Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(27)

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 f*cking 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.

If he didn’t stop soon, I thought I’d orgasm on the spot.

Vicky took my glass from me as I watched him. The light over the chair came back on, and he went back to the girl, dancing for her once more. She tucked dollar after dollar into his briefs, and before I knew it, Vicky had put another drink in my hand.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a hint of a giggle. “Damn. He’s going for it tonight.”

I nodded slowly, transfixed. West Rykman’s dancing, even with another woman, was compelling. He was magnetic, and the way his body moved was so goddamn hypnotizing that looking away seemed like a ridiculous notion.

So I watched. And watched. And watched. He danced seemingly without tiring, pleasing the hordes of women who were waving dollars at him, desperate for his attention.

When the song had finally ended after what seemed like forever—a delightful forever—I had a serious buzz as as he made his way around the stage and let all the women tuck dollars into his pants. He stopped halfway around and put his jeans back on, only for the other side to stuff them in his pockets and cop a feel at the same time.

I didn’t want to think about how many dollars he’d just had stuffed into his pants.

He bowed at the end, much to the delight of the women, as the normal lighting slowly brightened, and then he disappeared through a door.

“Hey, Vicky?” I grabbed her arm before she went back behind the bar. “There’s a restroom upstairs, right?”

She nodded. “Did you need to use it?”

I glanced across the club, which now seemed too bright, at the groups of women heading in the direction of the hall that held the public ones. “Yeah. Pretty badly.”

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and glanced at the bar. It was filling up now that West’s show was over. “Shoot. Go quick! West won’t mind.”

It might have been the alcohol—it was definitely the alcohol—but I was hoping I’d run into him.