𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝑒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 12

One of the men below the stage waves a stack of bills. “Take off that bra and these are all yours!” The lights are low and there’s smoke all around, but I can tell it’s a lot of money. Not enough, though: I’m not undressing—not on stage and neither during a private dance, no matter how much he has to offer.

I ignore him, focusing on the slow rocking of my hips. The song blasting through the speakers is slow and sexy, my favorite kind: at least I don’t have to go wild on these goddamn heels.

“Talking to you, number four!” he insists, still waving his money. “I know you can hear me!” I don’t acknowledge him: I keep on dancing, giving my attention to the small crowd on the right. I get on my knees, knowing damn well how hard it will be to get back up, and I slowly slide down. I roll on my back, almost squirming on the stage, my hands caressing my overheated body. I can’t help but imagine Lev doing it: judging by the way he grips me when he drinks from me, I suspect he’d know how to make me feel good. Really good.

As soon as the song ends, I get up and collect the tips from the crowd, just like Jasmin taught me. It’s a nice sum. I’m about to thank them for their generosity, when my eyes lock with those of a man in the back of the room. I don’t have trouble recognizing him: that dark gaze is unmistakable.
What the fuck? Did I just manifest him?

Jungkook doesn’t have the dissolute expression I gave him in my fantasy: he’s angry. Fuming, actually. He starts making his way through the crowd, but before he can get close enough, someone calls me from backstage. It’s Anita, the dancers’ assistant.“You’ve been booked for a private dance” she says. “VIP room two. Be quick, Y/N, the client made it clear he doesn’t want to waste any time.”

It’s the fourth time I get booked for a private dance, and it’s honestly one of the things I dislike the most about this job: being alone in a room with someone who’s lusting after me, dancing only for them in an allusive way… It makes me uncomfortable. Thing is, I don’t want to turn the requests down: they pay very well.

I get off the stage and stop by at the changing rooms to freshen up a bit: I retouch my makeup, smooth out my French braids and fix my outfit— a black lacey set with fishnets and sparkly heels.

The VIP rooms are in a secluded area of the club, where only members can get in: casual clients aren’t allowed inside. I enter VIP room two from the backdoor, and I immediately notice I’m not alone: the client who’s requested me is already here. I also happen to know him: it’s the man who was trying to convince me to undress.

“Hello, number four” he says, smiling at me from the chair he’s sprawled on. “What’s your name?” I wish I could tell him I like ‘number four’ just fine, that he can keep calling me that, because he gives me the creeps, and I don’t like the idea of sharing any kind of information with this man—not even my stage name.

“You can call me CC” I answer, mimicking his smile. “Thank you for booking me, sir. I hope you enjoy the show.” He licks his lips in a way that makes me want to throw up. “I have a feeling I will, CC.”

I twirl around, taking a bit too much time to turn on the music system, then a force myself to put on a seductive face as I walk toward him.
It feels like venturing in the direction of a rabid beast, eager to devour me.

No touching policy, I tell myself, and I hope he remembers as well. I start swaying with my arms up in the air, letting the music guide me through this.

“Come closer” he murmurs, his eyes following my every move. “Just a little, yeah?”God, I so don’t want to. I force myself to take a step forward, and the moment I do, he leans toward me and grabs my wrist.