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“This is what it felt like watching you up there. Like I was losing my goddamn mind.”

His hand tightens, making it a fraction harder to breathe.

“Like I couldn't breathe.” His knee presses between my thighs, allowing me the pressure I find myself desperately seeking despite the restricted breathing.

He finally frees my throat, and I gasp in air as he kisses along my collarbone. I pant, my hands gripping the sheets as his knee begins slow circles on my core. His hand gathers my hair in his fist, twisting and pulling my head back to expose more of my neck to him.

“Tonight was the last time you ever step on that stage. Do you understand?” he growls, nipping at the side of my neck, causing a delicious shiver to run down my body.

“Yes,” I moan without hesitation.

I can feel how soaked my bodysuit is as I grind my pussy against his knee in tandem with him.

Then, suddenly, he stops. The weight of him leaves the bed, and he stands in front of me again before he walks over to an empty chair to the side of the pole—facing it—and sits.

Just simply sits.

“Stand up.”

It’s like my body moves on autopilot as I stand on unstable knees, high on arousal.

“Take out your phone and choose a song.”

I walk over to my gym bag that’s hung by the door, making sure to sway my hips from side to side, and rustle through it to find my phone, which happens to be buried all the way at the bottom. Scrolling through my playlist, I land on Crazy In Love by Beyonce, remix version. I press play, and the slow, sensual sound floods through the bedroom speakers. Slipping the phone back in the bag, I turn. Xander’s holding a sketchbook. His sketchbook. My heart stalls at the sight of it, remembering that morning in the cabin I found drawings of myself. Then running from him. Every event plays scene by scene in my head in a flash, and I realise that it’s something that I never want to happen again. That the unhealed side of me secretly enjoyed the obsession but didn’t want to admit it. It’s why I ran.

His head rests on his propped-up arm as his other one begins to slide along the book.

“Dance.”

I grab the pole with both hands and spin, keeping an arm’s length distance from the pole. The pole slows its spin, and I slide down to sit on the floor, my legs in a V shape and the metal against my core. I pull in a breath as it connects with me, reminding me of the ache between my legs. Xander smirks, his eyes flicking between me and the paper.

Lying down on my back, I swing my legs to turn on the floor, getting up on all fours and whipping my hair around. Pulling myself to stand using the pole, I bodyroll against it then flip upside down into a jade spin. My heart races as I watch the way Xander’s shirt tightens against his muscles with the movement of his charcoal gliding along the paper.

I twirl around the pole and then lean against it, breaths choppy. Sliding my hands over my breasts, down my waist, then finally reaching my core, I press into that sweet spot, biting my lip. Xander has paused, and his hooded eyes trail every movement my hands make. My gaze dips down under his book, where a large bulge has already made itself present. Coasting the inside of my thighs, I start descending down at the same time, my mouth opening in an ‘O’ shape. His fists clench around the edge of the book before he slams it shut, throwing it to the side. Deciding I can’t wait any longer, I begin crawling towards him.

Just shy of the tips of his shoes, I pause. Sitting back on my knees, I run my hands torturously slowly up his thighs. I stand, bend at the waist, and lean my hands on his thighs, staring into his eyes. The song has restarted, and I swivel my hips steadily as his jaw ticks, watching the movement. Travelling my hands up his chest and gripping his shoulders, I bring my heel to the small space between his legs, pressing into the chair and standing, continuing to swivel my hips and giving him a perfect view of my cleavage. His eyes dip to my breasts, and when he looks back up, it’s not Xander anymore. It’s the dark side of him that he lets me see so often, and I know he’s ready to take control again. I straddle him, turning my head in a circular motion as my arms rest on his shoulders. His hands come out to grip my ass, squeezing painfully—but oh, it feels so good. I moan as I start gyrating my hips on top of him.

“Who do you dance for, Camila?” he asks as he traces my neck with his lips, nipping and licking in various spots.

“You,” I breathe, shuffling closer and pressing into his cock. I moan as I continue to grind into him.

He grabs my hair and pulls back. “You don’t get to make yourself come yet,” he murmurs, leaning closer into me. But I don’t care what he has to say; I’m so turned on that I just continue to move. I watch as his lips part and he exhales as I double my efforts on using his thickness to get myself off.

He grips my throat. “Stop,” he all but moans.

I don’t. So he stands, picking me up and carrying me over to the pole. I whine as he places me down on the floor, frustrated from that building orgasm taking over.

Twirling me around so my chest is glued to the pole, he presses into me from the back. His heavy breaths fill my ear. “You can never listen to simple instructions, can you?”

His heat abandons me, and chains rattle. I swallow. My eyes are so heavy with lust that I can’t keep up with what’s happening. The weight of the chain wraps around my waist twice and secures me to the pole. A few tugging movements, then a lock clicks in place. The length of him presses into the middle of my ass, his hand gripping my chin.

“I own you, Camila. I always have and always will.” His tone is gentle, yet not. “Tell me what you want.”

I moan out as he presses in more, grinding along my ass. Gripping onto the pole, I arch back into him, eliciting a low hiss from him.

He tightens the chain, and it clinks as it yanks into the pole.

“Is this what you want? Hmm?” he asks, ripping open the buttons of my bodysuit in one swift motion and exposing my centre to the cooler air.