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Daphne nods, realizes the dancer can't see, says, "Yes."
"Your fiancé too?" she asks.
"No," I admit.
"I have to confess." Mercy rolls her hips over Daphne's lap. "I really want to see you lose, doll. I love punishing a good girl who's trying to be bad."
She grinds against Daphne's lap again.
Again.
Again.
Then she shifts off her, turns so she's looking down at Daphne, rolls her bodysuit over her chest.
Daphne's eyes go straight to her breasts. She doesn't touch, but, fuck, it looks like she wants to—
It's way too fucking hot.
It's ridiculous.
Mercy rolls her lingerie over her hips and down her thighs, then she turns to show off her thong.
She rolls to the ground to show Daphne her ass, then she rises and slides backward into Daphne's lap.
Mercy arches back, pressing her ass into Daphne's crotch. "Sometimes, I have to tell guys to sit on their hands. If they can't follow rules. But I hope you don't."
Right on cue, Daphne lifts her hands from her sides.
Mercy shifts off Daphne, turns, stands above her. She leans down enough to reach for Daphne's wrist.
Her fingers brush softly.
Then a firm grasp.
She brings Daphne's hand almost all the way to her ribs, and she releases it, inviting her to touch, teasing her.
She's good.
Daphne's hand hovers in the air.
The dancer moves forward, sliding onto Daphne's lap, right into Daphne's hand.
Daphne's palm against the stripper's waist. She keeps it there as the dancer glides around her waist.
The song shifts to the next. Mercy slips off Daphne and turns to me. She doesn't show me the same interest. Not that I blame her.
Daphne is a lot more fun than I am.
That's the truth.
Only, right now, it's a beautiful thing, not a thorn in my side.
Mercy rolls her hips over my pelvis, looking down at me with feigned interest. But my eyes don't go to her.
Through the mirror, I study Daphne. I watch her watch for the entire song.
Then, the dancer shifts back to Daphne. She reaches for the strap of Daphne's dress. "May I?"
