Chapter 1: Introduction
The bass thumped through the walls of the penthouse suite, shaking the floor beneath Ace’s boots. He adjusted the black silk tie around his neck, his fingers trembling slightly. *This is it. No turning back now.* He had spent the last hour psyching himself up, repeating the same mantra: *It’s just dancing. It’s just dancing. It’s just dancing.*
The door swung open, and a wall of sound and heat hit him like a physical force. The bachelorette party was in full swing—confetti raining down, women laughing, the air thick with the scent of champagne and something sweet and sticky. His stomach flipped. *Here we go. remember, confidence.*
He strode in, a practiced smirk plastered on his face that felt about as genuine as plastic. The women erupted. A chorus of shrieks and whistles swallowed the music for a second. His eyes scanned the room, instinctively finding the bride. She was in the center of the sofa, a tiara slightly askew on her blonde curls, a "Bride-to-Be" sash slipping off her shoulder. She was pretty, with a wide, nervous smile.
"Ladies," Ace’s voice boomed over the music, thanks to a hidden mic. It sounded more confident than he felt. "I hear there's a future Mrs. in the house who needs a proper send-off."
The whoops got louder. He locked eyes with the bride—Beth, her name was Beth, he remembered from the booking notes. He gave her a slow, deliberate wink. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she buried her face in the hands of the brunette next to her, who just cackled and shoved her forward.
The music switched, a familiar, throbbing beat he’d practiced to in his tiny apartment. His body took over. The tie came off first, slung into the crowd. The shirt buttons followed, one by one, each pop met with exaggerated groans. He moved among them, letting fingertips graze his abs, using a chair for leverage, dropping to his knees in front of Beth. Her eyes were huge, a little glazed from champagne, but fixed on him.
He could do this. It was just a show.
The real test came with the prop. A can of whipped cream appeared from the cooler by the DJ. The room’s energy spiked, turning feverish. Chloe, the maid of honor—a striking blonde with a sharp, assessing gaze—was the one who handed it to him with a smirk that said prove it.
He shook the can, the thump-thump-thump a counter-rhythm to his heart. Back on the makeshift stage, he gave them a look, a silent question. The answer was a frenzied chant. "Do it! Do it! Do it!"
With a theatrical flourish, he coated himself. The cream was cold, shocking against his heated skin. He held his pose, the music pumping.
"Beth!" Chloe yelled, commandeering the moment. "Get up there! It's your last taste of freedom!"
Beth was pulled, pushed, propelled forward by her friends. She stood before him, laughing, breathless, slightly terrified. The room held its breath. Ace nodded at her, an invitation. Her eyes darted from his face to the cream and back. Something shifted in her expression. The nervous bride melted away, replaced by a flicker of pure, unadulterated mischief.
She leaned in.
The first contact was a soft, tentative lick. A collective gasp, then a roar. Emboldened, she did it again, more firmly this time, her hands coming up to steady herself on his thighs. Her friends lost their minds. They crowded around, not to be left out. A redhead with a nose ring followed Beth’s lead. Another, a brunette, joined in. The sensation was overwhelming—warm, wet, slick, and utterly surreal. Ace threw his head back, a genuine groan mixing with his performance. The money was good. The money was really good. He rode the wave, let them have their fun until the cream and the frenzy subsided.
He finished the routine with his back turned, a final hip thrust into the roaring crowd, and grabbed his robe. As he tied the belt, his heart still hammering from adrenaline and something else, Chloe materialized beside him.
"Hey. Ace, right?" Her voice was low, direct. She smelled like expensive vodka and ambition.
"That's me."
"You were great. The girls loved it." Her eyes weren't on his face; they were scanning the room, calculating. "Look, Beth’s having a blast. But I want to make this night legendary for her. Something she'll really remember."
Ace shrugged, toweling off the last of the stickiness. "Glad to be of service."
"I've got five hundred in cash. Right here." She didn't flash it, just patted her tiny sequined clutch. "On top of what you've already been paid. For a private dance. Just you and Beth. In the bedroom." She nodded toward a closed door down the hall. "Ten minutes. No one else. Make her feel... special."
Ace froze. Private dance. The agency had rules. The contract was specific: group events only, no isolated one-on-ones. It was the bright line they'd drawn. But five hundred dollars. That was half a semester's books. That was his car insurance for the year. He thought of the cheerful, blushing bride, her surprising boldness.
"What kind of private dance?" he asked, his voice careful.
Chloe’s smile was all teeth. "The kind a future husband can't give her. She's about to lock herself down forever, man. Give her a story. Something just hers." She leaned in. "She's curious. I can tell. And she thinks you're hot. It's just a dance. A little... closer."
The room felt suddenly hotter. The money was a physical weight in the air between them. He thought of the rules. Then he thought of the looming tuition bill sitting on his kitchen table.
"Seven-fifty," he heard himself say, the haggling automatic, a feeble attempt to claw back some control.
"Six," Chloe countered, without missing a beat.
"Deal."
"Good." She finally pulled the cash from her clutch, a thick stack of twenties. She folded it and pressed it into his palm. The paper felt illicit. "Give us two minutes to get her in there. Then come on in. Don't knock."
She melted back into the crowd, heading straight for Beth, wrapping an arm around her and whispering in her ear. Beth’s eyes went wide, then flickered toward him. She bit her lip, then gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Ace’s mouth went dry. He balled the cash in his fist, the edges digging into his skin. It’s just a dance, he told himself again, but the words had lost all meaning. The line he’d never thought he'd cross was now just a closed door waiting for him to open it.
He counted to one hundred twenty, each second stretching out, filled with the pulsing beat of the music and the echo of his own heartbeat. Then, he pushed off the wall and walked toward the bedroom, the noise of the party fading into a dull roar behind him.