She had to play the part like she was grinding the groove. Her hands trailed down his rigid body, while she held his gaze.
"Gary," she whispered.
His eyes sought hers. She could feel his hardness as her hands sank lower. One of his hands grabbed her slithering hand.
"You're not to touch me there," he huffed.
"But you want me so much. Why meet me in such a place?" She was pissed, but she pulled herself up, swinging her hips to the rhythm of the music that blared in the background.
"Aren't we supposed to meet after all?"
He didn't sound like the Mr. Nice guy. He was rude, condescending in a way, and only saw her for what she was; a stripper.
"Can you take off your mask, Gary? We shouldn't be meeting like this?" She emphasized.
"You've said that for the umpteenth time. Just dance, le
