He wants me to take off my clothes for him, right here, right now.

I can feel my skin go red at his demand. Judging from Travis’s tense posture as he sits in that chair, my guess is that he wants this because it’ll somehow relieve the stress he walked in here with; he thinks this will distract from whatever is bothering him.

But I’ve never stripped in any way or form before—not for another person, not even for my own amusement in front of a mirror. I’ve only seen movies with strippers in them, and their bodies are perfect.

Mine isn’t so much.

Travis obviously senses my lack of confidence. “You’re hesitating.”

“That’s because this is—”

“Your first time. But that’s what I want from you, remember?” He grips the armrests on the chair. “Just take off your clothes, Beautiful, and do it slowly, so I can appreciate every cock-teasing inch of your gorgeous body.”

My god.

His voice is a rumble, the tone of a man who won’t be denied, and he only confirms that when he repeats, “I told you to strip, Nova.”

Even as my belly swirls with sexual anticipation, I smooth my hands down the pretty sheath he gave me to wear. Despite my anxiety, I can do this for the money, for the chance to have a new life, and god, maybe for another orgasm like the one that rocked me last night.

I just have to find the guts to get started.

Music, I think. I’ll need a song or two that’ll get me going, songs that I’ve listened to in the dark of my room at home, in my own private place where I could imagine a man’s hands on me without anyone ever knowing how it would really feel.

I move to the stereo system where I’d already put my phone into the docking station. As I access my most secret playlist, my hands shake. Then the music starts, the sound barely covering my shallow breathing, my anxious heartbeat.

A soft, sensual yet playful beat from a song begins, and I turn to Travis. I do everything I can to keep myself together and not run away from his fervid gaze.

Strip, he said, but before I begin, I lower my head so my hair spills partway over my face. That way I won’t be able to see Travis watching me; I won’t see his disappointment when I reveal all of my body, all my curves and imperfections. I won’t see his frustration with my clumsy attempts at seducing him.

The singer’s gravelly, velvety voice tangles with the bass, piano, and guitar, and as he sings, I pretend I’m dancing alone in my room. I let the music flow through me and I sway, skimming my hands down my hips and moving my shoulders slightly. Almost accidentally, I catch a glimpse at Travis through my hair and see him watching, his jaw tensed, his knuckles white as he clutches those armrests. His gaze devours me, and my heart quakes in my chest.

He’s into this. Keep going.

The music really kicks in, the singer’s voice deep with longing. My confidence grows, and I shimmy, using one hand to push back my hair a little. I look into Travis’s unwavering gaze and start to go creamy between my legs, where I’ve already started to pulse for him.

The song builds, growing more passionate, the thuds from the bass echoing through me, and I bite my bottom lip.

“Your dress,” Travis says. “Take it off.”

I ease down one dress strap. I glimpse at him as his eyes follow my fingers. The fabric at my chest gapes, showing the top of one breast, and seeing how ravenous Travis is for more I shrug, letting the material dip down farther, giving him what he wants.

But not too much.

He gives a slow, curved smile. At least I think he does, because he wipes his hand over his mouth, and when he’s done, he’s just as stony as ever. Yet his eyes…

His eyes say everything, and sparks tumble through my veins like hot blood.

“More,” he says.

I turn my back to him, still swaying as I push down my other strap. Slowly, I allow my dress to gather around my waist.

The music plays on, the singer pleading now, the beat pushing forward as I wait a moment, long enough for me to peek back at Travis from beneath my hair. He’s running his gaze down my back, over my bottom, still gripping the armrests with both hands. My wicked body responds with a sharp tug of lust from my clit. I can feel how slippery my pussy is getting, and that plus his obvious desire urges me on.

“Your bra,” he says. “Take that off now.”

I reach in back of me to unclasp the strapless bra, and as it loosens, I cup my hands over my breasts, taking my time in turning around to face the man who hired me.

I pause, my pulse drilling through me. Travis’s obvious craving for me is almost too much, and it’s all I can do to stay here, rooted to the spot, not running away from such raw need. I’m still too embarrassed about what I’m doing, too new at this, and I stand there with my hands over the cups of my bra, pressing them to my breasts.

Then Travis leans forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “More,” he whispers. “Goddammit, Nova, give me what I want.”

His voice is as gritty as it was last night when he was touching me, working me to my first orgasm, and as the memory slides over me, I let the bra drop to the floor.

He lavishes a gaze over my breasts, and my nipples go hard, caressed by the air and by his obvious appetite. I think I hear a tortured groan come from him.

And that’s all it takes.

I push the dress down my hips, and even though I don’t mean to shimmy again I do it anyway.

“Fuck,” Travis murmurs.

The song is at its peak, my pulse chugging with the driving rhythm. I can feel how sopped my panties are now as I start to push them down, taking my sweet time as Travis’s gaze follows their descent, as I expose my bare pussy to him.

When I step out of those panties, the next song on my playlist starts, sensuous and dreamy.

My clit is beating hard for him, begging for him to reach for me, to pull me onto his lap again so he can make me come. But Travis only watches me with a gaze that’s fully in control, even though there’s an edge there that I can’t define.

“Jesus, Nova,” he says harshly, his voice betraying what that edge is. He sounds desperate for me, and for some reason, instinct makes me start to cover myself up with my hands.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I drag my hands away, shyly offering him everything again: all of my skin, all the parts of me that I usually keep to myself.

It’s as if my innocence has gotten to him more than anything, and he sits back in the chair, gripping an armrest, but with only with one hand this time. With his other hand, he curls a finger at me, summoning me closer.

Blood screaming, I slowly approach, then stop in front of him.

“Now sit down on my lap.”

A blast of eagerness fires me up, but I’m still wary, and I exhale as I do as he demands. I slide backward onto his lap, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs beneath my bare skin. He grips my hips, then pulls me back against him until my pussy nudges something big and stiff.

I bite back a gasp, knowing what it is.

He guides my hands to the armrests, then covers the tops of them with his palms. His breath is hot in my ear when he whispers, “Now grind on my cock. Give me a lap dance, Beautiful.”

Something willfully naïve in me wants to say, But you’re still in your suit and tie, yet I think that’s the point. But it doesn’t matter as the music gets harder, sexier, making me want this as much as he does.

“Wiggle your hips,” he murmurs against my ear. “That’s a good start.”

I shift experimentally, my breathing uneven as I undulate over his thick, hard cock. A muffled curse escapes him. I’m not sure what word it is, just that it’s another crack in his controlled façade.

“Do that again,” he says. “Harder, for a longer time.”

Now I churn back against him, feeling the tip of his cock part the wet folds of my pussy, and I groan. Even over the music I can hear my juices as my lips spread over him.

“That’s right.” His voice is as tight as his hands as they grip mine. “God, Beautiful, that’s right…”

As he makes soft, primal sounds, I grind back against him again, then again, and a tiny cry fights to emerge from my chest, because every time I rock back against him, his cock head nudges me, teasing my entrance just enough to give me a naughty thrill. It’s enough to make me pant, make me grind faster against him until his tip slips up against my clit.

With a strangled whimper, I arch. Orgasmic pressure begins to expand in me, and I sink back down to him, moving my hips with every backward grind. He slides a hand over my breast, squeezing it, sending another bolt of pressure through me. Then, as if restraining himself, he puts his hand on mine, holding on.

“You’re fucking killing me,” he groans.

Is that a good thing? I think so, because he takes one of my hands and urges it in back of me, between us. My palm sweeps over his long, hard cock, and my clit pounds in excitement, in utter fear.

“Now unzip me,” he says.

Holy shit, I’m about to see it. A cock. His cock. But even though I’m breathing fast and my gaze is hazy, I slide off his lap between his legs until I’m kneeling in front of him, then undo the fly of his trousers.

“Take it out.” His voice is strained as he clenches his teeth, a vein throbbing in his neck. “Fuck, just touch it, Nova.”

I inhale, then hold my breath as I bring him out. His penis feels like silk wrapped over a hardness that has my heart tripping. There’re veins that seem to pulse in him, and the tip of him is wet.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” I whisper.

He looks down at me hungrily, and he’s still in control. “I’ll tell you, just like I’ve told you what to do before.”

“Okay.”

“Slip your hand between your legs. I know you’re nice and wet, and that’s going to make this easier.”

I can’t look away from his intense gaze as I slide my hand down my belly, over my mound, then through the folds of my pussy. I gasp at how turned on I am, just like he knew I’d be—slick and so very creamy.

“Now use your hand to stroke me,” he says. “Slowly at first.”

A zing of that familiar excitement-fear travels through me as I take his cock in my hand. Then I do what he asked me to: I cup his shaft and move my hand back and forth, almost as if testing him to see if I’m doing it right.

“That’s it.” His gaze is burning hotter, searing into me. “Faster now.”

He moves his leg between mine, urging them apart. His knee nudges my pussy while I stroke him just like he asked. As he presses against me again, then again, I watch him lean back in the chair, his jaw clenched so hard that it seems he might break apart at any moment. As his cock gets even harder, rising, I stroke him off faster, faster. My blood races in time, heat building inside my core, a fire that’s roaring harder…higher—

He prods me once again, and my clit seems to finally explode, showering through me as I double over, clutching his leg. It’s as if I’ve detonated something in him, too, because he comes in a burst of white-hot liquid that coats my hands, arms, breasts, hair, and even his nice, perfect suit. It doesn’t feel messy—I feel as if something has washed over me, a new awakening. Without thinking about it, I lift my head, innocently slipping a finger to my mouth, then tasting him.

Salty, warm… I close my eyes, and when I open them he’s watching me with an expression that nearly tears me open, exposing more than just my body to him. There’s something in his gaze, an emotion that’s so deep that…

He shuts it down before I can be sure about anything.

Before he can go cold on me, I slow my breathing. I back away and touch my cum-wet hair. “Um…I think I need to clean up.”

He nods, utterly in control again, leaning his head back until he closes his eyes. He doesn’t put his cock away, and I realize that another song has been playing. It’s garbled in my ears as I escape to my bathroom.

I close the door behind me, wet with his juices and with mine, but even though I’ve shut myself away from him, I feel as if the opposite has happened. As I look in the mirror, I see someone whose cheeks are pink, whose gaze is bright, whose smile is mysterious yet ecstatic.

I look more alive than I’ve ever felt in my life.