The light was warm, almost golden, coming only from an old chandelier and the discreet city lights that filtered through the tall windows. The suites on the 40th floor of the hotel were silent, as if the entire floor were reserved just for us.
He was waiting for me in the middle of the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The black suit fit perfectly on his broad shoulders. He said nothing when I entered. He just put down his glass and held out his hand to me.
“Dance with me,” he demanded in a low, almost whispered voice.
It wasn’t a question. It was an order wrapped in velvet.
I stepped toward him. The long black silk dress clung to my body with every movement, contouring my breasts, my waist, and the curve of my buttocks. When I reached him, he placed one hand on my back, right where my skin was bare, and the other on my waist. The music began softly—a slow, deep jazz, with a double bass and saxophone that seemed to breathe with us.
We began to dance.
Our bodies naturally pressed together. He led me with calm but firm precision. Each step was slow, deliberate. I could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin silk. His fingers slowly moved up my back, gently pulling the zipper of my dress down, inch by inch, without stopping the dance.
The dress slipped off my shoulders and fell to my feet with a discreet rustle. I was left naked in his arms, except for the high heels and a thin diamond necklace he had sent me earlier.
He didn’t stop dancing. He pulled me even closer, his chest pressed against my bare breasts. I could feel how hard he already was under the elegant trousers. Our movements became more intimate—my hips slowly rubbing against his, to the beat of the music. His hand slid down the curve of my buttocks, squeezing them possessively, pulling me even harder against his erection.
My breathing quickened. He pressed his lips to my neck, kissing me lightly, then biting me delicately. His tongue slid over my collarbone as we continued to dance, our bodies swaying slowly, as if in a ritual.
He turned my back on him without breaking contact. We were now dancing close together, my back pressed against his chest. His left hand cupped one of my breasts, his thumb caressing the hardened nipple in slow circles. His other hand slid between my legs, finding me already wet and hot.
His fingers caressed me slowly, exactly in time with the music – up and down, in circles, without haste. My barely audible moans mingled with the saxophone. He inserted one finger deep, then two, moving them in the same slow, agonizing tempo.
— Dance for me, he whispered hoarsely near my ear.
I arched my back in his arms, moving my hips more sharply, rubbing against his palm and the erection that pulsated behind me. The pleasure grew slowly, like a wave that gathers far away before breaking.
When he felt me close, he slowed the movement of his fingers, holding me exactly on the edge. The dance continued. The music changed, but the rhythm remained just as slow, just as devastating.
Finally he turned me to face him, lifted me gently and sat me on the edge of the black piano in the room. He spread my legs and entered me slowly, very slowly, until I felt him completely. I moaned loudly, my nails digging into his shoulders.
He began to move in the same slow dance—deep, controlled, each thrust synchronized to the music. Our eyes met. We didn’t speak. We just breathed together, moved together, lost together.
The orgasm hit me like a long, deep wave. I trembled in his arms, contracting around him, moaning softly into his neck. He followed a few seconds later, pouring himself deep into me with a low moan, holding me tightly against him as the dance ended.
We remained embraced on the piano, our breaths mingling, our bodies still joined.
He kissed my temple lightly and whispered,
— The most beautiful dance I’ve ever paid for.
I smiled weakly, still trembling.
— Then… shall we dance one more time before sunrise?
The slow dance of a luxury escort
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