The first time Michael had stepped foot in the stripclub, he’d been dragged there but a couple of his buddies after a good heist. A celebration, they had told him. A waste of money, he’d replied. Just because they just made tons of money didn’t mean they had to immediately go waste it.

Of course, that bitter attitude dried up in a split second as soon as he saw them. A dancer so gorgeous and… flexible, it made his jaw drop. He began to come more often, almost weekly, every time he finished a heist especially. At least half of his winnings was tucked into their small outfit, handed to them after a mindblowing personal dance. He knew it was stupid; he told himself a thousand times that they only flirted because it was their job. But every time those eyelashes batted his way, he was simply a goner.

“Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?” he grinned as he stepped into the private dance area. He sat on the chair with a grunt, trying to hide how excited he was. He hadn’t seen them in damn near two weeks now. Far too long, in his own mind.