Another lapdance

Suddenly, the dark-haired one pulls his wallet from his back pocket and slides a bill out, letting it flutter onto the coffee table as he grins. He doesn't say a word, but the gesture says plenty. My eyes trace the outline of it, then drift up to his face. There's a quiet challenge in the way he watches me.

"That your way of saying you want another lap?" I ask, taking a slow step toward him. "Because I'm not opposed. But I should warn you — I'm not exactly the type of girl who stops at just one."

I hook my leg over his thighs, settling onto his lap with a practiced ease. The boots make it feel different this time. More deliberate. My bare chest hovers just above his, close enough to feel his body heat radiating off his skin. He's still in his boxers, his hands finding my hips with an unapologetic grip.

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