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Her eyes go wide.
I should stop, but I don't. "But it's more fun if it's a contest of will." Words pour from my mouth without stopping in my brain. It's the music, the lights, the topless women.
No. It's my desire to connect with Daphne.
Here.
There.
Everywhere.
"I don't want to play a game with an unwilling participant," I say.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Say you're right. Lap dancers are anything goes except the—"
"Fun zone?" she offers.
My lips curl into a smile. It eases five percent of the sexual tension. Brings me three percent closer to my senses. Then my eyes dip to her cheeks, and I lose all sense of progress. "Let's say anything goes except the fun zone."
She smiles.
I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. "That's what she's willing to do. I could test myself, by trying not to touch at all. But I can't test myself to see if I can resist going for the gold. And even if I try to, say, avoid touching her breasts."
Her chest heaves.
My eyes go to the neckline of her shiny white dress. "I'm playing the game by myself. She doesn't know. That might be fun if we're consenting partners, but in this situation, it's…" I struggle to find a word. "Off."
"Is that what you usually do?" she asks. "Do you usually play games?"
"Sometimes."
"So, your coworker had it right?" Her gaze goes to the dancer in black leather. "You're a Dom?"
The waitress arrives before I can answer. She hands us our drinks, takes my credit card, disappears.
Daphne's eyes go to me, but she doesn't ask me to answer the question. She sees it in my eyes. "Do you play games like that? To see how long a tease can last?"
"Sometimes."
"Can we play?"
I should say no, of course, but I don't. "Name the terms."
She doesn't hesitate. "We're going to do a lap dance, right."
I nod.
"Let's see who can resist touching the dancer."
"You don't like women."
She shrugs. "So?"
"Won't it be easier for you to resist?"
"How do you suggest we play?"
