Page 98 of Reclaimed

The audience most likely won’t even notice her change in routine. She uses that pole like a prop, twisting and grinding. She can still pull herself up into several moves, but the days of inverting are on hold for now.

After one pole set, she lowers herself to the floor. As she leans back and grinds against the pole on her knees, I notice the presence of her baby bump for the first time during her dance. The round protrusion is slightly more pronounced on top of her overall voluptuous figure.

God, she’s so fucking sexy.

I love her size. I love everything about her. Her confidence. The way she carries herself. I’ve never met a woman who captured me so quickly. So thoroughly before even speaking a single word beyond polite exchanges the few times I saw her with Juniper.

I’m gone for her in a way I never thought was possible for me.

In a way I never want to be for anybody else.

Now that I’ve had her, made her come, heard her whimper and beg just for me?

That’s it. I’m done for. Game over.

But how do I tell her that in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m just some guy who fell for the woman who took my virginity? How do I tell her that I fell for her over pancakes and sleeping next to her in bed and when she laughed at my bare ass and practice kissing that was never really practice but the real thing all along?

Just as the last track ends, a loud bang sounds from the back of the room. Isla immediately freezes on stage, her eyes fixated on a point I can’t see in the darkened room. I’m on my feet, moving to the front of the stage as Lucien crosses my path in the direction of the sound.

“Go!” I shout at her, needing her somewhere safe. My heart pounds as she meets my eyes and nods before scampering off behind the curtain.

I cut left and move down the hall to the dressing room door. I raise my hand to knock, but before my knuckles connect, the wood swings open to reveal Isla’s scared face on the other side.

The tremble of her lower lip tears my heart to shreds.

“I’m done,” she announces, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into the forbidden room. “I’m so done.”

She’s burrowed into my chest in half a second, and I kick the door shut behind us. If anyone in the room objects to my presence, they keep it to themselves and go about their business. Some of them fully going about their businesssans clothing.

“You’re okay,” I murmur reassuringly, rocking her side to side. Her fingers clench the sides of my jacket, pulling the fabric taut around my shoulders. At my words, a shudder runs through her body before she finally relaxes.

“I’m okay,” she repeats quietly.

“What did you see?”

“I couldn’t really see anything.” She pulls back and gazes up at me, so much trust in her eyes it physically hurts. “But I’m finished. I can’t do any more shifts. I’m quitting tonight.”

I know financially that’s going to hurt. Even three more days would put at least another thousand dollars in her pocket that she’s walking away from.

“Go get dressed. We can tell your boss and get out of here.”

She rises on her tiptoes to reach my cheek then scampers across the room. As I watch her go, I can’t help but wonder what’s in store for us if she doesn’t need me looking out for her anymore.

That conversation I’ve been avoiding looks like it’s going to happen much sooner. Instead of having days to figure out what I want to say, it’s now come down to a matter of hours.

Once she’s out of her costume and back into her regular sweats and baggy sweatshirt, her hair piled high on her head, we leave the room.

I relieve her of the duffel bag on her shoulder. “Good thing you’re quitting. Your roots are in need of a touch-up.”

“I don’t know, the brown is growing on me. I might keep the color.” She twists a loose strand around her index finger.

“Just say the word and your personal stylist is at your service. Or we can visit the salon.”

She squeezes my hand. “I think I prefer your treatment. I’m curious what otherservicesyou might provide.”

My cock twitches in my jeans. Her ability to compartmentalize the events around us astounds me as I struggle to let go of the anger over how this night is ending.

Her boss appears from a door up ahead, a radio in one hand. He stops as he sees us.

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