Page 5 of Dark Wolf Soul
The lie rolls off his tongue so easily I almost believe him.
“Who are you?”
He winks. “You can call me Old Fashioned.”
Expensive suit. No name. Alarm bells go off in my mind.
“I’m only a waitress,” I say, taking a step back.
“Not for the next ten minutes.”
I roll my eyes. Clearly, he thinks he’s charming.
But sexy and charming are two different things.
Not that I think he’s sexy.
Or not that I care.
“You’re willing to pay a lot for a dance from someone who’s never done it before.”
“Is one thousand a lot?”
Prick.
“It’s a very specific number,” I tell him.
“Is it the right number for you to say yes?”
His eyes spark with the dare, and I can feel myself getting just angry enough to prove… whatever I’m trying to prove.
Fuck it.
“Sit down and keep your hands to yourself,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
His grin is sly, and the urge to sucker-punch it off his sexy face is strong. Instead, I keep my eyes on the prize in his hand.
The cash.
He tosses it onto the small side table beside his untouched drink and then settles himself on the couch before looking up at me expectantly.
As if on cue, the song coming from the speakers overhead changes to something slow and sultry.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I shove my hands into my hair and begin to dance for him. He watches me like I’m something to eat, and despite the fact that I told myself I’d never do this, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to let him feast on me.
My pulse races at the thought.
There’s a hidden door in every single section of the VIP area, including this one, but I don’t dare let myself glance at it. Something tells me he knows about it already anyway. And I refuse to cross that line too, no matter how sexy this stranger is.
His eyes remain on me the entire time, but he follows my instructions about keeping his hands to himself. He’s not like the other men I’ve witnessed in here. He’s actually respecting my boundaries.
Maybe that’s what makes me braver.
As the song builds, I climb onto his lap and straddle him. My dress hikes up on my thighs as I lower myself to his hips. Grinding against him, I watch as his gaze darkens with a desire that borders on dangerous.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I order myself to stop this insanity, but whatever reason or common sense I’d clung to earlier is gone. Now that I’m touching him, I can’t seem to make myself stop.
I shudder at the way he watches me with hooded eyes, and without meaning to, I dip lower. My movements feel more like foreplay than a dance. This time, when I thrust against him, I feel his erection rub my thigh.
