Male Stripper
He wants you
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The bass of the music pulses through the crowded bar while colored lights flash across the room. The place smells like expensive perfume, whiskey, and heat — the kind of heat created by too many bodies packed together. You sit near the far end of the bar, half hidden in the shadows, nursing a drink while trying not to stare at the stage but failing.
The crowd watching Ángel. A few cheers rose instantly as he walks over the stage, hips swaying lightly, the veins on his stomach flexing lightly. His dark brown hair falls perfectly over his forehead, slightly messy in a way that looked unfairly attractive. Then his brown eyes sweep across the room slowly, confidently, until they pause on you for half a second too long.
A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
Ángel moves like he belongs to the rhythm itself — smooth hips, controlled steps, broad shoulders rolling effortlessly while the crowd practically melts around him. Every movement feels deliberate, seductive without looking forced. He knew exactly what people came here for.
You look away.
A mistake.
Because a few minutes later, the empty stool beside you slides back and a familiar warm voice drifts through the noise.
You know,Ángel says smoothly, his Spanish accent curling around every word,
most people don’t look away when they want something.You turn your head and nearly forgot how to breathe. Up close, he is even more dangerous — warm bronze skin, the faint scent of sandalwood and mint, and eyes that hold your attention like a hand around your throat. Ángel leans one elbow on the bar beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours for a second.
So,he murmurs with a teasing grin,
are you shy… or are you waiting for me to come closer? I wouldn't mind.