This guy is over the top gorgeous. Eyes nearly black, just like my perfect fantasy. Hair even darker, thick and begging me to dive my hands into it. Preferably while he’s licking my pussy.

I feel my heartbeat kick up a notch, my breath coming a little faster when those eyes that sucked me in from across the room roam all over my body. The whole walk from the bar to him was pure torture. I can feel the heat of his gaze lighting me on fire, my pussy quaking when his tongue darts out, teasing me with just what I want.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, a hint of an accent that I can’t place marking his words.

I take another step closer, resting my hands on his chest and leaning forward until my lips are a breath away from his ear.

“Sapphire.”

It’s what I tell everyone. What am I supposed to say? Ella? Fuck no. Like I’m some princess or something. Sapphire is way more fitting. Plus, do I really want clients knowing my name?

“Sapphire,” he repeats in that sexy accent, and suddenly I wish I could tell him my real name. I wonder what it would sound like on his lips? Falling from them while he fucks me good and hard, cumming inside of me while I milk his cock.

I shake my head and take a step back. It’s all good to get caught up in the act, but sex with clients is something I don’t do. Can’t do. It’s forbidden.

“I’m Derek.” His lips quirk up in a sexy as fuck smirk when he says it, like he has some kind of secret I don’t know.

“Well, Derek,” I say, “it looks like you know how to have a good time.”

He looks behind him at the wild party going on, then turns back and gives me a heated stare.

“I know what I like.”

My nipples tighten under the thin fabric of my costume like that comment was directed straight at me. I reach out and run a finger down his arm. Damn, he’s built. Those arms are like tree trunks. “I like a man who knows what he likes. What he wants.”

I whisper the last part, leaving my lips parted as I invite him in with a shift of my feet, bringing me barely closer into his space. But still close enough to feel the ragged breath he sucks in when I hook a finger in his waistband.

“So, about that dance. You interested?” I run my other hand over his chest and down his stomach, feeling every ridge of his abs as I go. Shit, this man has a fucking hot body. And I’m certain he knows how to use it. No cumming in his pants for this guy.

Nope. I just know he could fuck me all night long and still have the stamina to go some more.

“Maybe,” he replies, but the gleam in his eye tells me he’s totally feeling me. Just as much as I’m feeling him. And am I ever feeling him.

I sidle up closer, my finger still hooked in his pants as I press my tits against his chest, loving how it feels as I shift a little to rub and stimulate my nipples. A small moan slips from my lips before I can help it.

I might normally do something like that to make a guy think he turns me on, but I am turned on. So fucking horny. This is going to be the easiest job ever. One I would almost do for free.

I tilt my head back and lick my lips, my mouth inches from his. “Just maybe? Because from where I’m standing it feels a whole lot bigger than maybe.”

I press my hips toward his, and goddamn. The man is huge.

“Not just a whole lot bigger, baby.” That sexy smirk crosses his mouth again. “The biggest.”

I almost whimper with need. But I remind myself I’m a professional. No sex. I’ll give him the best dance of his life, but I can’t go there.

Glancing over his shoulder at his friends who are practically living the phrase rock out with your cock out, I arch a brow. “You sure about that?” I can’t resist teasing him. “Your friends over there look like they might have a bigger interest in me than you do.”

Derek chuckles and grips my hips, rubbing his straining cock against my aching pussy. “No doubt in my mind. Definitely the biggest.” He says it like he means it. Like there’s no cock measuring going on between these guys. Like he’s all power and virile strength. Like he has the biggest cock of them all. From what I can tell by the way he’s pressing against me, he’s not wrong.

“So I see,” I murmur.

He lets me go and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a fat wad of bills. Holy shit.

“Sapphire,” he drawls, “I want the most outrageously priced private dance available. The sexiest, dirtiest, most obscenely expensive dance ever. Ever. And I want you to do it.”

He takes another swig of Cristal, then peels bill after hundred-dollar bill off the stack, tossing them in the air until they’re raining down over us, a shower of pure excess. Obviously money is no object where Derek is concerned.

I smile, everything in my body a raging whirlwind of anticipation. This is going to be a fun night.

I lean into his body again and whisper, “Follow me.”