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I put my hands on her waist. Slowly, giving her time to stop me.
She didn’t stop me.
“There you go,” she murmured. “Brave boy.”
Her skin was warm and smooth, the gold chain cool under my fingertips. She kept grinding, and I let my hands move with her, feeling the muscles of her hips roll under my palms. She glanced up at the camera in the corner, then back at me, and shifted just slightly so her back blocked its view.
“Camera can’t see your hands now,” she said. “But Dez checks the tips at the end of the night. Bad tippers get the strict version next time.”
“Is that a hint?”
“It’s a menu.” She took one of my hands and slid it up her ribs until my thumb brushed the underside of her breast. She shivered. “This bit costs extra.”
She rocked against me, harder now, her pussy dragging along my cock through two thin layers of fabric. Her breathing had changed. Her eyelids fluttered. I didn’t think it was all acting.
“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’ve got a nice cock. I can feel it.”
My heart was hammering. Her nipple was hard against the edge of my thumb. Every roll of her hips pushed me closer to the edge.
She leaned in until her lips were on my ear.
“So what’s it going to be, Owen? You going to be a good tipper? Or are you going to try and talk me into something?”