It's louder than I expected.
Not the kind of loud that hurts, but the kind that wraps around you--bass like a second heartbeat, low and sensual, thrumming through the floor and into your spine. I hesitate for a moment just inside the entrance, clutching my purse a little too tightly, trying to play it cool while my stomach does nervous flips.
This is not my usual Friday night.
I'm not even sure why I came. Maybe it was the prosecco. Maybe it was the way Chloe's eyes lit up when she said, "You have to see this place at least once." Or maybe it was that quiet voice in me--curious, restless, hungry for something I can't name.
I follow the hostess through the haze of perfume and pink light. The air smells like coconut oil, champagne, and something darker--like anticipation bottled and sprayed across the room. She leads us past velvet-lined booths and low, glowing tables, where women lean in close over glasses of gold-flecked liquor. There are no men in sight. Just women. Watching. Laughing. Drinking. Wanting.
I take a breath. Try to relax my shoulders.
It's... beautiful here. Sensual without being sleazy. The stage curves like a smile in the center of the room, sunk slightly lower than the rest, surrounded by deep velvet benches and glowing drinks. Everything gleams. Everything pulses. And yet, it doesn't feel tacky. It feels--controlled. Intentional.
Like a secret that only the right women are allowed to know.
Chloe grabs my hand as we settle into a seat in the second row. She's glowing already, grinning like she know what's to come. She hands me a glass of prosecco, leans in, and whispers, "Wait till you see him."
I raise an eyebrow, teasing. "Who?"
"The one. You'll know."
I laugh, shake my head, and sip. The bubbles tickle the roof of my mouth.
I'm not drunk. Not even tipsy.
But there's a warmth spreading in me. Not from the drink. From the room. From the energy of it. The way everyone leans forward just a little, the way every woman here is tuned to the same frequency. It's like foreplay in the form of lighting and sound.
The DJ fades the background music out.
The lights dim.
"Ladies, the moment you've all waited for, please put your hand together for Brian." Echoes through the speakers.
Chloe grabs my knee, excitement pulsing through her fingers.
And then-- Then he steps into the light. The entire room exhales
He's tall. Not bodybuilder-big, but strong--built like someone who knows exactly what his body can do. Bare chest gleaming, black blazer loose around his shoulders, tie hanging like an invitation. His trousers ride low, belt undone just enough to tease. His skin glows under the lights, all muscle and sweat and impossible confidence.
It's like I'm under his spell. It's not just his body. It's the way he moves.
Like he owns the room. Like he's not performing. Like he's offering himself. To all of us.
Our eyes don't meet--yet. But I feel the pull already. My breath catches as he stands still In the center of the stage, just letting us look. Letting us want him.
And God, do I want him.
I feel strange. This feeling. The raw, electric charge building in my veins. The sense that something is about to happen--and I won't be the same afterward.
Chloe leans over again, her voice low and breathless.
"Told you."
And all I can do is nod.
Because she's right.
He's the one.
I can't look away. My eyes are fixated on his body.
He hasn't even moved yet--not really--but the air around him has shifted. There's tension now, the kind that stretches the silence, pulls the room tighter around him. He stands at the center of the stage like a secret we're all desperate to know. One foot forward. Hands loose at his sides. Tie swaying slightly as he breathes.
And then--
He rolls his shoulders.
It's a slow, deliberate motion, but it feels like a declaration. My lips part without meaning to. I catch myself before I exhale too loudly. Around me, I hear the rustle of silk, the sound of glasses pausing mid-air. One woman near the front moans softly, but still to loud.
He hasn't even taken anything off.
My thighs press together instinctively. It's warm in here. Too warm. Or maybe that's just me. My top clings a little tighter across my chest. I can feel my own heartbeat in the tips of my fingers.
He moves again.
This time his hips sway in a lazy, looping rhythm that draws my gaze down, down, until I'm staring at the narrow line of bare skin beneath the undone waistband. My mind fills in what's just out of sight. My breath hitches. Cloe told me the man go all the way, I can barely wait. I want to see him naked.
He crouches to remove his shoes.
I shouldn't find that hot. It's just shoes. But the way he bends, the tension in his arms, the way his muscles flex--it's deliberate. Every gesture is slow, smooth, choreographed but somehow... real. Like he's unwrapping himself for us, piece by careful piece.
When he stands again, barefoot now, he looks taller. More grounded. And somehow more dangerous.
Then the blazer.
He peels it off with the kind of grace that should belong to a dancer or a lover. One hand sliding along the opposite arm, then down his back, then--gone. The crowd shifts. I feel it like a wave, passing through bodies like a shared breath. There's a whistle behind me. A gasp. A low murmur of "fuck."
My stomach clenches.
The belt is next.
He undoes it with one hand.
The buckle clicks.
My nails dig into my thighs.
He pops the button, then the zipper--slowly--and that motion alone sends a flicker of heat through me so sharp it feels like lightning. His hips move again, just slightly, as he pushes the trousers down, revealing long, strong legs and--
God.
The slip.
It's black. Tight. Shiny. Barely covering it. Every inch of him is visible through the fabric, every line, every curve, every promise. The room reacts in sound--shouts, applause, laughter--but I stay quiet. Still.
I don't need to scream. I'm too focused. Too caught.
He is... breathtaking.
He doesn't just perform.
He hunts and I would give up anything to become his prey.
After that slow, deliberate strip that left the entire room panting, he leaves the stage. He steps down--off the platform and straight into the crowd--like a panther slinking into the jungle.
And the jungle?
It wants him. Every single one of us...
Hands reach out instantly. Fingers skim his arms, his waist, his thighs. I press my legs together, trying not to squirm in my seat. The bass rolls through the floor, and I feel it in places that make me blush.
He makes his way to the first woman.
She's sitting close to the stage, dressed like she owns the building. Black strapless dress, dark lipstick, high bun. Her body language screams take me seriously, then take me apart. She doesn't wait for an invitation. The second he's in range, she grabs him--both hands full of his ass, fingers digging in like she paid extra for it.
He laughs. Loud and raw.
Even I laugh a little, despite the heat curling in my stomach.
He says something against her, but I can't understand what.
The crowd loses it. Applause. Cheers. It's hot, chaotic and electric--and he feeds off it. He leans into her body for a slow, teasing grind, just once, just enough to make her bite her lip. I watch her eyes flutter.
And then he's gone.
He steps toward a woman in emerald green. She's standing now, bold and ready, one heel cocked out like she's about to give a TED talk on seduction. Her lips are moving, but the crowd is too loud--I can't make out what she says.
But I see his response.
He grins--wide and wicked--and then he reaches down... and pulls the waistband of his slip forward.
My breath catches.
Did he just--?
My eyes widen. My mouth opens, useless.
Did he just show her his cock?
I blink, trying to catch the angle, but I see nothing. The fabric snaps back before I can even lean forward. Whatever she saw--it was fast. Secret. Just for her.
She gasps. Laughs. Her eyes shine like she just got away with something forbidden.
God, I wish I had been closer.
Wish I'd seen what she saw.
He says something against her.
She doesn't hesitate. With a wicked smile, she grabs her dress at the top and yanks it down to her waist. No bra. Just perfect, perky breasts, bare in the glow of the stage light. They bounce slightly as she throws her shoulders back like she's proud to offer them.
He circles her like a predator who's just been given permission.
His hand trails along her waist as he walks behind her. The crowd is loving it. The woman practically radiates confidence.
