With her teeth.

While wearing handcuffs.

If this is an “emergency” by Zeke’s definition, the English have a very weird way of viewing the world.

But anything’s possible.

“RYAN!” he bellows as Jenny nearly gives him a testicular exam with her bicuspids. He stands and starts clapping rhythmically, in tune to some music I didn’t notice until just now. It’s heavy Euro dance music with a little country thrown in, a fusion that includes a fiddle.

All the women in the semi-circle around him stand and look at me, clapping and cheering, hair mussed, eyes loose and happy, cheeks aglow.

The bachelorette party. I scan the group. No Carrie.

“The stripper no-showed for poor Jenny! No woman should be stiffed on the eve of her wedding, right? I’m helping her out.”

“Stiffed,” someone says, then giggles through hiccups.

I take a deep breath, body flushing with the creeping sensation of having forty eyeballs crawling up and down every inch of skin I possess. Even through my clothing, I feel them evaluating me. Smiling while they take me in. Appreciating what their looking does to their emotional cores, triggering fantasies that transport them.

It’s what I do for a living.

But I’m not on the clock right now.

Planting my hands on my hips, I square my shoulders, taking a stand. “You’re more than enough man for all of them, Zeke.” I wink at one of the women, who is tonguing the cocktail stirrer in her fruity drink like it’s some guy’s mushroom cap. “No need for reinforcements.”

Every woman groans in disappointment. “C’mon, Ryan! There’s always room for more!” Angela calls out to laughter.

“That’s what she said,” Zeke shouts, triggering more groans and cheers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carrie come from the building, brow furrowed with a puzzled look. She grins at me, then laughs at the sight of Jenny crouched at Zeke’s feet.

“Carrie! Can we borrow your boyfriend?” Zeke shouts. “We want him to feed you sexy beasts!”

“What?”

“He means,” says Angela, giving me a coy look, “we need another stripper. And Ryan’s a professional, you know.”

I hide my reaction. If I just stare at Carrie, no one will know I’m yelling inside.

Carrie is a people pleaser. She looks at Jenny, then Angela. Jenny’s sister, Jessie, starts laughing, holding a glass of something alcoholic high in the air. Everyone in this batch of twenty women is drunk as hell.

“Well,” Carrie says, uncertain, her face flushed, the hair along her brow a little damp with sweat. “Um…”

The way she looks at me makes it clear Carrie’s loose and feeling no pain either.

I reach for her hand, her clasp tight and strong, fingers on her other hand roaming up my bare arm, tracing my tats. She pushes me into a chair and climbs into my lap, straddling me.

Her hair tickles my nose as she bends down and says loudly, “I don’t want to share. Sorry.”

Zeke lets out a loud wolf whistle. “Then don’t! Ryan can do a special dance just for you.”

The music stops, Zeke grabbing the iPhone from the speaker it’s attached to, fumbling with the screen.

And then the opening notes to Earned It by The Weeknd starts, the slow, sultry tones from the Fifty Shades movie making women move their hips like they’re already making love.

Carrie does a slow, sultry grind in my lap, whispering, “I don’t know what to do,” in my ear.

I don’t know what to do, either.

“You are so luscious,” I groan, my breath echoing against her jawline, my lips on her neck before I can think.

The women around us start moving in time with the intense, overpowering grind of the song and Carrie’s hips move against my cock like she’s fucking me.

Too much. Too little.

Too public.

I pick her up in one fluid movement, suspending her against me in midair as she whoops with surprise, her hair windswept as an ocean breeze blows through the crowd, whipping the flames from a fire pit and making Zeke call out with boisterous fun, moving from woman to woman to give each a little piece of himself.

I settle her in the chair I was just in and start to dance, locking eyes with Carrie, the music fading into my pulse, the women around us disappearing into a void.

All I see is Carrie.

All I feel is her skin.

All I know is her eyes.

And all I want is her.

CARRIE

I’m so happy. Three mojitos happy. One mojito, two mojito, three mojito — four? Not sure, but they’re all happy.

Ryan smells amazing, like salt and soap and sand, timeless and old, but young and fresh. When we kiss, it’s like drinking the best latte you’ve ever had, the kind that makes you moan and want more.

Wait. Am I actually moaning?

I break the kiss and realize he’s on me, hands in my hair, body gyrating, except I’ve never seen Ryan dance like this before. Two years of working together at O means I’ve seen him do pretty much everything with our clients.

Everything legal, that is.

But he’s never been like this before. Our eyes meet and he’s so serious. A woman could burn for a thousand years from one look like this, his smolder lighting me up.

Making me burn for him.

“Car-rie! Car-rie!” the wedding party starts to chant as Ryan grinds into me, his cock sliding between my legs, the friction of him against my clit too much. Embarrassment rips through me and I clamp my thighs shut, suddenly cold, suddenly self-conscious.

“Only you, Carrie,” Ryan says in a deep, sexy voice. “I’ll only do this for you.”

Angela shoves her fingers in her mouth and does a wolf whistle. Diane’s drinking wine straight out of a bottle. Jenny is still kneeling before Zeke, her face in his crotch, and Jenny’s mom has a tiny, battery-powered fan aimed at her face.

Then under her dress.

The world swims, filled with Ryan’s hot, muscled body on mine.

And then I remember.

It’s all fake.

Every move he makes is a show. Every kiss he’s given me has been staged. I put him up to this. I asked him to pretend. He’s just being a good, dutiful friend.

This is what he does for a living. He’s a pro.

I asked the best to do me a favor, and boy is he.

My mouth goes dry. My throat tightens. My nipples turn painful, and my skin just hurts. I’m sick to my stomach with the kind of grief that you swallow when you have no choice.