“It is alluring,” he said. His eyes did another swoop over me, and I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “Speaking of alluring …” He pulled a fifty from the money clip that sat on the table beside his empty drink. “How about a lap dance, honey?”
The thought made me vaguely ill, and I realized that although I was fine with the dancing part of the deal I’d made, lap dances were technically part of my job.
Well, damn.
I leaned over and lightly pressed my finger to his forehead. “Hold that thought, sugar. I have to go do my thing onstage, but you’re the one I’ll come to after.”
Lust flared in his eyes as I started to walk away. And then, just because I was getting into the part, I turned around and winked at him.
The other girls for the upcoming set were already in the dressing room, and we chatted while we got ready. I asked them about Amy, but no one said anything I didn’t already know. At one point, I glanced at a snapshot, one of many on a bulletin board. The girl had blond hair, bangs, and a dimple that highlighted a friendly smile. I did a double-take, then realized it was only another girl who looked a bit like Amy.
“That’s Emily,” Sapphire said when I asked. “Weird, huh?”
“What?”
“Well, you’re right. They look a bit alike, and they were both heading to Vegas.” She exhaled, a sad, lonely sound. “Sucks that Emily never got there. You know, it seriously pisses me off that the cops haven’t learned shit. It’s like she was just a dancer in a strip club and they just don’t care.”
“I’m sure they care,” I said, but I know I didn’t convince her, and I made a mental note to call my friend in the Chicago
I did my own makeup—and didn’t mess it up too badly—and then the intro music was blaring and it was time to head out.
This time, I knew right where Tyler was when I climbed onstage. A nice little perk as that lessened my nerves considerably. I danced and swayed and flirted with the customers and the pole, all the while keeping my eye on the man at the bar—my man, who was leaning back, his expression bland except for the heat in those blue eyes that never once left me.
I added an extra shimmy just for him, and reaped the reward in tips from nearby customers. Not a bad deal, really.
When the set ended, I headed straight for the bar, but was waylaid by one of the men, who flashed a hundred dollar bill, then tucked it in the band of the G-string I wore. “I’m looking for a little quiet conversation, sweet thing,” he said as I took a step back, suddenly feeling very naked and wanting a bit of distance from the panting way he was looking at me. “Why don’t you come with me to the back?”
I was running through my options for saying no, when Tyler approached, then plucked out the bill. He handed it to the man. “Sorry to disappoint, but this lovely lady has a private engagement in the VIP room.”
I almost sagged in relief. “Sorry, sugar,” I said. “Maybe next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Tyler said when we were out of earshot. “You dance on the stage. Nowhere else. Not unless you’re dancing for me.”
I feigned shock. “But what about the man waiting for me in the VIP room?”
“Change of venue,” Tyler said as we entered the employee section. “He’ll see you in my office.”
He had me inside and pressed up hard against the wall as soon as the door closed behind us. I gasped, breathless from his long, deep kiss, as he slipped a finger inside me, even while easing down to take my breast in his mouth.
He suckled me, making me feel wild—making me feel aware. So that I seemed to know every hair, every nerve ending, every tiny burst of sensation in my body.
“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured.
“I was ready the first moment I saw you. That night at the party, when I saw you walking toward me, I wanted you so desperately it was almost painful.” I turned my head away, not wanting him to see my eyes, suddenly afraid that I’d revealed too much.
He cupped my cheek and eased my head back so that there was no escaping his gaze. “Yes,” he said, and that simple word seemed to hold a world of meaning.
I sighed. “You do something to me, Tyler. I look at you and …”
“And what?”
“And I want.”
His smile was slow and painfully sexy. “What do you want, Sloane?”
You. “Exactly what you’re doing,” I said instead.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said. “You’re like oxygen. I crave you, I need you, I can’t live without you.”
“Oxygen’s explosive,” I teased.
“It most definitely is,” he said as he lifted me. I hooked my legs around him, and he carried me to his desk. “Lay back,” he ordered, and I complied without argument.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice filled with heat and appreciation. “I like the way you look. Stretched out, naked and flush, like an offering to a god.”
“Would that be you?”
He chuckled. “It might be.”
“What are you going to do?” I couldn’t help my whisper, or the hint of anticipation that stole into my voice.
“I could just stand here and look at you. Your skin is so pale that I see every subtle change, every flush when you become aroused. I like knowing how much you want me. How much you like me looking at you. Me wanting you.”
He slowly stroked his hands up my legs. “And this is the rest. Touching you. Feeling the way your muscles tremble. Hearing how you draw breath when my fingers graze ever so gently over your skin.” As if in illustration, he drew a lazy fingertip over my thigh. “Turn over now,” he said.
I turned, lying flat on the desktop, my legs together, my head turned to one side.
“No,” he said, “Ease down. Feet on the floor. Legs spread. Bend over and hold on.”
I moved as he spoke, then realized I was biting my lip, a reflection of both nerves and excitement.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over my back, tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my rear. “Yes,” he said, in a voice heavy with lust and heat. “You’re perfect, Sloane, so fucking perfect.”
I said nothing. I wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot. But in that moment, I felt like I was.
He leaned over, his clothes brushing my naked flesh in a way that made me shiver almost as much as his words. “I’m going to fuck you, Sloane. Fast and hard. I’m going to lose myself inside you, and I’m going to hold tight as I feel you explode.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could only wait in breathless anticipation as he took off his jacket, then folded it and gently placed it between my belly and the edge of the desk.
I drew in a breath—Tyler’s hands, his touch, his words all made me wet with longing. But that one tiny courtesy had me close to crumpling with desire and respect and something that, in another place and time, just might be love.
He touched me, using his fingers to open me wide, make me even more aroused, so that I was whimpering with need by the time I heard the distinctive sound of his zipper.
And then—oh, thank god—I felt the thick head of his cock push against me, gentle at first, teasing me, and then with one solid thrust he buried himself inside me, and I cried out as the warmth of his body pressed up against my ass, trapping me between him and the desk.
The thought made me vaguely ill, and I realized that although I was fine with the dancing part of the deal I’d made, lap dances were technically part of my job.
Well, damn.
I leaned over and lightly pressed my finger to his forehead. “Hold that thought, sugar. I have to go do my thing onstage, but you’re the one I’ll come to after.”
Lust flared in his eyes as I started to walk away. And then, just because I was getting into the part, I turned around and winked at him.
The other girls for the upcoming set were already in the dressing room, and we chatted while we got ready. I asked them about Amy, but no one said anything I didn’t already know. At one point, I glanced at a snapshot, one of many on a bulletin board. The girl had blond hair, bangs, and a dimple that highlighted a friendly smile. I did a double-take, then realized it was only another girl who looked a bit like Amy.
“That’s Emily,” Sapphire said when I asked. “Weird, huh?”
“What?”
“Well, you’re right. They look a bit alike, and they were both heading to Vegas.” She exhaled, a sad, lonely sound. “Sucks that Emily never got there. You know, it seriously pisses me off that the cops haven’t learned shit. It’s like she was just a dancer in a strip club and they just don’t care.”
“I’m sure they care,” I said, but I know I didn’t convince her, and I made a mental note to call my friend in the Chicago
I did my own makeup—and didn’t mess it up too badly—and then the intro music was blaring and it was time to head out.
This time, I knew right where Tyler was when I climbed onstage. A nice little perk as that lessened my nerves considerably. I danced and swayed and flirted with the customers and the pole, all the while keeping my eye on the man at the bar—my man, who was leaning back, his expression bland except for the heat in those blue eyes that never once left me.
I added an extra shimmy just for him, and reaped the reward in tips from nearby customers. Not a bad deal, really.
When the set ended, I headed straight for the bar, but was waylaid by one of the men, who flashed a hundred dollar bill, then tucked it in the band of the G-string I wore. “I’m looking for a little quiet conversation, sweet thing,” he said as I took a step back, suddenly feeling very naked and wanting a bit of distance from the panting way he was looking at me. “Why don’t you come with me to the back?”
I was running through my options for saying no, when Tyler approached, then plucked out the bill. He handed it to the man. “Sorry to disappoint, but this lovely lady has a private engagement in the VIP room.”
I almost sagged in relief. “Sorry, sugar,” I said. “Maybe next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Tyler said when we were out of earshot. “You dance on the stage. Nowhere else. Not unless you’re dancing for me.”
I feigned shock. “But what about the man waiting for me in the VIP room?”
“Change of venue,” Tyler said as we entered the employee section. “He’ll see you in my office.”
He had me inside and pressed up hard against the wall as soon as the door closed behind us. I gasped, breathless from his long, deep kiss, as he slipped a finger inside me, even while easing down to take my breast in his mouth.
He suckled me, making me feel wild—making me feel aware. So that I seemed to know every hair, every nerve ending, every tiny burst of sensation in my body.
“You’re so ready for me,” he murmured.
“I was ready the first moment I saw you. That night at the party, when I saw you walking toward me, I wanted you so desperately it was almost painful.” I turned my head away, not wanting him to see my eyes, suddenly afraid that I’d revealed too much.
He cupped my cheek and eased my head back so that there was no escaping his gaze. “Yes,” he said, and that simple word seemed to hold a world of meaning.
I sighed. “You do something to me, Tyler. I look at you and …”
“And what?”
“And I want.”
His smile was slow and painfully sexy. “What do you want, Sloane?”
You. “Exactly what you’re doing,” I said instead.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said. “You’re like oxygen. I crave you, I need you, I can’t live without you.”
“Oxygen’s explosive,” I teased.
“It most definitely is,” he said as he lifted me. I hooked my legs around him, and he carried me to his desk. “Lay back,” he ordered, and I complied without argument.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice filled with heat and appreciation. “I like the way you look. Stretched out, naked and flush, like an offering to a god.”
“Would that be you?”
He chuckled. “It might be.”
“What are you going to do?” I couldn’t help my whisper, or the hint of anticipation that stole into my voice.
“I could just stand here and look at you. Your skin is so pale that I see every subtle change, every flush when you become aroused. I like knowing how much you want me. How much you like me looking at you. Me wanting you.”
He slowly stroked his hands up my legs. “And this is the rest. Touching you. Feeling the way your muscles tremble. Hearing how you draw breath when my fingers graze ever so gently over your skin.” As if in illustration, he drew a lazy fingertip over my thigh. “Turn over now,” he said.
I turned, lying flat on the desktop, my legs together, my head turned to one side.
“No,” he said, “Ease down. Feet on the floor. Legs spread. Bend over and hold on.”
I moved as he spoke, then realized I was biting my lip, a reflection of both nerves and excitement.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over my back, tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my rear. “Yes,” he said, in a voice heavy with lust and heat. “You’re perfect, Sloane, so fucking perfect.”
I said nothing. I wasn’t perfect—not by a long shot. But in that moment, I felt like I was.
He leaned over, his clothes brushing my naked flesh in a way that made me shiver almost as much as his words. “I’m going to fuck you, Sloane. Fast and hard. I’m going to lose myself inside you, and I’m going to hold tight as I feel you explode.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could only wait in breathless anticipation as he took off his jacket, then folded it and gently placed it between my belly and the edge of the desk.
I drew in a breath—Tyler’s hands, his touch, his words all made me wet with longing. But that one tiny courtesy had me close to crumpling with desire and respect and something that, in another place and time, just might be love.
He touched me, using his fingers to open me wide, make me even more aroused, so that I was whimpering with need by the time I heard the distinctive sound of his zipper.
And then—oh, thank god—I felt the thick head of his cock push against me, gentle at first, teasing me, and then with one solid thrust he buried himself inside me, and I cried out as the warmth of his body pressed up against my ass, trapping me between him and the desk.
