Reed stood in the doorway, his jaw clenched, face pale. His hands were curled into fists and he looked like he was fighting the urge to come down here and punch Brock. If he had, maybe I wouldn't have made the decision I did.
I didn't want someone who wasn't willing to fight for me, to fight for what he wanted. Brock said he'd choose me over his family. He knew I liked Reed and didn't care, almost saw it as a challenge. I looked up at him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“I don't want him,” I promised. “Only you.”
I pulled his head down for another kiss, but I didn't let this one be gentle. I pressed my body against his and pushed my tongue between his lips. His groan vibrated through him and he pulled me tighter against his body. His tongue curled around mine and I buried my hands in his hair, fisting the thick strands between my fingers.
When we finally broke apart, we were both gasping for air. After I'd caught enough breath to speak, I said, “Take me back to your place. I'll show exactly how over him I am.”
End of Vol. 2
Sinful Desires Vol. 3
One
It was mid-July in Las Vegas, which meant I actually wanted to be at work. Kind of. The Diamond Club may be one of the sleaziest strip joints in the city, but its air-conditioning was always on full-blast, unlike the ancient unit in the apartment I shared with Rosa, a fellow stripper. We'd been lucky to keep it down to ninety over the Fourth, and it was even worse today.
Now, as I walked through the club to get to the dressing room, I was starting to wonder if the air was even worth it. The heat outside was oppressive and even though it was cool inside, something about the heat made the men behave even worse than usual. It didn't help that some asshole had busted the hinges off of the back exit so that the only way we could keep the door shut was to chain it. That meant we had to come in and leave through the front, giving the men extra time to ogle, comment and try to cop a feel.
“Hey there, pretty thing.” A guy with a thick drawl and a cowboy hat to match pushed himself off of his barstool and into my path.
“I have to get backstage.” I kept my voice professionally polite as I tried to sidestep around his massive bulk.
“Don't be like that.” He grabbed my arm. “Why don't you give me a private dance?” His dark eyes ran over me. “I'd love to see you take it all off.”
“I don't do private dances.” I twisted my arm against his thumb, breaking his grip.
The cowboy grinned at me. “I know the owner. All the girls do private dances for me.”
I glared at him. “Not me.” I'd already compromised myself once by doing a party with Rosa and that turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. Well, that's not true, I reminded myself, twisting the silver necklace Brock mailed me just the other day. It had led me to him, after all.
The cowboy was laughing as I walked away, calling out that he'd talk to his ‘buddy’ and I'd be bending over for him before the end of the night. I ignored him. If everyone who claimed to know the owner actually did, then no one would have to pay for anything.
I barely missed having a beer spilled on me as I tried to avoid a drunk with wandering hands, so by the time I finally made it backstage my mood was foul, even worse than when I’d first arrived. The only saving grace was the nice cool air. No guy wanted to see a girl sweating on stage because it was too hot. I inhaled a huge breath of cool air, hoping it chill my nerves.
“The cowboy tried to get you to give him a private dance?” Rosa grinned at me as I stripped off my tank top and shorts.
I made a sound of disgust. “Who is that douchebag anyway? I haven't seen him before.”
“Bobby Ray.”
I gave her a look.
“Seriously.” She grinned as she zipped up the rubber suit she used for her number. “Bobby Ray from Texas, a cattleman who comes up every six months or so.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her attempt at a southern drawl. “That's an awful lot of information to get about some audience member who's here maybe twice a year.” I buttoned up my too-tight white shirt.
Rosa didn't even bat an eyelash. “He tips good during private shows.” She reached for the mask she wore during the opening number. “Better than those Philadelphia boys.”
I scowled as I picked up my mask. I didn't want to think about the bachelor party. That just made me think about Reed and how I'd thought, for a few shining hours that I was going to be able to leave this place behind. Oh, he'd offered me a way out alright, but it was more Pretty Woman than Cinderella, and I had too much self-respect to do that. I know, I know, I rolled my eyes at myself. Most people wouldn't believe it since I took off my clothes to pay the bills, but there were lines I wouldn't cross.
An annoying little voice in the back of my head whispered Brock’s name but I quickly pushed it away. Brock was different. He asked me to move back to Philadelphia to be with him. He took me to a family dinner. He actually wanted to get to know me. Sure, we'd had sex and he'd bought me nice things, but I didn't sleep with him because of that and he never treated me like I had to. Despite what Anastascia said, Brock was the real deal. A sweet, handsome, charming man who liked me for me.
I glanced at my phone.
“Your boy toy ain't called yet?” One of the other strippers, a tall brunette named Charlene, smirked at me.
“He called earlier,” I snapped. Charlene had overheard Rosa and me talking when I'd gotten back from Philadelphia a couple weeks ago and now all the girls knew about the rich boy in Philly who was trying to be my sugar daddy. It hadn't done any good to tell them that things weren't like that between Brock and me. They had their ideas firmly in their minds, and nothing could make them think any different. It didn't help that Rosa believed Brock was not doing anything but stringing me along.
“Did he say when he's coming out?” Rosa asked.
I shook my head. Ever since I told him I'd consider moving back to Philadelphia, the decision had been hanging over my head. It was bad enough being a poor stripper in Vegas. At least here, the only people I was around were others like me. In Philadelphia, with Brock, I'd be among the richest of the rich and I'd probably be scraping by waitressing and having to stay with Anastascia until I could afford a place of my own.
I wouldn’t let myself think about the ten thousand dollars he’d promised me before the wedding. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about that, especially since our relationship had evolved so much.
Brock told me last week that he planned to come out and try to convince me to go back with him. He'd said that since I'd spent time in his world, he was going to spend time in mine.
Rosa wasn’t buying that line either, saying it was what guys like him said to girls like us when they wanted to make sure we know our place. We were good enough to visit for a fuck, but it was always on the man's timetable and we were just expected to sit around and wait, grateful for their interest and attention. I'd told her a million times that Brock wasn't like that, but she kept insisting she knew his type.
Fortunately, I was saved from having to argue with her again when we heard the manager call for us to get into position for the opening number, and it was all business after that. The only thing I liked about my job was that it was at least similar to real dancing. I could either think about other things and let muscle memory carry me through the routine or, like today, lose myself in the music and forget where I was and what I was doing. Inside my head, I would be nowhere and everywhere.
I kept myself lost during my individual routine as well, barely registering the men groping my ass as they stuffed bills into my g-string. Even when the cowboy squeezed my breast, I didn't do anything other than move further back on the stage, so I was out of reach. Part of me wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, but the rest of me just kept moving to the music and reminding myself to enjoy the cool air and think of the tips I was making.
I couldn't allow myself the luxury of thinking about other things, other paths my life should have taken. No matter
what Brock said, I knew he'd eventually get tired of me and I'd be back here. I had to be realistic. This was my life.
Two
My maudlin mood stuck with me as I made my way home later that night. Rosa wasn't with me as she'd accepted the cowboy's offer of a private dance back in his hotel room. She'd told me not to wait up, which usually meant she'd be back around dawn, fall into bed and get up only before her next shift started. I wanted to confront her and ask how she could act all self-righteous about Brock when she was going to fuck the cowboy, but I didn't because I knew what she'd say. She wasn't deluding herself into thinking that Bobby Ray was a white knight, sweeping in to save her. She thought that's how I viewed Brock.
I frowned as I started up the stairs. That wasn’t how I saw Brock at all. I knew he wasn't Prince Charming and I was definitely no Snow White. I wasn't looking for happily ever after, but I believed that what we did have was real, however long it lasted. I didn't have to pretend to like him touching me, kissing me. My stomach tightened at the memory of our last night in Philadelphia together and how he'd made me come so many times I'd nearly passed out. Sure, there wasn't a deep emotional connection there, but the sex was amazing enough without it.
The apartment was cooler than the hallway, but not by much. It was bearable, nothing more. I pulled off my shirt and shorts as I walked back to my room and tossed the clothes into my hamper. I still wasn't quite comfortable enough to parade around the apartment naked when Rosa was here, but being down to my panties and bra when I was alone wasn't a big deal at all, especially when it was this hot.
I pulled a carton of ice cream out of the fridge and was just getting ready to settle on the couch and marathon a few shows to unwind when my phone buzzed. It was Brock, telling me he wanted to Skype. A few seconds later, the beat-up laptop that Rosa and I shared dinged, saying I had an incoming call. I quickly shoved the ice cream back in the freezer and then answered the video chat. We 'borrowed' our internet from our neighbor's Wi-Fi, but since we worked different hours, he hadn't seemed to notice. I'd appreciated it more over the last couple weeks.
“Who's there with you?” Brock's tone was immediately accusatory.
“What?” I asked as I sat down.
“You're in your underwear. Who's there with you?”
I rolled my eyes. “It's insanely hot here, Brock. I'm alone. Rosa's not even here.”
“Really?” His mood shifted immediately, and I recognized that glint in his eyes. “So it's just you?”
I nodded, my stomach tightening. I really hoped he was going to take this where I thought it was going. I could use the release, and it would be more fun this way than to spend some extra time fantasizing in the shower.
“Take off your bra.” He leaned back in his chair, giving me a nice view of the way his t-shirt clung to his torso.
I gave him a seductive smile as I stood. Taking off my bra was a little more difficult than stripping in my work clothes, but I still managed to make it look sexy. By the time I kicked aside my panties and returned to the chair, Brock was already rubbing himself through his shorts.
“You are so fucking hot, you know that?” His voice was low. “I'll bet all the guys at The Diamond Club are all over you, wanting a piece of that ass.”
I stiffened. Brock and I didn't normally talk about my job, especially not like that.
“Play with your nipples.”
I shifted in my seat, still a bit shocked by his words. The arousal I'd felt before had waned with his mention of work, and now he was sounding more like he was giving orders than fooling around with his girlfriend. Rosa's comments came flooding back and, for the first time, I wondered if she was right.
“Come on, baby, let me see them get hard.” His words took on a smoother tone and he winked at me through the monitor. “Please.”
I couldn’t help it; a grinned at his little boy plea. He looked so cute when he pouted like that; all puppy dog eyed. I cupped my breasts and brushed my thumbs over my nipples and was rewarded when Brock growled low in this throat. I watched his hand move from the outside of his shorts to under the waistband. I smiled, feeling innately female knowing he was touching himself in reaction to watching me. Heat unfurled in my stomach, and I rolled my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, feeling a rush of pleasure as my skin grew more sensitive.
“Are you wet for me?” Brock asked. “Touch yourself, baby. Tell me.”
I kept one hand on my breast as the other moved between my legs. My fingers parted my folds, sliding in between. I wasn't as wet as I'd thought I'd be, but there was enough to slick my fingers as I moved them back up to spread the moisture and put pressure on my clit.
“Are you wet for me?” he asked again. “Come on, talk to me. Tell me, if I was there, could I slide right into that tight little cunt of yours?”
“Yes,” I hissed out the word as I slipped a finger inside.
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Brock's breathing was getting heavier and I saw his hand moving faster. “You like it when I take you hard and fast, fuck you until it hurts.”
It was no longer a question and I wasn't sure what he wanted me to say. My fingers moved back to my clit, trying to move myself along. I was hoping to turn my arousal into an orgasm and release some of this pent-up energy and stress. At least it didn't seem like Brock needed me to say much of anything. He was doing just fine on his own. I let his words wash over me, trying to use what he was saying to further turn me on.
“If you were here, I'd have you ride me. Watch those titties bounce. Love that.”
I moaned; no other response seemed necessary.
“Are you fingering yourself?” he asked suddenly. “Playing with yourself?”
With a start, I realized his eyes were closed.
“Yes.” I was still touching myself, but my movements slowed. I didn't know if it was just the whole over-the-computer thing or the way Brock was talking, but I wasn't really feeling it anymore.
“I wanna see you come.” His eyes opened. “Make yourself come for me.”
I stared at him for a moment, but he didn't seem to notice my hesitation as he pulled his cock from his shorts. His hand was stroking faster as he waited. Suddenly, I just wanted to be done so we could talk. I leaned back and spread my legs, giving him a good view of what I was doing. I might not have been the kind of person who was comfortable with casual nudity, but when it came to sex, once we'd already been together a couple times, something like this wasn't exactly embarrassing. Besides, I thought as I began to slide my finger in and out of my pussy; it wasn't like I was really making myself vulnerable here.
I began to moan and breathe faster, twisting my face into faux ecstasy.
This was as much acting as what I did on stage at the club.
I made myself go long enough to be believable before calling out his name. He wasn't far behind me, grunting as he came. He gave me a lazy smile as I excused myself to clean up and I assumed he'd do the same. When I returned, I was prepared to tell him I wouldn't be making a choice about Philadelphia until he came to see me in Vegas, proving he was the kind of man I could trust to keep his word.
He was gone.
I considered calling him back, but my heart wasn't in it. My pussy ached from not being able to relieve my tension, and I was starting to get a headache. I'd had a horrible day at work, and I was still fuckin’ miserable from this heat. All in all, I decided it was best to chalk the day up to a total loss, take a cold shower and go to bed.
Three
I didn't think Brock realized that the whole computer sex thing hadn't been as good for me as it was for him, and I wasn't about to tell him. Not when he'd called the next day to say he was flying in Friday night and staying the whole week. Rosa just rolled her eyes when I told, refusing to believe that Brock really was a good guy, and I was a little worried about how she'd be if Brock wanted to see the apartment. But before I'd been able to decide if I needed to talk to her about it, she'd announced she was heading down to Mexico to
visit her mother, leaving me an empty apartment for the week.
With that headache out of the way, I went to work Friday night. I'd wanted the weekend off to spend with him, so asking for Friday as well had been out of the question. Brock had been very understanding when I'd told him and said he'd just have a taxi take him to his hotel and we'd meet up in the morning.
He’d been yawning and seemed really tired, so I never dreamed he had something else in mind.
The lights on stage were also blinding during the first number, leaving the audience faceless, so it wasn't until I went out for my first solo routine that I saw Brock. At first, I thought I was seeing things, but then his eyes met mine and I knew my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. It was Brock, sitting there smiling at him; and he wasn't alone.
Next to him was a young man who looked to be around Brock's and Reed's ages. He had a thinner face, with intelligent, bright blue eyes and thick black hair that looked like it could use a good haircut. I didn't need an introduction to know he was Julien Atwood. The Atwood family had been one of the most well-known families at St. George's, and even though Julien was four years older than me, he'd still been notorious even after he'd graduated. He was the family's black sheep, always doing things his own way and not conforming to the usual rich kid pitfalls like drugs and drunk driving. I hadn't realized that he and Brock had known each other or were still friends.
As the pair made their way to the end of the stage, I was suddenly grateful for my training. I didn't need much concentration to keep dancing because seeing Brock here definitely would've thrown me otherwise. As it was, my face flushed as he slid a bill into my g-string, his hand sneaking around my side to quickly pinch my nipple. I glared at him and saw Julien give him a startled look. I managed to finish my routine without further incident and hurried off stage to regain my composure.