Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Don’t tell me you’re done already?” I mock, my tone playful. “I could have sworn you were an into-the-wee-hours-of-the-morning man.”
I nearly choke him with his tie when his cock, still inside me, flexes near the end of my question.
“Who said we were done, angelo?” He brushes a strand of hair from my sticky face before tucking it behind my ear. “Perhaps I wanted to take this somewhere more comfortable, somewhere where I can fuck you all night and halfway into tomorrow evening.”
Lust sharpens my tone as I reply, “What’s wrong with here? We have everything we need.” I slide off his tie, tell him to give me his hands, then loop the dark silk around his wrists.
His laugh is too trusting when I do a double-column tie instead of the standard single to fasten him to the chair. It’s one of those large wood-and-leather chairs they bolt to the floor to ensure the safety of the patron when the stripper dances around them.
It won’t be moving anytime soon, and neither will Dante.
He doesn’t notice how my hands shake or my throat bobs when my attention is drawn to the money he put on the table earlier. All he hears is the lust crackling in the air and my disappointed sigh when I realize I can’t leave his money behind.
The slow week has already killed my earnings target for this month. I can’t let this opportunity slip away from me.
“Lucia—” Dante begins, but I’m already moving.
I grab his money and his trousers in a last-ditch attempt to escape unscathed before I bolt for the nearest exit, my strides shaky and unsure.
“Lucia!” His voice cracks behind me as he struggles with his tie. “Wait!”
I don’t stop. I can’t. This is about far more than he realizes.
After slamming the stage door shut, I twist the lock. Dante’s fist whacks the other side a second later, and the boom vibrates through the metal. I don’t understand how he got out of the chair so quickly, but it doubles the length of my strides when I head back to the central hub of the club.
I curtain my face with my hair when I notice a tall, broad-shouldered man down the corridor. Walking these halls in only a bikini top is nothing out of the ordinary. If anything, I probably look a little strange. Most of the dancers walk around naked.
After entering the dressing room, I dress in sweats, then gather my belongings. It would be great if I could leave my things where they are, but they’re all I have. That one little bag I carry with me everywhere I go is my sole reason to live.
My heart races when I sweep my things into my bag. Most of it is makeup, shoes, and cheap perfume I can’t afford to replace, but the sketch pad hidden in the concealed compartment is much more valuable.
Once I’ve yanked my “costumes” off the clothes rack, I turn and almost crash into Celesta. She doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried about my flustered expression. She appears relieved.
“Good set tonight.” She presses a thick-wadded envelope into my hand. “Here’s your share of the Viper Room profits.”
The weight is off. It’s too heavy. My throat burns with worry as I flip through the stacks of hundred-dollar bills. There are more than eight of them.
“This is too much. It was only supposed to be five thousand.”
Celesta drags her painfully thin hand through the air. “He paid for the whole night.” She winks as if we work in the prostitution field rather than the legal industry of adult entertainment. “And a little extra to clear the room. You’re okay with that, though, right? You’re always asking for extra shifts.” Even though she’s asking a question, she doesn’t want me to reply. “How was he? You can look like him, strut like him, and suck in the sack. I bet he was as godly between the sheets as he looks in his Armani suit.”
Even if I wanted to believe I could keep my job, her response announces that is impossible. If she believes I’m willing to sleep with a stranger for money, she’ll never support me when I tell her I have a phobia of touch, so I can’t do private lap dances.
I don’t have a fear of touch, but it’s the only thing that’s kept me on the main stage the past two years instead of in the seedy back rooms. Stage lights change my appearance as much as wigs do, and years of mastering the pole usually keep the patrons happy enough that I can avoid bumping and grinding against them.
Although I wish I could keep the money, it wouldn’t be right. So instead of shoving it into my backpack with the thousand I already took, I separate one bundle into two, stuff the smaller portion into my purse, then hand the remaining bundles and the slightly bigger portion to Celesta.