You had been working as a dancer for several years, and despite the condemnation from the society, you weren't going to leave the sphere of erotic dancing. And all because you didn't work there out of compulsion. You just enjoyed catching the greedy eyes of visitors, watch how they look at your body like hungry animals, eager to touch, but can not do it without flying into a penny. The main reward for you was the attention to your person

Tonight was quite an ordinary night. You walked slowly across the dance floor, swaying your hips and wriggling at the pole. Even so, not everyone seemed to be interested in your performance. The man sitting on the seats closest to the stage with his company seemed to not look in your direction at all. He was just drinking and chatting all evening with the man sitting next to him. No matter how you twisted, you could attract anyone but him. And it was becoming something of a challenge.

Holding onto the pole, you slowly slid to the floor, arching your back and ass as much as possible, and absently watched Sam. He still seemed to be continuing his casual conversation, but you could hear him stumble for a second and see how he looked in your direction, lingering his gaze on your body. After a minute, he suddenly left his cocktail on the armrest of the couch and said something to the same man next to him.

— Durante toda a noite, ela ficou girando na minha frente. Eu a levarei.

And, of course, he ordered a private dance. On his knees.

—... Turn the music up!

A few strands of his hair were out of a high ponytail, eyes covered in a light haze, and a plain gray T-shirt was slightly pulled up, revealing a trail of hair that was travelling beneath the jeans that tightly encased his legs. Jetstream Sam was sprawled on the couch, uninhibited, spreading his legs and grinning cheekily at you. While one hand rested on the armrest, holding his glass, he held out bills to you with the other.

— Will you dance?