Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

At the top of the stairs, Logan stops, glancing at the phone buzzing in his hand. “Hey, I need to make a couple of calls. You okay if I stay in the hall while you do your thing?”

“Everything okay?” I ask, worried.

He smiles, something dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, nothing to worry about. Just gonna wait out here.”

He sits down in a chair and shoos me down the hall where I let myself in. The door closes behind me and I feel the chill in the air instantly. Every light is off except for one, a spotlight over the pole I had installed in the dining room here.

Dominick had laughingly asked me if I even knew what dining rooms were for, and I’d felt like it was an accomplishment to be able to joke like that after my love-hate history with food.

I’m still working on getting one put in at home, mostly because all the ceilings are so damn tall, but for now, the light shining on this shiny pole calls to me. I can feel his presence, know he’s sitting in the shadows of the living room, can smell the faint hint of his favorite scotch.

And though I’m not in our house, I am home. With him. Wherever he is, that’s where I want to be. We’ve found our own routine as well, learning how to click our seemingly odd puzzle shapes together, softening here, growing there until it’s a seamless fit. He laughs at my crazy impulsiveness and smiles at my messes. I take delight in his detailed plans and perfectly-arranged sock drawer, though I did buy him some checkerboard ones emblazoned with chess pieces and a bright font proclaiming, Don’t Fuck with the King! He’s even worn them . . . around the house. Baby steps, I guess, but I’m determined to get him to do a little hip-wiggling strip-tease for me and get down to nothing but those socks. Hashtag-dream it and make it happen!

But for now, it seems like it’s my turn to put on a show, even if I don’t have any cool or even sexy socks. Silently, I set my bag down, kicking off my Nikes and sweats, slipping my heels back on, and stand tall. At the last minute, I pull my tank over my head too. In my sports bra and yoga shorts, I approach the pole, smiling to myself as the music begins.

The song he chooses isn’t a song I have choreography to, it’s just a slow-driving bass line that resonates through my body. There aren’t any words even, just the throb and the music, and so I dance for him. I dance for me. Swaying my hips and tracing my curves, I work my way up to spinning around the pole. I don’t do the fancy death-defying tricks, the showy moves meant to shock the audience into tipping more.

This isn’t about that. Instead, I seduce him, my eyes boring into the darkness, willing him to see me, to watch me. And though I can’t see him, I can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, can almost taste his need in the air around me.

I need more, need him.

I take slow steps toward the mirrored wall, pulling my sports bra over my head and freeing everything for him. In the reflection, I watch myself palm my breasts, their fullness almost painful.

In the darkness, I can see a shadow move, and he’s on his feet silently, slowly moving closer. I push my shorts down, stepping out of them too, to stand in only my heels as he becomes visible in the light, his dress slacks perfect and his white dress shirt already halfway unbuttoned.

His heat licks at my skin as he presses himself to my back, one arm slipped around my waist and the other at my throat, turning my head to meet his eyes.

“I’ve dismissed Logan for the night. You have a new escort home.”

I can see the darkness in their icy depths, can read that he wants me rough tonight, and I gratefully oblige, pressing my hips back into his hardness. I never know exactly what I will get with him. Sometimes slow and sweet, taking hours to worship every inch of me, letting me ‘boss’ him around. Other times, he’s a beast, rough and hard, brutally using my body in ways I never knew I’d love.

But always, he’s in control.

Even when I tempt him too much, begging him to lose control, he never falters, his control absolute. Always. It’s become the stabilizing foundation for my chaotic ways, the cage for the black swan I can be, and the freedom for the woman I never knew I could be.

His coarse growl into my ear sends shivers down my spine. “Mine.”

I nod, the movement putting the slightest bit of pressure on my neck where his hand lies. “Yours.”