“Hey, Erin, I thought I would take a noon class today. Can you sign me in?” Since the studio was so close to my office, I arrived with time to change and have a quick chat with her.
She was standing behind the desk, focused on the computer screen in front of her, and jiggling a pen between her fingers. “Sure, Charlotte. Give me a minute, and I’ll get you taken care of.”
Her clipped tone was unlike the usually bubbly girl I loved to visit. I briefly considered heading back to my office.
Leaning over the counter, I whispered, “Are you okay? Is this a bad time?”
She looked past my shoulder, toward the studio, and then whispered back, “Our owner is in town, and he’s super grumpy today. He’s leaving this afternoon, and he wanted me to pull some promotion material together for an upcoming competition. I’m a little stressed out.”
“There’s a competition?” My voice rose. I stood up straight and then smiled.
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously, Charlotte? That’s what you got out of my answer?”
I put my right hand on the counter in consolation and used my left hand to shift my bag up higher on my shoulder. “Oh, my goodness, Erin. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know there were competitions in this sport. Is there anything I can help you with? I’m really good at marketing campaigns.”
A deep, baritone voice spoke from behind me. “Erin, can you call and confirm the car? My flight leaves at 3:00 p.m., and I can’t miss it.”
I made a goofy face at her, not turning to look at the man standing a few feet behind me.
“Yes, Mr. Crown. I called a short time ago, and they’ll be here right at 1:00 p.m.”
“Thank you,” he responded. His deep voice filled the room.
I waited until Erin relaxed her shoulders and exhaled loudly before giggling and mocking her. “He sounds scary!”
“He’s really not that scary. He’s just going through a difficult time and seems to be snapping at everyone.”
I wanted to sit and gossip, but I also wanted to forget about work. Gossiping would make me more anxious, and that was never a good thing.
Stepping over to the shoe rack, I slipped off my shoes. As I opened the door to the studio, I said, “I’m going to go change. You’ll sign me in?”
She nodded briefly at me and added, “Will you really help me with these campaigns?”
“Of course!”
The door swooshed closed behind me, leaving me alone in the studio. It was quiet, alluring. From that very first class, my fascination with it had not changed. Now that I knew there was a competition—I was even more intrigued.
The changing area was in the back, and I shut the dressing room door behind me to change. My bag was packed with a few outfits, and today, I pulled out a pair of red boy-shorts and a matching red sports bra. I slipped a black, backless sweatshirt over my head and put my thumbs through the finger holes at the sleeves’ ends. Sometimes, the girls in the class would wear the platform heels, but today I would go barefoot. To keep me warm until we got into the dancing, I wore silver leg warmers that reached my mid-thigh.
Turning my backside to the mirror, I glanced over my shoulder and ran my hands up the backs of my thighs, admiring how my bottom had lifted over the past few months. I giggled at the tiny bit of butt cheek peeking out of the bottom of my boy-shorts.
(Mark would have a heart attack if he knew I was doing this.)
I left my hair down so I could flip it during some of the moves, and then I shoved my work suit into my bag.
I flipped off the light switch as I left the room and shut the door behind me. Turning back to the studio, I came up hard against a solid, male body coming out of one of the offices.
“Oof,” I grunted and reached out to him to keep from tripping.
He was almost a head taller than me, and my gaze went directly to his collarbone and strong neck. My hands were firmly gripped on his biceps, and my fingers tightened. The smell of him was intoxicating, hints of amber and sandalwood. I pressed my chest closer to him—he was so warm. I was overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity; of intense intimacy between us. My gaze lifted to his face, and I inhaled sharply, entranced by the heavily lashed brown eyes that met mine.
“Ahh…” My voice sounded foreign to me, breathy and seductive. My breaths came quick, and my chest heaved.
His lips were full and framed by a three-day beard. Hints of silver laced the neatly trimmed hairs. I leaned up, my lips parting. I was enthralled, and I wanted nothing more than to press my body closer to him. His hand slid down to my bottom, brushing the fleshy cheek exposed from under my shorts. I opened my mouth to speak, but only a squeak came out.
Leaning down close to my ear, his deep voice whispered, “I don’t usually fuck the dancers, but I could make an exception for you.”
The vulgarity of his words brought me back to the moment, and I was embarrassed by my blatant display of wantonness.
Now that I had my bearings, I stepped back out of his arms and straightened my shoulders. “That was rude. I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m a customer, not a dancer. I mean, I take classes here, so I guess I’m a dancer, but I’m not a dancer dancer.” I blushed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with stripping. I’m just not…” I huffed and then took a deep breath and calmed myself before I spoke again. “I’m not a stripper.”
I stood before him stoically, my shoulders drawn back. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as a slow, sexy smile curved the sides of his mouth. He chuckled, and my eyes were drawn to his lips. I licked mine.
“So, you don’t want to fuck?” He glanced at his large military-style watch. “I leave in an hour. There’s time.”
I bristled at his language. I looked at him more closely—the man who had to be Mr. Crown. His jet-black hair was cut short on the sides, longer on top, and it was wavy. A lock had fallen onto his forehead. I followed his hand as he ran it back over his brow, smoothing his hair back into place. His cheekbones were high, and a smattering of golden freckles dotted his nose, making him appear boyish—a direct contrast to the boldness of what he had just spoken.
His crass words turned me on, and that addled me. “No, I don’t want to… you know. And I don’t think that’s an appropriate way to speak to your customers.”
He laughed, and his deep belly laugh made my lady parts ache. “Lady, the way you held on to me and panted, I disagree. But, okay. Have a good class.” He looked at his watch again and then back up at me. “It starts in one minute.”
With that, he walked off and left me standing, bewildered, in the small area between the changing rooms.
Pulling myself together, I stepped into the dance studio, placed my bag on a bench along the wall, grabbed a bottle of antiseptic cleaner and a rag, and picked out a pole to use. I sprayed the pole with the cleaner and then wiped it down, making sure it was dry enough to grip.
A bottle of pole grip was on the shelf next to the speakers. After shaking it, I squirted a small amount onto my hands before starting my stretch routine.
Three other girls came into the studio from the front reception area, followed by an instructor I’d never met.
“Hi, I’m Dani.” She extended her hand to me.
“Charlie.”
“Hi, Charlie. Are you new?”
“I usually come in the evenings, but I needed a break today, so here I am.”
“Great! Welcome.”
Dani was wearing an outfit similar to mine, except it was black. She was short, had a pixie haircut, and reminded me of Tinkerbell. She introduced me to the other three girls.
“They’re rehearsing for the competition, so they’re going to be moving really fast for this lesson. Just do what you can to keep up.”
I tugged on the hem of my shorts. Again, I had that feeling I was intruding. The past fifteen minutes had been so surreal. What had motivated me to come to a class I don’t usually attend? Oh, I remember, budget forecasts.
Dani moved (almost bounding) over to the stereo system against the wall and scrolled through her iPhone for her playlist. She hit a button on the screen and flipped a light switch before walking back to the center of the room.
I’d taken a pole in the back row; one of the other girls took a pole next to me; the other two girls took the ones in front of us. The poles were placed so that all students could watch themselves in the mirrors.
Sultry music started playing on the speakers overhead, and I forgot all about work. I forgot to be self-conscious, and I almost forgot about the sexy, crass man in the back room. Almost.
Dani put her hands above her head, clasping her hands, and swinging her hips side to side. “Okay, ladies, let’s get started.”
Dani led us through a stretching routine and then a floor routine. The floor routine was awkward for me, and I tried my best to just let go of my inhibitions. It had always felt a little too erotic to me—ass in the air and chest to the floor.
The effortless movement of the other girls fascinated me. Their bodies moved like liquid gold, seducing me through the motions. I watched covertly, mesmerized. They appeared to be making love, yet lost in their own seduction. The girls in my evening classes weren’t this good; I was inspired.
“Good job, Charlotte, you look amazing.” Dani complimented me as we finished with the floor work and moved on to pole moves.
She talked us through a routine of spins and slides, transitioning from one move to the other with fluid movements. I was lost in the music, the sultry beat and erotic tones lulling me into an almost sexual state. When I moved from a wiggle into pole frisking, I bent at the waist, flipped my hair back, and imagined the man I’d met in the back room caressing me from behind. It was wishful thinking, but I was so lost in my fantasy that I didn’t realize Dani had stopped dancing. She was clapping for us and our hard work for the day.
Gradually bringing myself back to real life, I cleaned off the pole, and then took long gulps from my water bottle.
“Thank you for a great class, Dani.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you come back.”
“Definitely.” I grabbed my bag off the bench and went out into the reception area to talk with Erin.
She was busy on the phone, so I sat down on one of the white couches backed up against the window and waited for her to finish the call. I sat primly and stared out at the parking lot, watching as a black limousine pulled up in front of the building.
Ending the call, Erin pushed an intercom button and waited until a deep voice answered, “Paxton.”
“Mr. Crown, your ride is here.”
“Thanks, Erin. I’ll be right out.”
Erin looked up at me, her eyes wide. She bit her lower lip.
I tilted my head and asked her, “Still need my help?”
Mr. Crown emerged from a side door, rolling a suitcase behind him. A black leather messenger bag’s strap crossed his chest. Underneath it, he wore a black, mandarin-collared leather jacket over a black T-shirt. His stance was solid; his attention was resolute.
He started a conversation with Erin, and I took that time to admire his firm backside filling out his worn jeans. I scanned down; his jeans tapered into leather motorcycle boots. As I scanned back up, he turned and glanced at me over his shoulder, catching my eye. I looked away quickly (down at my hands) and then back out the window.
He said to Erin, “I’ll see you in three weeks for the event. Send me your ideas this afternoon. I’ll look them over tonight after I land.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll have them for you right away.”
He left without another glance toward me. I stared as he walked toward the limo. I stared as the driver opened the door for him and took his bag. I was—still—staring when he turned toward me and gave me a wickedly handsome smile before stepping into the back. I sucked in air and stared back, watching as the door shut and the limo drove away.
I felt branded.