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chairs and I stand facing him with
wobbly knees. Why did I have to wear these damn high-heeled sandals? What if I
fall headfirst onto his crotch? Slow, sultry music replaces the fast-paced
dance song. Feeling like an utter fool, I observe what the women beside me do
to their men. I can’t help laughing when I see Zena and Dorothy both dancing
for Rolf with Zena giving constant instructions.
    Carlos’ voice pulls my attention back to him. “Relax. This
is supposed to be fun.”
    How can I dance, much less move, when my body is a block of
ice? All I can do is stare at him and study the way his eyes smolder…and his
smile. It starts slow and spreads over his face as the sun does across a dawn
sky. Forget every complaint I made about his previous half-assed smiles. This
one makes up for them all.
    The smile must have thawed the ice because my hips rock of
their own accord. My hands drift to his shoulders as if powerful magnets lay
hidden under the muscles. My fingertips feast on the smooth familiar skin I
touched during the photo shoot. I have to have that smile—kiss it, taste it,
devour it.
    His mouth is shaped like a majestic bird in flight. When my
lips are an inch from his, I remember one of the lessons from this morning. Tease
your subject. Just before my mouth touches him, I drift back out of reach
and raise my arms over my head, swaying them in a serpentine motion. The music
has found a hole in my armor and crept inside my body, filling it and moving
it. Remembering I’m not supposed to touch him now, I let go.
    God, I must look like a hooker. Am I really doing this? I hope no one is watching except him.
    He slouches in the chair a little, getting more comfortable.
Another flashback from this morning’s stripping lesson hits me. Check for
eye contact. Bubbles of delight fill me when I notice his gaze glued to my
body. So far so good…
    Then I remember to emphasize my body angles. I haven’t been
this focused on my appearance since I was a teenager. First the exotic
lingerie, then my face angles with the photo shoot and now my body angles. It’s
too bad over-forty modeling isn’t a career.
    I finally realize where he’s looking, especially when I bend
over. My low-cut lace blouse has given him a birds-eye view of my new push-up
bra. Based on the smile that hasn’t left his face, he likes what he sees. The realization
sends a million volts of electricity straight to my cunt.
    His gaze locks on to mine and intensifies, as if to tell me
he wants more. More what? What am I supposed to do now, grab his crotch? No,
that wouldn’t be subtle or seductive. I do need to touch more than his
shoulders, however. When I remember how good it felt to have my legs wrapped
around him during the photo shoot, insatiable heat roars inside my core,
drawing my pelvis toward him with a force I can’t control.
    I straddle one of his legs, rubbing my corduroy-clad crotch
up and down the length of his thigh. When scalding fluid drenches my thong
panties, I hope it doesn’t seep through. Luckily two layers of pants lie
between us.
    Geez, look at me now. I’m truly acting worse than a
dog in heat. If anyone records this on video, I’ll be absolutely mortified.
Even a picture would be too much. As if on cue, the LED light on Zena’s phone
flashes in my face.
    Carlos shifts in his seat, more forcefully this time, making
the metal legs squeak. Uh-oh. Is he trying to throw me off him? I
struggle to remember more of this morning’s lesson, but my brain has stopped
working.
    The only message firing in my neurons right now is I need
him and I need him now . Confusing me more, he touches my hip and then drops
his hand as if burned. Does he have cellulite detectors in his fingers or
something? Then I remember he’s not allowed to touch me either. Who invented
these stupid rules?
    I lean close to his face again because what I really want is
a kiss. As much as I’d love to have wild sex right here in this chair, I’d
rather go through each