She is not shy. She has done this before. But not with a man like him!
She has rehearsed it so often that the music has become a soundtrack to these last few nervous days.
It plays in her mind from the moment sleep releases her until she slides back into its arms. Perhaps it echoes through her dreams. She knows every persistent drumbeat, every smooth chord, every deep bass note, every sweet moan of hungry, dirty brass. She has her timings to the second.
She has tried to imagine this moment, tried to prepare herself for how she would feel.
Now, standing before him, she realises that she could never have readied herself. Not for this intimate space, this hushed room, this audience of one. Her mouth is dry, her heartbeat is wild and loud, her legs are weak. She is finding it hard to breathe…
She smooths her hands down her dress. They slide over her waist and onto her hips. She is desperately nervous. She is blushingly embarrassed. She is impossibly excited.
She is achingly aroused.
His eyes lock onto hers and he smiles. He presses a button on the slim, black remote and the music begins. The first notes are soothingly familiar and disturbingly erotic.
Despite herself, she begins to sway into her routine. She feels her hips move. As if by magic her body becomes lithe and sinuous.
She is seductive, sexy, sensuous.
He nods almost imperceptibly but somehow appreciatively.
Her hands glide over her breasts, caressing herself. Her fingers reach behind for the metal tongue of the zipper.
The show has begun!