To every reader who took this journey with me, thank you. Thank you for seeing yourself in these pages, for allowing me to write our healing out loud, and for walking with me toward something sacred and true.
This is not the end. I’ll be seeing you soon, on the side of REVERENCE. ??
MIDNIGHT BALLERINA
Provocateur always had a rhythm all its own. Lo-fi music pulsed under velvet lights, champagne flutes clinked, and smoke curled from the mouths of men who thought they owned the night. Behind the bar, I poured their fantasies into glasses, mixing gin with tonic, whiskey with bitters, masking boredom with a smile.
And then she stepped on stage.
Soleil. That’s the name the DJ announced, rolling off his tongue like honey. But what I saw wasn’t just a stage name, it was a vision.
She moved like liquid gold. Every muscle, every tendril of her body seemed choreographed by a higher power. Her pointe shoes kissed the stage with impossible grace, but her hips told another story, one laced in sin. She was a ballerina drenched in firelight, stripping away the distance between art and desire.
I’d seen women dance before. Beautiful women. Fierce women. Women who knew their power. But this one…she commanded. She pirouetted into the kind of hunger men paid fortunes to chase. She bent at the waist, hair cascading like a curtain, and when she rose, her eyes found mine.
And she winked.
Heat shot through me so fast I had to grip the bar to steady myself. The ache was sudden, merciless, causing my dick to strain against the fabric of my skimpy uniform. I’d seen a lot of sex working at the club, but it had never made my body respond in this way. I hadn’t felt the tightness of an erection this hard in years. It shocked me, even scared me. I’d written myself out of this script, sworn off chasing affection where I wasn’t wanted. Years of being touched in the dark but never claimed in the light had stripped me of that hunger.
But watching her? I wanted her.
Her body curved with impossible control, legs slicing through the air like blades, then melting into silk as she arched across the pole. Each split, each glide, each slow unwrapping of her costume was ballet and striptease fused into something sacrilegious. My chest hurt with the need to breathe her in, to taste the sweat that gleamed on her collarbone, to claim the wicked little smile she tossed me like a secret.
I didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know her name outside of Soleil.
But I knew one thing: for the first time in years, desire had me by the throat.
And it wore a thong and danced gracefully and seductively.
The stage lights dimmed as she struck her final pose, chest heaving, sweat glistening like diamonds across her golden-brown skin. The crowd erupted in cheers, bills flying, but none of it touched her. Her eyes? They were still locked on me.
When she slipped off stage, my hands shook as I polished a glass that didn’t need polishing. She walked toward the bar like she owned gravity, hips swaying, pointe shoes traded for clear heels that made her legs look endless.
“Tequila. Neat,” she said, her voice satin wrapped around steel.
I poured without speaking, too aware of how close she leaned. Her perfume was a subtle blend of vanilla, lavender, and sweat, causing my arousal to wrap around me.
“You always watch performances that intently or just me?” she asked, lips curving into a wicked little smile.
I swallowed hard. “Just your gorgeous ass. No way you dance like that, and you’re surprised people stare?” I smiled, biting my bottom lip.
Her laugh was low, intimate, like it was meant only for me. She took her shot in one smooth tilt of her throat, then leaned over the bar, close enough that her breath ghosted my ear.
“You’ve got hungry eyes, beautiful, but I don’t think you can handle me.”
My dick twitched at the dare in her tone. I forced a smirk, even as heat crawled up my neck. “Sweetheart, I’ve broken men twice your size. Don’t tempt me.”
She didn’t back down; instead, she leaned closer, her lips almost brushing mine as she whispered, “I know exactly what’s between those beautifully thick thighs of yours, Zaria. And I promise you—” her tongue flicked out, teasing the corner of her lip, “—I can handle every inch.”
The glass I was holding slipped, clinking against the bar.
She smiled like she’d won this battle, like she’d peeled me open and read my secrets, and God help me, she had.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t hiding. I wasn’t resisting. I was aching.
And Soleil, whoever the fuck she really was, looked ready to devour me whole.
The club always slowed around 3 a.m. The crowd thinned, lights softened, and the music dipped into something sultry. I wiped down the bar in lazy circles, pretending not to notice Soleil sauntering back toward me after her shift.
