Most nights, your job was easy. Routine. Almost boring.

You waited for the men to come one by one into your mirrored room, to sit back on the couch, and watch you. Some were nervous, smiling eagerly, unsure of where to put their hands so that they didn't cross a line and offend you. Some were smarmy, with greedy smirks and arms that reached out as you danced just out of reach. All of them watched you with wide eyes, memorizing every move as you swung on the pole, took off you clothes, let your body move with the sultry music pumping out of the speakers. You'd leave with more money than you could earn anywhere else, grab shitty diner food with the sweet people you worked with, then go about your daily life without thinking too much about it.

It was simple. It was good.

And then Dean started showing up.

The first night he was there, you could tell he was different. He didn't look at you with nerves or with lecherous hunger. He looked at you with confidence. Like he knew that if you let him, he could make you come undone. Could make you scream. It was quiet danger simmering just below the surface, and you fucking loved dancing for him. He made you feel sexy in a way that the job usually didn't.

And then he came back a second time. And a third. Soon, he was coming twice a week, never saying much, always licking his lips and palming at his jeans as he watched, intentionally never leaning forward or giving any indication that he wanted to touch you.

But it was there in his eyes. Sometimes, you'd swear those green eyes flashed black as he watched you, with lust and want. So you made the decision one night that the next time he sauntered in on those bowlegs, smelling like leather and looking like sin, you were going to give him permission to touch you.

He sprawled down onto the couch and looked up at you expectantly. Instead of dancing, you let him watch as you very purposely locked the door. A bouncer stood on the other side, ready to burst in if you called for him, and you needed Dean to know that you didn't want to be interrupted.

He watched you, nodded his head once, but didn't say anything.

Dancing for him with the door locked felt different. Dancing for him with intent behind it was even more strange. But it gave you a sense of freedom, of pure sex and power, when he leaned forward, wiping his hands on his thighs before picking up your panties from the floor where they'd landed. You spun on the pole, legs wide, baring everything for him even though you weren't supposed to go completely nude. He bit his bottom lip, then nearly made you fall down when he held your underwear to his face, breathing in the scent of you.

Rolling yourself down to your knees, you crawled toward him, showing off the curve of your spine and the heft of your breasts, not stopping until you were at the edge of your small stage, only inches away from being between his legs.

"You can touch me tonight," you breathed, "if you want."

"That's against the rules," he smirked, his voice betraying how turned on he was.

"Then break them," you smiled.

"Keep dancing."

His tone left no room for argument, so you stood and began swaying to the music again, letting him see your ass, spreading your legs and letting him see that you were wet for him, that you weren't dancing for the money. You were dancing for him.

"That's it," he encouraged. "Let me see you."

That gave you confidence, and you moved a little more loosely, a little more naturally, rolling your hips like you were fucking him instead of just stripping.

In an instant, in a flash, he was right there, pressed up behind you, his long body against all of yours. His head leaned down to bite at your naked shoulder, and his hand flew to your throat, a movement so sudden that it took your breath.

"You want me to touch you?"

"Yes," you gasped, pushing your hips forward as his free hand moved to rub between your legs.

Slowly, he squeezed his hand around your throat. "Like this?"

This wasn't what you had in mind, but your whole body was reacting, screaming for him to do whatever the fuck he wanted with you. To you.

"Or like this?" he squeezed harder, until you couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, then let go just as instantly.

This shouldn't be so hot. You didn't know Dean, not really, and there was something wild thrumming in his fingers, something you should probably be a little afraid of.

Maybe that was part of the thrill.

No risk, no reward, right?

So you turned in his arms, grabbed at his hand and put it back between your legs until he was rubbing directly over your clit. "Yes. Like that."

Dean smirked. "You're a brave one. Or just naughty. I like both."

His fingers moved faster, sliding from your clit to thrust up into you, then back again. He chuckled when your legs trembled.

"Lay down before you fall."

Instantly, you obeyed, wanting him on top of you, wanting to feel his weight. The music covered your groan as you watched him undress, watched him expose muscles and sexy scars and a cock you wanted to memorize with your tongue. Even under the cheesy multicolored lights, he was gorgeous.

Gorgeous and sinking to his knees, pulling your legs over his hips so that he could circle your clit again, this time rubbing it with the head of his cock.

Apparently, Dean wasn't much for foreplay. You were already wet, body begging for him without you saying a word, so he didn't waste time. He pushed into you, propelling himself forward to fall over you, one hand going back around your throat.

"Tell me you want it," he growled.

"Want it, Dean, please…" you whimpered, feeling so full, so dirty in the best way, legs spread on the floor of your workplace.

His fingers were rough and warm, resting on your neck easily as he thrust a few times, making your eyes go wide with just how good he felt, how perfectly he dragged against your aching pussy. He built his rhythm, making you burn for him, and you saw the change in his eyes again. It was a subtle flash of black, one that sent a shiver of your spine and told you that this was something darker than you'd planned, but something far hotter as well.

And then his hand began to squeeze, gentle pressure at first that grew harder and more intense, until you couldn't take a breath. He didn't let go as he snapped his hips faster, slamming into you harder.

You wanted to cry out at the sensation and couldn't. The colors grew brighter, fuzzier, and all you could focus on was how everything seemed more somehow. Dean was fucking into you harder, almost pushing you past your limit as your hands clawed at his arm, searching for something to hold on to.

The pressure built inside you, hot and intense, threatening to explode with the next thrust of Dean's cock.

And then he let go, angling his hips to slam into your g-spot as air rushed back into your lungs.

You let out an animal sound, a cry of lust and primal pleasure, everything snapping back into focus so fast your head spun. You came hard, shaking and trembling, clenching down around his cock as you floated, chemicals rioting through you, lack of oxygen making you giddy.

You knew Dean was coming too, biting down on your shoulder, the vibrations of his groan rumbling into your skin, but you couldn't focus on it, couldn't do anything but lie there.

Dean didn't seem to mind.

Afterward, he helped you sit up, and tossed you the skimpy bra and panties you had worn into the room.

"You okay?" he asked, but you got the feeling he didn't much care either way. To be honest, neither did you. That orgasm was worth it regardless.

"I'm good," you smiled, sitting on the floor, still catching your breath.

"Good," he smirked, throwing his clothes on. "How much do I owe you for the dance?" he asked.

"That one's on me."

"Then I'll see you next time."

And just like that, he was gone.

You fell back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling, and let the music thump through you, unable to stop smiling as your body kept buzzing.

God, you hoped next time was soon.