“Okay, one of y’all take a seat,” Sarah says.
Ryder tips his chin at me. “You heard the lady. Take a seat, darlin’.”
I stare at him, my blood buzzing to life under his gaze. My mouth is open, and I’m gulping air like a fish out of water, but my legs finally decide to work, and I nearly collapse into the chair.
“This okay, darlin’?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. I meet his eyes, nodding my consent.
He gives me a reassuring smile, and suddenly, my whole world is thrown off kilter.
“Ryder, start by standing in front of Lola. Take a moment to tune into the music before you do anything. Pole dancing is about mastering specific moves and stitchingthem together when they click. Chair work, though, is different. It’s all about syncing with the rhythm, letting the music guide you. Trust your instincts, and follow your partner’s lead. Go ahead and give it a try. I’ll walk you through it.”
He stands in front of me, a glint of mischief twinkling in his bright-blue eyes as he looks down at me. When she starts to play“Pony” by Ginuwine, he closes his eyes for a moment, really feeling the music before moving.
God, does he.
Ryder leans forward, resting his hands on my knees, and gently pushes them together. He slides a rough, calloused hand under my jaw and trails two fingers to my chin, pulling my face up to his.
He straddles me with his thick thighs and moves that hand to the nape of my neck. My core clenches, and a whimper almost escapes me as he rolls his chest against mine. His bare skin is overheated with a light sheen of sweat. It’s no match for the thin, cropped shirt I’m wearing. His warmth seeps into me, pebbling my nipples, as I suck in a breath, desperately begging my lungs to work more efficiently.
His vanilla-and-whiskey scent wraps around me, making me dizzy, and as if that weren’t enough, he takes his hat off andputs it on my head.
My head spins as he rolls his hips over me, grabbing hold of my hands and pressing them to his chest, sliding my palms down the expanse of smooth muscle. I nearly pass out, the catcalls from the women around us the only thing reminding me to keep my wits about me.
I swear, I can feelhimthrough those thin shorts. Before I can investigate further, he scoots off me, rounding the back of the chair. I faintly hear Sarah’s voice and the claps of the women in the class, as well as their amused whistling, but I can’t make any of it out through the rush of blood behind my eardrums.
His hands scrape down my arms, leaving goosebumps intheir wake. My breath gets caught in my throat as they travel down my chest, over my stiff nipples. Whether intentional or not, I’m not sure, but the effect it has on me is downright embarrassing.
My body is certainly not getting the memo:This is not fucking real, Lola!
He continues dancing, his movements not particularly smooth but sexy as sin all the same. My mouth is watering by the time the music finally stops, and my panties are absolutely soaked.
I suck in a deep breath, clenching my eyes shut for a moment to center myself as I unhinge the death grip I had on the sides of the chair.
Ryder holds his hand out, and I take it, standing on shaky limbs.
“That was excellent! Who’d have known this was y’all’s first time?” Sarah asks, and the applause-filled room settles as Ryder leads me back to our side of the studio, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“We took a little longer than I’d planned because I wasn’t expecting such anenthusiasticfirst lesson, but all that means is you’ve all got something to practice at home! I’ll see you all next week, I hope,” she tells the class, and again, everyone claps.
My heart rate is finally starting to slow, the room clearing out as Ryder bends down for his water bottle. He straightens, gaze roaming slowly over my body. And just like that, my pulse is ratcheting up again.
Why is it so damn hard to follow the rules with this man? Boundaries exist for a reason, but it feels nearly impossible to adhere to them when he's looking at me like he wants to take a bite out of me.No, like he wants to devour every goddamn inch of my body and come back for secondsandthirds.
“You feeling okay, darlin’?” he asks, clearly trying to fight the humor worming its way into his questionas he lifts his water bottle to his lips, taking a slow sip. His Adam's apple bobs, lips glistening with moisture as he screws the lid back on.
My thighs squeeze together of their own volition, and I fight back a whimper, unable to stop myself from tracking the movement as his tongue darts out, licking his full bottom lip, and it's hard not to picture what that tongue would do between my l?—
“Darlin’?” he asks, a thick, dark brow raised, and those lickable lips are quirked in a lopsided smirk.
Ay, Dios mio.I am so screwed.
“Huh? Oh, uh, sorry. Did you ask me something?” My voice is breathy as if I'd just run a half marathon and not sat in a chair while my pretend husband engaged me in foreplay in a room full of people.
His smirk only grows. “I asked if you're okay, Lols. You're lookin’ a little flushed.”
As if on cue, my chest heats, warmth spreading up my neck and over my chest. He reaches forward, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, and steps into my space, invading me with the intoxicating scent of him. It's clean, warm, and entirelyhim.
“Y-yeah, I'm all good.” My gaze darts around the now-empty room. I clear my throat, refusing to meet his gaze. “Looks like we should get out of here.”
