I usher her out of the kitchen, flicking off the lights on the way out. The rest of the house is completely quiet and still, and only the pale moonlight illuminates her face.

“Goodnight, Justice.”

“Goodnight, Ally.”

I walk back to my little home, hating the stupid grin on my face. It hurts my cheeks, and gives me hope that I have no right to feel.

I kinda love it too.

I WAIT FOR them to file in and take their seats, noting the questioning looks as they take in the new additions to the room. It sinks in for a few, and curiosity turns into shock.

Ah, there it is. The pitter-patter of my little black heart. It’s been a while, old friend.

It's like that zombie romance movie, as ridiculous as it sounds. The more I hang around Allison, the more alive I feel. The dark coldness of my heart begins to heat and bloom into something vital, and for once, I feel…normal. Like somehow, I belong.

The only difference is, I don't want to belong. Not really. I don't want to fit into her world. I don’t want to be defined by the media’s perception of me, or an image cooked up by my publicist. I’ve never been good at coloring inside the lines, and I won’t start now for some married chick I’ve known for five minutes.

That’s why I know it’s better this way. I’m not the good guy. To be honest, I’m the villain. Good guys wouldn’t do what I’m about to.

“Ladies, we have an exciting session for you today. I know you’re wondering about the changes to our regular instruction space. Well, today we have a special demonstration for you.” I turn to the young lady on my right and place my hand on the small of her back. “This is Jewel. And this is her colleague, Candi. And they are going to show you the art of the striptease.”

“You want us to be strippers?” Lorinda Cosgrove shrieks. She’s lost the ugly moo-moos and cardigans and traded them for something more form fitting and chic. She’s learning. Whether she wants to admit it or not, it’s starting to sink in.

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what’s going to happen with or without your consent. Men like strippers. They go to strip clubs. They get lap dances. Now you can either cry about it or learn to do it yourself. And, get an inside glimpse of what is so damn enticing about exotic dancers. Now, I suggest you pay attention, because during our final review, you’ll be asked to do a little striptease…for me.”

“No way,” Shayla pipes up. “There’s no way I’m taking my clothes off for another man.”

“Not necessary, Mrs. Adkins. It’s all about the journey, not the destination. The tease of a woman losing her clothing. Anticipation.Do you know how fucking hot that makes us? Waiting, hoping, praying that you’ll show us just an inch of that smooth, silky skin?

“I’ve showed you how to get our attention, and now I’m going to show you how to keep it. Anticipation is what keeps us at home, dick hard, wanting you.Understand?”

They all answer with looks of shock and interest, so I fish out the tiny remote in my pocket and press a button. Booming bass lines and drumbeats fill the room, accompanied by the voice of Justin Timberlake.

Yeah. I put on JT.

Bitches love JT.

“Ladies?”

At my word, both Jewel and Candi begin to sway side to side, rolling their hips with every move. Jewel slowly makes her way to the pole situated in the center of the room, her 6-inch heels keeping in time with the beat. Candi slides over an empty chair and turns to me to rake her fingers over my chest. She gives me a naughty smile before biting her red, bottom lip, then pushes me back to sit in the chair that happens to be facing the makeshift stage. She doesn’t look away. Her big, brown eyes stay locked on mine, giving me her full attention. Making me feel like I am the only man in the world that makes her wet.

Candi’s red-tipped acrylic nails slide down my chest to my stomach. Her fingers explore the rigid planes of my abs through my white linen shirt, and she licks her lips in approval.

“Oooh, baby, you’re so hard here,” she coos. “I wonder where else you’re hard.”

The line is laughable, but she knows that’s exactly the kind of shit that simple-minded fuckers want to hear. Her hands drift down to my upper thighs, just a breath from my cock. Her eyes flick down to my lap then back up, mischief gleaming behind dark eyeliner and heavy mascara. I lift a brow, challenging her. If she wants it, she has to come get it.

Candi giggles and her hands trail down the tops of my thighs before she stands upright. Hungry eyes still locked on mine, she begins to move, her own hands sliding over her curves. She palms her breasts, giving them a squeeze before caressing her flat, bare stomach.

I watch her as she dances for me in her sexy red lingerie, yet all I can think about is how daring that color would look on Ally accompanied with her red hair. How coy and mischievous she would act in front of me, moving those hips to the music. I close my eyes for a few beats, trying to blink away these thoughts and just focus on my job. And right now, my job consists of sitting back and enjoying a striptease. Not fantasizing about another man’s wife.

Candi can see the distance in my gaze and moves to stand between my legs. Body writhing, she reaches to her back to unhook her lace bra, letting it fall to the floor. Perfectly round DDs look back at me, not even drooping an inch with the lack of support. She cups her breasts and runs her fingers over her hard, light brown nipples. “Mmmm,” she moans, eyes nearly closed. “I want you to touch me.”

I nod, but I don’t give her what she desires. Instead, I look over at Jewel just as she slides down the pole, holding herself up only by her thighs. She spins, platinum blonde hair whipping around her face dramatically. She feels my gaze and looks to me, her expression burning hot and sultry. And with Candi now straddling my thighs, those perfect, doctor-designed tits bouncing in my face, Jewel performs just for me.

This is every man’s dream—a topless woman riding his lap while another dry-humps a long, hard pole. I watch them, but I don’t seethem. In many ways, I’m no different than Candi and Jewel. We provide a service that is surrounded by sex. I know their angle. I know the only thing that truly gets them hot is cash. It’s the same thing that motivates me.

They take their clothes off. I encourage women to do the same.

Jewel steps away from the pole and makes her way to Candi, who is still dancing, her back to my front. She grinds her ass on my dick, stirring it from rest, and I grip her hips, guiding her erotic movements. Jewel moves in close, pressing her bare breasts against Candi’s, and they both moan. Their hands tangle in each other’s hair, caressing hot, puckered skin and humid lace. They’re putting on a show, touching each other with over-exaggerated wonder and desire.

For their final act, Jewel pushes Candi back to rest on my chest, her face beside mine. Then her tongue snakes out, licking Candi’s cherry lips before delving into her eager mouth. The kiss lasts for several seconds, both sets of their hands touching me, and each other, in ecstasy. Then, as if on cue, they stand upright, baring their near nude bodies shamelessly.

Eleven sets of eyes stare back in bewilderment.

Then, all at once, as if their brains have just simultaneously processed what they’ve just seen, questions, comments, and even expletives drown out JT.

“You want us to do that?”

“Oh my God, there’s no way I’m kissing a woman!”

“Do we really have to take off our bras?”

“Hell no! My family would kill me!”

“I can’t believe my husband likes that crap!”

“Wow, that was kinda hot!”