Private Dancer. Kimberly Dean

the room. There was no place to hide and she felt the stares on every inch of her bare skin. Too soon, they were at the cage. A series of steps lifted her to the small enclosure. Hunt held her hand as she climbed, her thigh muscles quivering with every step. Her fingers wrapped around a bar as she stepped inside. It felt solid and sturdy. The door clicked shut behind her and she spun around.

      Had it only been a short time ago that she’d walked into the front door of the Satin Club? Fully dressed with good intentions?

      She watched the crowd as it started to gather around her.

      She’d definitely crossed a line.

      Silence boomed around her, and her fight-or-flight instinct kicked in. She wanted out. She needed to run.

      But the music started then, and her eyes drifted closed. ‘Feel Like Makin’ Love’ by Bad Company. Her belly clenched. Oh, that was so not the song she needed, with its grungy groove and insinuating rhythm.

      It got to her just like every other time she’d heard it.

      The beat of the song awakened her muscles and the sensuality flowed through her veins. Still, she stood frozen. There were so many eyes upon her, so many men gathered round her tiny, elevated stage. Bold eyes, lustful eyes.

      A steady green gaze caught hers. Bas. She looked at him, her panic mounting.

      ‘Dance,’ he mouthed.

      Dance. Right. That was their agreement.

      Her hair brushed against her back as she looked nervously from right to left. The club’s patrons had gathered around her and she was fully circled. Her skin tightened. She felt self-conscious and uncertain. Indecent. A high wolf-whistle permeated the air, competing with the soulful song, and her face flushed.

      Dance.

      She had to dance.

      Five minutes and it would be over. She could get dressed, the club would go on hiatus and she could get her father and his followers to move on. Hopefully, somewhere far, far away.

      Her hips gave a little twitch.

      ‘Ooo, baby. That’s right.’

      She nearly laughed, she was so nervous. Really? That was all it took?

      She closed her eyes and let herself slip further into the music. She’d always been able to vanish into its midst. Her hips started rocking, though her legs were still pressed together tightly. She made her arms drop from where they were wrapped around her waist.

      The song really was wicked. It pulsated, advancing and retreating with clever guitars and a booming bass line. A groan sounded somewhere behind her, and her body loosened. All she had to do was listen and move. And it felt good to escape, to go somewhere else in her head and become someone entirely different. Suddenly, the music had her. She was in the song, in the moment.

      Instead of growing louder, the small group of men around her went quiet, almost as if holding their breaths.

      That was when she truly began to dance.

      Staying firmly in the centre of her cage, she let the music take over. Her hips swung with the beat and her hands reached out to catch it. Her hair flew and her breasts swayed. The sensation made her bite her lip. She’d always had to lash her breasts down when she danced, to the point where her flesh couldn’t move. Here, today, her breasts were moving. They were swaying, jiggling and jouncing. She lifted her arms over her head and her head dropped back.

      Mmm, it felt good.

      ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ someone said in a rough voice.

      That’s right, honey, she thought. Her legs spread as she found better footing. She’d never tried to dance in heels so high, and they made her very conscious of her legs … and her bottom. The feel was unnerving. So bare, so perky, so –

      Available.

      She’d strayed from the safe zone and the tips of a stranger’s fingers glided over her left buttock. Alicia jerked so hard, her breasts nearly bounced out of the string bikini. Her body flashed hot and then cold – and then hot again. She spun around, her hair flying around her shoulders.

      They couldn’t touch her there! They’d only stroked the other dancer’s legs. Below the knee. She could deal with that. Nobody had told her they could do more.

      A young businessman stood with his arm outstretched into the cage.

      She looked at him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

      ‘Come on, sweetie,’ he said. ‘Let me pet you.’

      The Petting Zoo. Her panic flared, but somewhere in there was excitement, too. Her gaze searched the crowd, and she connected with an intense green stare. Bas’s eyebrows lifted.

      It was her decision.

      She was in charge.

      She sucked in a hard breath. Someone swore, and her excitement mounted. So did her self-confidence. They could touch her – but only when she said so. And if she did this, nobody could argue that she’d dodged the bet. With her legs spread, she did a deep squat, almost a plié, before rising again with an exaggerated grind of her hips.

      Her gaze connected with the man who’d touched her. He looked so boyish. Harmless. His fingers curled towards her, almost begging.

      Power solidified in her chest. Remy had been right. She held the crowd’s attention in the palms of her hands, and they were all attracted to her. They liked what they saw. Her body and the way she used it pleased them.

      It pleased her, too.

      After so many years of rules and chastisement, the feeling was surprisingly freeing. A link or two of the chain that bound her broke and slipped away. Hesitantly, she turned, giving the man her backside again. Her skin prickled when she felt him and others staring. They could see every flex of her muscles, every shiver of her flesh.

      She edged back one step and then another.

      She shuddered when those strong fingers stroked her cheek.

      Oh, this felt good.

      Sinful.

      Her breath went jagged when another hand cupped her right buttock. Cupped her and squeezed. Hard.

      Oh, dear … dear … heavens!

      ‘Baby, you’re like velvet.’

      Her eyes shut tight. Her body was suddenly guided not only by music but by touch.

      More hands braved to reach through the bars. One lone finger traced the line where her bottom met her leg. Another stroked down her spine while a bold, calloused hand reached between her legs and stroked her inner thigh from her knee all the way up to –

      She gasped, and her eyes flew open.

      Her gaze connected this time with Remy’s.

      His dark eyes were steady as always, hot and intent. And mocking?

      The hand on her right buttock squeezed again, making her muscles bunch. He was watching the whole thing, just like she’d imagined.

      Just like she’d fantasised.

      Her breaths went short, and her … her womb pulled tight. She was suddenly so aroused, it hurt. Taking a bigger step back, she put herself fully into these strangers’ hands. Her body vibrated, threatening to spiral out of control.

      ‘Come on, honey. Give it to us. You know you want to.’

      She did. With everything inside her, she did.

      The music poured over her, while countless hands touched her. She watched Remy watching her and her anticipation mounted. She hadn’t known she’d wanted this, needed this. She danced and was rewarded with admiring hands, fingers and dark whispers.

      She gripped the bars of the cage as her hips worked. Not being able to see the men helped her courage, but it made their touches more unsuspected.