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“You were supposed to close your eyes.”
“What guy closes his eyes when his girl says to close them when she’s walking in a room? She’s either in lingerie or carrying a knife to stab him. Neither scenario warrants shutting eyes. What’s with the chair?” I ask.
She places it at the foot of the bed and steps away from it, looking at it like it’s a new car she’s thinking of buying. “You know how I’ve been at the gym with Melissa the last few weeks?”
“Yeah.”
She clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest. “We actually went to a chair dance instructional class to learn lap dance skills.”
I lean further up on my elbows. “Baby, please tell me you’re going to do that dance for me and that I get to take that little lingerie getup off you with my teeth afterward.”
She looks at the floor. “Savannah,” I say, using a stern voice I don’t usually use with her. “Stop covering your body. It’s gorgeous. I can’t think of a better gift tonight. Why are you shy now?”
“I just realized you’ve probably had a zillion lap dances in your life. I’m not sure I can compare.”
I’m off the bed in a heartbeat. I cross over to the metal chair and plop down in it like I own the thing, crooking a finger for her to come to me. She obeys my direction and walks to me, shrieking as I pull her down until she’s sitting on my lap.
My fingers itch to tear the black fabric from her skin. I push her hair back from her face and tilt her chin so she’s looking at me. “Oh, I’ve had a lot of women dance for me. Beautiful women wearing pasties or a lot less than you are right now. Women that offered to do terrible things to my cock when they were done. Not one of them excited me more than the thought of you dancing for me tonight in that outfit. Not one of them is the woman that wouldn’t have dreamed of doing this for me when I met her. Not one of them is the woman that I dressed up with at Halloween or went to holiday parties with. I want that dance, Savannah. I’m not letting you out of it.”
“It won’t be perfect like with them.”
“It won’t be perfect, but it will be you.”
Maybe it’s the sound of my voice that strengthens her, but she nods and gives me a small smile before getting off my lap and crossing the room. Her hands tremble, and she crosses her legs at the ankle while she fiddles with the music docking station across the room. “Will it put you at ease if I dance for you after you dance for me?” I ask.
She whirls around, eyes wide. “You’d do that?”
“Why not? Do you want me to dance for you, Savannah?”
She doesn’t answer me, but her face hardens with something that must be confidence. The music starts, a techno beat I don’t recognize, and she walks to dim the lights. I can see her through the moonlight streaming through the curtains, and it’s enough to see every curve of her body and every inch of exposed skin.
She approaches me, runs her hands down my chest, and kisses me on the nose. Her lip trembles, but she hides it well, and I run my hand down her cheek. She catches my hand, kisses it, and pushes it away. “No touching at the club, sir.”
“Indeed,” I growl, placing my hands at the side of the chair.
She’s an amateur. Her moves are more stilted than a professional stripper’s, and there’s no easy flow. I can tell this isn’t natural for her, but her effort earns her a gold star.
She swirls her hips over my lap before grinding over my cock in time to the music. She drags the scarf up and down her body and slings it toward me, wrapping it around my neck and shimmying against my body. She turns and leans back against my chest, and the smell of her is overwhelming. Sex and her arousal mix with the usual smells I’ll always associate with her. I long to reach my arm around her and pull her down to me, undo my pants, and take her reverse cowgirl in the chair, but she said no touching.
The song comes to an end faster than it should, and I realize I’ve enjoyed watching every move, every grind into me. As the last notes play, she turns to face me, rubs her nose against mine, and kisses me on the cheek before finishing in perfect submissive position on her knees with her head down like she’s a member of a prince’s harem.
“Stand up,” I say, not recognizing the sex in my voice. “Your turn.”
She stands as I get out of the seat, and I catch her before she can take my place. “You’ll stand for this. No sitting. Get rid of the chair.”
She pushes it aside while I go to her docking station and scroll through her phone for a song I can dance to. I’ve never done this before, and I’ve never taken a class. That Tatum guy did it for a movie, though. How hard can it be?
I finally find a suitable song and turn to face Savannah, still standing in the moonlight and still in that lingerie. My dick throbs against my pants for her, but I’ll let the tiger out of his cage soon.
I cross the room and start moving in the sexiest way I can, swaying in front of her as I take the scarf and wrap it around her shoulders.
I only sway for a minute before she licks her lips and can’t help herself from touching my stomach. I lean forward and nuzzle her ear while continuing to grind my cock into her wet panties. “I think touching is a good idea. I don’t have the same rules.”
She pushes her hands into my unbuttoned pants and grabs handfuls of my ass cheeks as I lift her off the floor. I stand in the middle of the room, still moving and writhing to the music. I don’t think I look like a male stripper, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She breathes like she’s been for a run and languidly licks up and down my shoulder.
I lift her higher until her pussy’s in my face and her legs are over my shoulder. I want to tease her the ways she toyed with me, so I kiss her thigh and the place where her leg meets her groin, smiling as she tosses her head back and moans.
“Do you want something, Savannah?”
