I pull harder. There’s the sound of ripping velcro, and his tight grey dress trousers fall away. My mouth falls open as I come face to face with his rock-hard erection.
Thirty-Three
Cyrus
I can practically feel Beth’s breath on my balls as I stand in front of her, her lips inches away from my fabric-covered crotch.
Slowly, watching her face, I guide her hand over the bulge in my boxers.
Fuck.That feels good. Too good. I’m about to pull her away when she tightens her fingers slightly, gripping my hard-on.
Holy shit.
My hips buck, and I yank away from her.
“WHIP IT OUT! WHIP IT OUT!” Filters into my ears, and I remember the audience. I turn back to them and grin, slipping my hands under the waistband of my boxers, teasing them down a few inches. A girl on the front row screams so hard her voice gives out.
When I turn back to the chair, Beth’s looking up at me, her pupils blown wide, her chest heaving under her tight dress, her lips a little, bitten rosebud. I reach out and brace my arms on the back of her chair, thrusting my hips. For this part of the song, I’m meant to grind into her face, but I can’t make myself do it. Partly because it just feels wrong, and partly because I’ve never had to dance with a stiffy before. Even the thought of Beth’s soft lips accidentally brushing me through my briefs is too much to handle. I’d probably come in my pants like a fucking teenager.
Instead, I bury my hand in her burning red curls and tug her mouth roughly to mine. She melts under me, her chest shuddering in a gasp. Around me, I hear screams from the crowd. Shouts. Cat calls. I don’t give a fuck. Beth’s lips are hot and sweet, and they taste like cherries. I feel like I’m getting drunk off her as coloured lights spiral over us and music thrums through our bodies.
Eventually, the song crescendos. As the final beat rings out through the club, I kick the chair back onto one leg and spin us around to face the audience, giving them one last grin before the lights go down. The crowd goes wild. I feel banknotes and confetti fluttering down over us as we’re showered in cash.
I ignore it all. Bodies brush past me as the guys jump off the stage, heading to the wings to change costumes. Someone claps a hand on my back. I barely feel it. All I can think about is Beth sighing and pulsing against me, clinging to my shoulders like a little limpet.
“You liked that?” I rasp. I barely even recognise my own voice.
She moans right in my ear, and I have to close my eyes, gritting my teeth to control the wild sweep of arousal that rushes through me. I’m painfully hard. I press my lips to her throat, and her whole body trembles against mine.
Screw it.
Wrapping my arms around her, I lift Beth right off the chair and carry her offstage, heading for the bar. I’m not in the next number, so I have a few minutes to spare. “The act lasts another half an hour,” I shout over the music. “Wait for me?”
She nods as I settle her into an empty barstool. Antonio, one of the bartends, looks up from the till and frowns.
“I’m about to get off shift,” he tells me. His eyes fall on Beth. “Shit. You okay? Need some water? I didn’t think I made your fishbowlthatstrong.”
“Um—” she starts.
“She’s fine,” I cut in. “Just too turned on to walk.”
“Speak for yourself,” she points out, looking pointedly at the bulge in my tight black boxers. I run my hands down her arms and kiss her neck, loving her soft little gasp. Antonio raises an eyebrow at her, looking amused.
“So, I suppose I don’t have to worry about taking your friend home and leaving you stranded, huh?”
She groans. “Benny’s right. Youarenice.”
He laughs.
I don’t know what they’re talking about, and I don’t care. “Get her whatever she wants,” I tell him. “Put it on my tab.” I glance back at the stage. A big bamboo cage has been brought out, and Harry and Lei are both wrestling inside, dressed in ragged loincloths. I really need to get changed for the next number. “Gotta go,” I mumble, popping a kiss on Beth’s cheek and jogging back towards the wings.
The rest of the show goes by in a blur of lights and sweat and money. I’ve done this routine so many times it’s practically drilled into my skull, which is useful, because my head won’t stop swimming. All I can think about is Beth’s soft thighs clamped around my hips. Beth’s little fingers stroking down my chest. Beth’s red lips, a whisker away from my junk.
It’s the hardest show I’ve ever done.
When it’s finally all over, I head back to the dressing room with the other guys. I’ve barely just got in when Seth corners me. On stage, his shiny jacket, fake tan and box-dye black hair look flashy; here, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, he looks like a washed-out game show host.
“What was that?” he demands.