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I counted out another hundred and pressed it into her hand. “That’s for being lovely. And if you want, I’ll stay until close.”
She looked at the money, then at me. “And then what?”
“Then whatever you want. Or nothing.”
I stayed. Two more hours of watching her on the stage, her eyes finding mine every time. At two the lights came up, Dez herded everyone out, and Scarlett caught my sleeve at the door.
“Dez,” she called. “He’s with me. Ten minutes.”
Dez sighed and locked the front door behind us.
She led me back through the curtain to the same booth, the club empty and silent now. She was still in her lace, her makeup a little smudged, and she pulled my shirt over my head before I could say anything.
“Now you can touch,” she said.
I touched everything. I kissed her mouth, her freckled throat, her small hard nipples. She shoved my jeans down and wrapped her hand round my cock, stroking it, gasping at how hard it was. I peeled her knickers down and found her soaking.
She pushed me back on the velvet, took a condom from her garter, rolled it on me and sank down slow, every inch, moaning.
She rode me hard, hands on my chest. I grabbed her hips at last and fucked up into her, her tits bouncing, the couch thumping the wall. She came grinding on me, shaking, and I came seconds later, buried deep.
“Bryony,” she whispered against my neck. “My real name. Come for breakfast.”