Page 4 of Fanged Desire
“Kinsley,” I replied, starting up a slow, fluid movement as I glimpsed her over my shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”
Her eyes darkened as my body aligned with the beat, swaying in time to the soft music. It was different from dancing on stage. In the private rooms there were no spotlights, no barriers separating the dancer from her audience.
My mind was churning, despite the sensual energy in the small space. Every movement was designed to elicit a reaction, to push just enough without tipping over into something ‘unprofessional’. The goal was to control the tension and keep it balanced on a knife’s edge, all the while keeping my composure intact.
And I wasn’t the only one walking the tightrope. I could see it in the way her breath hitched ever so slightly, the way her eyes lingered on every curve. But to her credit, my mysterious new client kept her cool, respectfully composed and in control. It was a rare thing for someone to hold onto their control in a room like that.
I admired it. But then again, I also enjoyed watching her restraint slipping, little by little, with each sensual act.
She leaned back on the sofa, propping her elbows up on the backrest, and I took in her attire. She wasn’t dressed for a night on the town – suit pants and crisp button-up, pointed heels unscuffed and glossy. A businesswoman, maybe? Shady or otherwise.
“So, what brings you to Micere on a night like this?” I asked, voice soft as I turned slowly, letting my body unfold before her. The question was casual, but my mind was always working, always piecing things together. I liked to understand my clients. Especially the interesting ones.
“Business,” Hunter replied, tone steady. But her eyes were anything but casual as they followed the curve of my spine. “But I got… distracted.”
I smiled at that, letting the words hang in the air as my hands traveled down my body.
When the tension surrounding her ramped up to fiery degrees I moved closer, stalking slow, sensual steps before sliding to my knees, splaying stockinged thighs out before her. I heard her slow intake of breath, and imagined the groan that could follow if I offered more.
When her eyes met mine again I smiled, sidling a hand down my stomach. “I hope it was a worthwhile distraction.”
“You could say that,” she replied, her voice low, her lips curling into a seductive smile of her own as she tilted her head to the side. “You’re rather hard to resist.”
I let out a soft laugh as my fingers grazed the floor, tracing invisible lines of tension that seemed to pull her in closer as she sat up straighter in her seat. “So it would seem.”
I tilted my body forward, stalking on hands and knees towards her. “I must admit, it’s not often that I’ve performed for someone like you.”
Those sharp eyes narrowed slightly, but her flirtatious smirk stayed in place. “Someone like me?”
I edged closer and climbed the sofa, carefully avoiding contact as I hovered over her. We were eye-to-eye, close enough to share the same breath. “Yeah. The cool, mysterious type. Always watching from the shadows, like you’re deciding whether to get involved or not.”
She raised an eyebrow, then closed her eyes as loose strands of my hair brushed her cheek. I watched her inhale softly, lips parted in near-euphoric bliss. “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out.”
“It’s my job to understand my clients.”
“And what about you?” Her voice dropped to a near whisper as I arched over her, her lips hovering just below my ear. “What exactly is a woman like you doing in a place like this?”
I felt the heat between us skyrocket, the challenge in her words stoking something in me that was best kept buried. My breath hitched for just a second, but I refused to falter. I held her gaze for a moment before pulling back, turning again to resume my dance.
“Business,” I replied smoothly, mirroring her earlier answer as I bent away from her again. “You don’t work your way up to Micere for the quick cash alone. I’m here to make connections.”
That earned me another raised brow and a curious quirk of her lips. “Oh? What kind of connections?”
The kind that gives me the answers I’m looking for.
But, of course, I couldn’t tell her that. Instead, I shrugged, working it into the routine, and folded into a backbend that served as a satisfying distraction. When my feet traveled over my body and touched the floor again I came up to see her eyeing me with renewed enthusiasm.
“How long have you been dancing?”
I straightened up and moved around her, fingers trailing lightly along the back of the sofa as I circled her. “Not long.”
“That’s hard to believe.” Her eyes followed my every step, head tilted slightly to track my movements.
“It’s the truth.”
She seemed satisfied with my answer, laughing to herself as she leaned back in her seat.
We were orbiting each other, prying at the layers beneath the surface, but content to leave some things unsaid.
