Chapter 3

Bianca

He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back slightly in the chair, his legs spreading just enough to create space. It was an invitation, and I knew what he wanted. A lap dance.

The most intimate kind of performance, the kind that required me to touch him without actually breaking the no contact rule. I had done it before, but never for someone who looked at me like this or for someone who made me feel like prey.

The music was still playing, the beat matching my racing heartbeat. I moved between his legs, slowly, my body swaying to the rhythm. I turned so my back was to him and lowered myself, not quite sitting on his lap but hovering just above it. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

I rolled my hips in slow circles, my hands on my own thighs, keeping everything controlled and professional. This was still a performance. Still a job.

But then I felt it, the slightest shift in his breathing. The way his body tensed beneath me, even though he stayed perfectly still. For the first time since I walked into this room, I had affected him.

Something shifted in me too. Maybe it was adrenaline, exhaustion, or the desperation for that money. I leaned back slightly, my head brushing close to his shoulder. My movements slowed, and now becoming real.

I could feel the smooth fabric of his shirt against my bare back. Could feel the rise and fall of his chest. I turned my head slightly and caught his reflection in the mirrored wall across from us.

His eyes were half closed now, his jaw tight. His hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were white. He was fighting to maintain control, and that look sent a strange thrill through me.

I shifted again, this time facing him, straddling his lap without actually sitting on it. I froze for a heartbeat. This isn’t what I planned… but Emma…

Without thinking, I pressed my knees into the leather on either side of his thighs. My hands rested on his shoulders for balance, breaking the no touching rule completely, but neither of us seemed to care anymore.

His face was inches from mine now, I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his pupils had dilated until his eyes looked almost black instead of that cold blue.

The music faded into background noise. All I could hear was our breathing, heavy and uneven. All I could feel was the heat between us, the magnetic pull that made no sense but felt inevitable.

I moved my hips in a slow figure eight, my body brushing against his in ways that definitely violated every rule Fred had ever given me. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach for me but was stopping himself.

My own hands slid from his shoulders to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was racing just as fast as mine.

We were so close now that our lips were almost touching. His breath ghosted across my mouth, smelling of whiskey and something minty. My eyes fluttered closed, just a little closer and...

I stopped.

Reality crashed back into me, what was I doing? This wasn't me. I was here for Emma, for the money, not to lose myself in some dangerous stranger's lap.

I pulled back quickly, my breathing ragged. He let me go without protest, his hands still gripping the chair arms, his expression returning to that blank mask even though I could see the struggle behind it.

I stood on shaky legs, my body still trembling from whatever had just happened between us. I needed to get out of here.

I walked to the table where the money sat in neat stacks. My hands were still shaking as I reached for the bundles. Before I could touch them, I heard the rustle of leather and turned to see him reaching into that expensive bag one more time.

He pulled out two additional bundles of cash, and placed them deliberately on top of the existing pile. My eyes widened. I couldn't help it. Twelve thousand dollars. Twelve thousand dollars for one night's work. For breaking rules I had promised myself I would never break again.

I looked up at him, my lips parting in shock. No words came out, so I just mouthed a silent "thank you," my voice completely stolen by what was happening.

His expression didn't change. He just nodded once, barely a movement at all, and settled back into his chair like a king on his throne.

I turned back to the money, gathering the bundles with trembling fingers and stuffing them into my small bag. As I bent to collect the last few bundles, my gaze accidentally dropped lower, and I caught sight of something I wasn't supposed to see.

The evidence of his arousal was visible through his expensive trousers, unmistakable despite his otherwise perfect composure. The fabric strained slightly, and I realized with a jolt that the Iceman wasn't quite as frozen as he pretended to be.

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. At least I knew I had affected him. I straightened up, clutching my bag full of money, and forced myself to meet his eyes one more time. He was watching me with that same cold, assessing stare, but now I could see something hungry lurking beneath it.

I forced myself to slip back into Scarlett instead of Bianca, to put on the professional mask even though it felt paper thin now. "See you next time," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Hope you enjoyed it."

I walked to the door, my heels clicking against the floor, the sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. My hand was on the handle,  "What's your real name?" he asked.

I froze, no client had ever asked me that before. It was an unspoken rule, we used stage names for a reason. To keep distance, keep things professional and most importantly to keep ourselves safe.

I should have lied, should have told him Scarlett was all he needed to know or even walk out without answering.

But when I turned and looked into those winter eyes, "Bianca." My mouth moved before I could control them.

Immediately, I pushed the door opened and it clicked shut behind me, but I could still feel his eyes on me through the wood.

As I walked back to the changing room. I had the terrible feeling that I had just made a mistake I couldn't take back.