Chapter 5: Lap Dances for Everyone – Testing Limits

The song fades out in a long, lingering bass note that still hums through the floorboards and up into my bones. I’m still straddling Alex’s lap right in the middle of the living room, my bare tits crushed against the front of his T-shirt, the thin cotton warm from his skin and damp where my nipples have been dragging across it. My soaked thong is pressed tight to the rigid outline of his cock, and I roll my hips in one last slow circle before the music dies completely, feeling the thick heat of him pulse once beneath me like a warning. The room is roaring—guys whooping, palms slapping the poker table, bottles clinking as they toast the show. Jake sits right beside us, laughing loud and raising his beer like this is the absolute highlight of his life, completely unaware that my body is on fire for the man whose lap I’m still glued to.

I can feel Alex’s heartbeat hammering against my ribs, fast and heavy, matching the frantic rhythm inside my own chest. His hands stay locked on my hips, fingers dug in with a grip that stopped being playful three songs ago. The delicate black lace mask hides the deep flush I know is burning across my cheeks, but my eyes stay locked on his through the tiny gaps in the fabric. He sees the desperation there. I know he does. It’s written all over the dark hunger staring back at me.

I force myself to slide off his lap before anyone notices exactly how long I lingered. My legs feel like jelly the second my heels touch the hardwood, heels clicking unsteadily as I straighten up. The thong clings obscenely to my swollen lips, the lace dark and slick from everything I’ve already left behind on him. The room swims in a haze of colored party lights—reds and purples washing over twelve half-drunk guys whose eyes are all hungry, but none of them burning like Alex’s. He stays seated for a beat, arms crossed, that patient stare following me as I move to the next guy in the circle.

It’s one of Jake’s old college buddies, already slurring compliments as I straddle him for the standard thirty-second tease. I roll my hips slow and mechanical, tits brushing his face on every forward tilt, ass grinding down just enough to feel him twitch and thicken under his jeans. His hands hover at my waist, polite enough, but my body isn’t here anymore. It’s tuned completely to Alex. Every time I glance back across the circle, he’s watching with that dark, unblinking focus, bulge still obvious and straining against the denim. The contrast hits me hard—mechanical friction from a stranger versus the memory of Alex’s thick heat.