It made her feel feminine. Womanly. Powerful.

      ‘I’m ready,’ she whispered.

      The cage would protect her, put some solid bars between her and the crowd.

      And deep down in that secret place inside her, she wanted to be trapped inside it. On display.