Private Dancer
Torn between two worlds, Alicia struggles to find a way to walk with her faith, but still dance with sin.When Alicia gets caught in the conflict between her father’s church and the Satin Club owners Bas and Remy, she is the only person willing to act as a mediator. Alicia is intrigued by the high class gentleman’s club and its two sexy proprietors. She tries to stay impartial, but the sensuality of erotic dancing pulls at her, begging her to indulge.Bas and Remy are more than happy to satisfy her curiosities and secret desires. Both offer dark temptations she can’t resist and the provocative dancing and passion awaken something long repressed. For the first time, the preacher’s daughter feels like her own person – yet at her core, she’s still a good girl. As the tension between the warring parties reaches fever pitch, she struggles to find what is right for her.
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PRIVATE DANCER
Kimberly Dean
Table of Contents
Chapter One
The spotlight was bright as Alicia stood on-stage, pinned in its crosshairs. The light felt hot on her face and even hotter on her body.
Awareness blistered inside her.
There was nowhere to run. No place to hide. She felt like a bug under a microscope.
A vulnerable, prized bug.
The brightness made it difficult to see, but she could feel the attention focused on her. The hungry, lustful eyes of a crowd of men. If she listened hard, she could hear their short, panting breaths.
Around her, music began. Its hard-driving rhythm caught her in the chest and she gasped. The beat reverberated between her breasts, and her nipples tightened. They felt hot and pinched. Shy. The bass started creeping through the floor and into her feet. It jumped higher and higher, grabbing her thighs and encouraging her to move. To dance.
‘Come on, baby. Show us what you’ve got.’
It was time for her solo.
Her heart beat faster in her chest, excited and scared at the same time. She’d never done this before. Of all the solos she’d performed in her life, she’d never stripped off her clothes while going through the motions.
Yet that was what she was here to do.
Unable to fight the tug of the rhythm any longer, she swept her arms over her head. Her hips swayed back and forth timidly, and then with more vigour.
A wolf-whistle cut through the air. The male approval was clear.
She was here to strip. Just the word alone sent a flush of fire through her nervous system. She was going to end up practically naked, her body on display for the Satin Club’s wealthy clientele.
She was going to end up dancing with a pole.
‘Oh, man. Look at her,’ someone groaned.
She couldn’t see who was admiring her, but she could see that pole. The gleaming brass fixture stood at the end of the long runway in front of her. Her knees went a little weak when it glinted under another spotlight, almost as if winking at her. Daring her to come play.
Her palms became damp and she swept them over her undulating hips.
There was just something about that pole. Something hard, challenging and outright sexual.
‘Enough with the teasing,’ a rough voice growled from the darkness. ‘We paid to see skin.’
That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it? To cut through the social niceties, straight to the need that drove mankind.
Sex … or at least the simulated dance of it.
Obediently, she reached for the zipper at the back of her skirt. As she looked down, it seemed odd that she was still in her street clothes. But maybe that was what they wanted. The church secretary fantasy …
The beat of the bass settled between her legs, warm and pulsing.
The heavy skirt suddenly felt too confining anyway. The cut was binding and the material couldn’t breathe. She worked the ugly skirt over her hips and kicked it aside. It was only then that she noticed the stilettos on her feet. Definitely not the church secretary kind.
But maybe the sexy church secretary fantasy.
The naughty black shoes lifted her bottom and pushed her weight onto her tiptoes. Air swept between her legs as she widened her stance to retain her balance. A groan from her left caught her unaware, but the sound reminded her that she was supposed to be performing. Still unsure of the high heels, she did a slow bump and grind.
More groans joined in.
She fought to hold back one of her own.
Oh, the shoes felt incredible. They lifted her up, making her aware of the muscles in her legs and the point of her toes. They certainly drew the attention of the male species like a laser.
In that moment, she felt powerful. Sexy.
Her confidence soared as she strutted down the runway. The heels had ties that wrapped around her ankles. She could feel the ribbon tickling her Achilles tendons. The feeling was surprisingly sensual, like intimate kisses.
She opened the top button of her shirt – and then another to let in the cool air.
Which wasn’t really so cool at all.
Alicia felt like she was going up in flames. She knew the point of all this was to arouse the crowd, but she was naïve enough that she was arousing herself.
And she hadn’t even started in on the pole yet!
Her blood began to pump, warm and thick, through her veins. The tails of her shirt brushed against the back of her thighs and between her legs. Beneath the stiff cotton, her breasts felt achy and full. Her nipples were so tight, even the cups of her bra seemed rough.
‘Take it off. Take it off.’
The chant started, low and steady. It grew in strength and volume as she reached for the remaining buttons on her shirt. The crowd of men was goading her, begging her. She toyed with them for a while, sashaying around on-stage, dancing as the shirt hung open. She wore a sensible white cotton bra and panties beneath it, but even they seemed to push the boys to the edge.
