“Screw it. When’s your boss on? Don’t judge me.”
She laughed. “Girl, I’m not judging. I’ve fantasized about him more than once, along with every other woman in the city. He’s like the unattainable god around here. Most of these guys?” She waved toward the stage. “They leave with someone. They’re the biggest whores. But West? No. I’ve think I’ve seen him leave or go meet two, maybe three women in two years after a shift.” She held up her hand and went to serve someone a little farther down.
The unattainable god.
I tilted my head to the side and picked my glass up as the guys on stage grabbed their clothes and evacuated it as the music trailed out.
The lights cut out, plunging the club into silent darkness. Several women squealed in excitement, and others in shock.
“Ooooh, here we go,” Vicky whispered, grabbing a glass from beneath the bar and settling in on the stool next to me.
I shot her a look.
God knows how she saw it, but she leaned in and whispered, “No one’s comin’ to the bar. Don’t worry.”
The low, seductive beat of “High for This” by The Weeknd filled the club. The eerie music echoed around the club in waves until the bass kicked in. At that exact same time, a spotlight flashed in the center of the stage.
On West.
I had a feeling this was his song—the one that set him apart from the others. They all moved to harsh club sounds, but he danced to this erotic melody.
I was right.
He moved his body slowly beneath the only point of light in the entire room. He flexed his hips as he untucked his white shirt from dark, ripped jeans and let it fall over the waistband. The chants of his name were already starting, but compared to the erotic music, it sounded like a low hum.
I was fixated on him as he eased his hands down the center of his body and undid every button of his shirt. He pulled it over his shoulders, and his strong muscles flexed as he whipped the shirt off and threw it into the darkness in a flash of white.
Clad in his jeans, he moved seductively toward the pole. He wrapped his steady hands around it and swung around it in a way I’d only ever seen women do. It was sexy then, but good fucking god—West made it look like foreplay. His arms tightened until every inch of the defined muscle was on show, from his biceps to his triceps. Hell, even his forearms were toned. His veins popped as he moved slowly but certainly.
As his face moved into the light, I caught the look in his eyes. He was smiling too. Loving it. And so he should have been—every woman in this room was lusting after him. Including me.
He released the pole, and that was when I noticed that the music was rolling. The song was lasting longer than it should have, and I’d bet anything it had been remixed to do so. It was flawless anyway, and so was the man walking across the stage.
He stopped and reached down, grabbing the hand of a woman. Her friends all screamed as he motioned for her to go to the end of the stage. As soon as she got there, the light went out, and when it came back on, West swung a chair around in the middle of the stage. He positioned her in front of it and ran his hands down her sides, following the curves of her body. She threw her head back and looked like she was laughing when he sat her down by her hips.
Then he moved. The way he had the night we’d met. His back was to us at the bar, but I could appreciate the view. He gyrated his hips slowly and deliberately, and the girl eagerly ran her hands all over his body until he had his legs on either side of her and was holding on to the back of the chair to stay steady. As he performed deep thrusts, he ran one hand through her hair and tilted her head back.
The chair was low and he was tall, so when her head was back, it was almost as if he were moving in front of her face.
She touched his body again, and a tiny, sick pang of jealously twisted in my gut. I remembered that body, how it felt to have him dancing against me.
West moved back, still dancing, and undid the button of his ripped jeans. He reached behind him and grabbed her hand, encouraging her to pull his pants down. She slid them over his tight ass, and he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.
Another spotlight hit them, and I saw one thing.
His erection.
Heat pooled between my legs, and I clenched them together as he ran his own hands down his sculpted body and rubbed one over the front of his dick. The light over the chair went out, leaving the girl forgotten, and West palmed himself through the black boxer briefs. His hips moved with the beat of the song, The Weeknd still playing. One hand trailed up his body, his head dropping back.
It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. That man, on stage, touching his body as he danced to one of the sexiest songs I’d ever heard.