What the hell had all that been about?
I leaned against the wall in the corner of the dressing room, ignoring the questioning looks the other girls threw my way. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the wall. It said something about the state I was in that my clothes were still in my hand, and I was standing there wearing only the tiniest piece of fabric the club could get away with. Usually I was pulling on at least a shirt as I walked off stage.
It took me nearly five minutes to pull myself together and regain my composure enough to pull on clothes and head back out into the club. Generally, between sets we were required to at least stand off to the side so that patrons could praise our work. At least that's how the bosses put it. Basically, it was a chance for the men to ogle us in skimpy clothes and make offers for public lap dances out here or private ones in the back. We were encouraged to mingle and most girls did although it wasn’t a requirement. It was the best way to make tips.
It wasn't money that made me venture out into the crowd. I'd spotted where Brock and Julien were sitting and began to work my way toward them, pushing aside hands that got a little too friendly.
“Hey, babe!” Brock jumped to his feet as soon as he saw me and grabbed me in a hug.
I let him linger for a moment before giving him a gentle push back. “Can't have everyone else getting ideas.” I smiled at him to show that his attentions weren't unwelcome, just not here. I didn't want the rest of the club thinking they could put their hands on me too.
Fortunately, Brock didn't seem to mind. “Piper, this is Julien Atwood. Julien, my girlfriend, Piper Black.”
“Nice to meet you.” I held out a hand and Julien shook it. His handshake was firm and he met my gaze, which I appreciated. Too many men under similar circumstances would've either looked away, embarrassed and uncomfortable or they would've been staring at my chest, remembering what was under my tight shirt.
“Brock told me his girlfriend was gorgeous, but wow.” His smile was warm and admiring, but not leering. “You're way out of his league.”
“According to you, everyone's out of my league.” Brock punched the other man's shoulder.
Julien shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”
I laughed and signaled to one of the waitresses walking by. After she took their drink orders and left, I said, “I can't hang around too long. The boss tends to get mad if we're paying too much attention to a single person or group unless they're paying.”
“In that case.” Brock grinned playfully and I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what he was going to suggest. “How about you give me a private dance?”
I knew it wasn't a good idea, but one look at those pale blue eyes and desire was coiling inside me. It had been so long since I’d seen him and memories of our last night together floated into my mind. I’d missed him, more than I imagined was possible. And I wanted him, even after that disastrous computer chat.
“What the hell,” I muttered. I held out my hand and Brock took it, grinning at me foolishly. It was impossible not to grin back and my mood had lifted tremendously by the time I glanced at Julien. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.” He smiled. “Enjoy your dance.”
“I intend to.” Brock winked and let me lead him back toward the private booths where we could entertain a client with something a bit more up-close and personal. How far we went was up to us, though we charged per song. Based on the expression on Brock's face, I doubted he'd be satisfied with a single-song private striptease. At least I hoped he wouldn't, because I wanted our first time together to last. Either way, I wasn't about to make him pay. That would be putting me too close to stepping over the line I'd drawn for myself when it came to sex and money.
We went to the private 'room' in the furthest corner. Separated from the other sections by curtains, it was in the corner which meant it actually had two walls, offering us a bit more privacy than the other sections. Some of the elite clubs had individual rooms where clients got to hear special songs, but the music here, while different from the main room, was the same for all the private dances.
Brock released my hand and took a seat on the massive chair that sat up against one of the walls. I adjusted the curtains and then turned back toward him, frowning when I saw he was holding out a credit card.
“What the hell, Brock?” My arousal was immediately tempered by the gesture.
“You're at work, babe. I don't want you to get into trouble.”
His logic made sense and, in a way, it was sweet, but my stomach still twisted as I took the card from him. He was right; my boss would be seriously pissed if he found out I was back here with my boyfriend instead of make money and serving ‘real’ clients. I was already on thin ice because of the time I'd taken off; I couldn’t afford to be reprimanded again.
I ran the card through the scanner.
“Don't set a limit.”
My mouth tightened. That he knew we could set an amount or a song limit told me this wasn't the first time he'd been back here. He hadn't lied; I told myself as I gave him back his card. He'd been honest that he'd been here before. I'd just never asked if he'd spent any extra time with any of my co-workers. I really didn’t want to know.
He crooked his finger at me, the grin on his face as bright as a little boy. I reminded myself that it didn't matter what either of us had done in the past. He'd picked me and I'd picked him. Neither one of us wanted to be with anyone else, and that was the only thing that counted.
As a new song started, I began to sway in time with the beat, losing myself in the rhythm. Brock's eyes were dark in the dim lighting, watching my every move. Seeing how I affected him, I felt a rush of power. I'd never considered that, when I was doing this because I wanted to, I was the one in control. I'd always consider what I did to be degrading, and while I could still see some of that quality in it, I now realized that there was more to my dancing than I'd ever realized. It was a rush, seeing how much Brock wanted me. Was I going to be all 'women power' and think this was the best job in the world? No fucking way. Was I even going to like it? Probably not. But, for the first time, I could understand why most of my co-workers enjoyed this line of work.
When I got down to my tiny thong, I didn't even hesitate. I turned so that my back was to Brock and bent, slowly shimmying out of the tiny scrap of material.
“Damn, that's hot.”
I straightened and looked over my shoulder, giving him a wink before slowly turning around. A third song began as I walked toward him, watching as his eyes flicked from my breasts to the juncture between my legs and then back again. I was surprised he wasn't touching himself yet, but the bulge straining against his zipper left no doubt to whether he was enjoying himself or not.
I went to my knees and pushed his legs apart, sliding my hands up his thighs. I kept my eyes on his as my hands went to his waist and made short work of his button and zipper. I didn't look down until I started to tug his pants and underwear down. He lifted his hips but offered no other assistance. I didn't mind. All of my attention was focused on the erection that had sprung free and was now bobbing against his stomach.
He groaned as I took him in my mouth, letting him slide over my tongue as far as I could before drawing back again. As my mouth and hand worked over his cock, my other hand was between my legs, finding me slick and wet with my arousal. It took a bit of concentration to keep a steady rhythm going with both hands, but I managed, fueling my own desire as Brock swelled and moaned under my ministrations.
His hands went to my head, fingers twisting into my hair. Little pinpricks of pain went through my scalp as he tugged which only added to my arousal, merging with the pleasure I was taking with my fingers. I wasn't into pain, but a little hair pulling and some light pinching, that I didn't mind.
I started to pull away and Brock's hands pushed me back down again, holding me as his hips began to rock, forcing him further into my mouth. For a moment, panic spiked and I was afraid he would hold me there while he fucked my
mouth, then his hands were gone and I was able to lift my head. I glared at him as I coughed, but then he was pulling me towards him, his eyes so full of desire that my body couldn't help but respond.
His mouth covered mine as he pulled me onto his lap and I felt a hand between legs. I moaned around his tongue as his fingers pushed into me. He started with two, roughly thrusting them in and out, and I whimpered, thankful I'd already stretched myself.
His teeth tugged on my bottom lip and I ground down against his hand, seeking more friction, more inside me, more of everything he could give me. Then his fingers were gone and I felt his cock nudge against me. A voice in my head screamed at me.
“Wait.” I pushed back, rising on shaky feet.
“What the fuck, Piper?” Brock snapped. His cock was in his hand, flush with blood and ready to go. Except for one little thing.
“Condom.” I reached into his pants pocket, knowing he'd have at least one in there. If he'd brought one to his sister's wedding just in case, I knew he wouldn't forget when he was going to see his girlfriend at a strip club.
“Seriously?” He sounded annoyed. “Aren't you on the pill?”
I looked up at him; my voice cooling. “Yes, but still.”
“What are you trying to say?”
I held up the condom and tore open the package. “I'm saying that if you want to keep going, this is how we do it.”
He didn't look happy, but he didn't argue either so I took that as a sign and rolled the condom down his length. He shuddered as I touched him and I realized how close he was. I climbed back onto his lap and positioned myself over his cock. Slowly, I lowered myself onto him, moaning as he entered me inch by inch. His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my flesh. A string of swear words poured out of him and I could see the strain as he fought not to come. When he was fully inside me, I stopped, letting him regain control as I rubbed my fingers over my clit. I didn't think he was going to last very long and I fully intended to climax this time.
“Move, dammit.” Brock's voice was tense.
I rocked my hips back and forth, riding him, creating the friction I needed to push closer to the edge before giving him the up and down movement he needed.
His eyes zeroed in on my breasts and his hands followed, squeezing and working my nipples between his fingers. I kept my hands on his shoulders, using them for leverage as I moved. The pressure inside me kept building as all of the pent up tension from the last weeks came together inside me. I pushed myself up straight and let my head fall back. I forgot about my annoyance, forgot that I was at work, forgot about everything except the thick shaft inside me and the hands on my breasts. I slipped my finger between my folds and found the throbbing bundle of nerves that was there. I didn't need much extra stimulation before I was coming, my back arching, my body tightening.
“Fuck!” Brock cried out as I squeezed him, my insides gripping him as I came. He pulled me toward him, driving into me with enough force to send a shock of pain through my pleasure, intensifying it rather than extinguishing my flame. He crushed me to his chest as his hips jerked against me twice more before he came, my hand over his mouth to stifle his shout.
He held me as we waited for our breathing to return to normal and I could feel him shrinking inside me. He stroked my hair, then ran his fingers down my spine and back up again, sending a shiver through my exhausted body.
“God I needed you,” he said, breaking the silence between us.
I nodded, then reluctantly pushed myself up, feeling his softened cock slip away. Aside from the fact that the way I'd been sitting was making my thighs hurt, I couldn't stay here much longer. I was at work.
My face flushed as I realized the full weight of what I'd done. I'd prided myself on not being like the other girls, at keeping my distance from the men in the audience. Everyone knew I didn't do private dances and I sure as hell didn't fuck on the clock.
I reached over to the card reader and stopped the timer on it. Granted, it hadn't been like I'd been with some random guy, but the truth still remained that I'd just gotten paid to have sex.
“I know you have to get back to work.”
Brock's voice drew my attention. He was standing and tucking himself back into his pants. I suddenly remembered that I was naked and started looking around for my clothes.
“Julien and I are going to head back to the hotel and get some sleep. You said you're off tomorrow, right?”
I nodded as I pulled on my thong.
“How about you swing by the hotel like around four or five?” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “We'll have some fun.”
“All right,” I agreed.
Brock was already heading out before I'd finished saying the words and I watched him go. I wrapped my arms around my middle, as if I found the air conditioning to be too much, though I knew the chill I was feeling had nothing to do with the temperature in the club. This coldness was deeper. I didn't think it would go away any time soon.
Four
It took me longer than usual to get to sleep after work, so I didn't wake up until early afternoon. Without Rosa bustling about, it was actually fairly quiet in the apartment and I took advantage of it by being a bit lazy and taking my time. Besides, it was my day off and I was going to spend the evening and most of the night with Brock – and Julien, I now realized – so I wanted to savor the time alone. I was glad Brock was here and I wanted to be with him, but I so rarely had the opportunity for guaranteed uninterrupted time to myself that I certainly wasn't going to waste it.
By the time I was on my way to Brock's hotel, I'd already enjoyed a long, slow shower and a leisurely brunch while reading a book: my idea of a great morning. I was feeling relaxed and was ready to enjoy whatever the weekend threw my way.
I'd dressed for the heat in a cute mint green sundress, but in my purse was a wrap that had belonged to my mother in anticipation of the air conditioning on the strip. When I arrived at the hotel, my skin was beaded with sweat, but I'd at least remembered sunscreen so I wasn't fried. Red-heads with fair skin and the desert sun are a dangerous combination without some heavy-duty SPF.
Brock had texted me his room number last night so I didn't bother to stop at the desk but rather headed straight for the elevators. Of course, he was near the top so I endured several floors of canned music before the doors dinged and I was able to step out onto his floor.
Julien answered my knock, his easy grin prompting me to give him one in return. I didn't really know much about him other than the gossip at St. George, but he seemed nice enough. I supposed if Brock had to bring anyone with him to Vegas; Julien seemed like a good choice. Then again, I'd thought Reed was a better man than Brock, and I'd been completely wrong about him.
“He's in the shower,” Julien said as I stepped inside a hotel room bigger than my apartment. “He decided to clean out the minibar last night.”
“Enough said.” I rolled my eyes. We sat on the couch, one on either end, half facing each other. “You didn't indulge?”
Julien shook his head. “I'm not much of a drinker. A beer every once in a while, but I'm too much of a control freak to let myself get completely wasted.”
“A control freak?” I arched an eyebrow. “I must admit; that's one adjective I hadn't heard used to describe you.”
His grin widened. “Oh, I'm sure I can imagine what you have heard. Brock told me you went to St. George. Rebecca Stirling's class, right?”
I scowled and he laughed.
“I guess that's my answer.” Julien pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I know how all the snobs at St. George criticized me because I didn't like their pretentious parties or care about whose daddies had the most money or the biggest yacht.”
“That's because your dad always had the biggest yacht.” Brock's voice came from behind us.
Desire flared in my stomach as I turned. He was fresh from the shower, wearing only a towel that barely covered everything. I had the sudden urge to lick the droplets of water from his tan
ned skin.
“I'll be out in a couple minutes.” Brock winked at me as he turned, and a moment later I knew why. He tossed his towel back into the bathroom, giving me a clear and mouth-watering view of his tight ass as he walked away.
“About yesterday,” Julien said, drawing my reluctant attention back to him. “I didn't know you worked at the club. Brock just said we were going out.”
I waved a hand as I turned back around to face him. “It's a job, not like it was my life's ambition or anything. And at least I'm working.”
He gave me a curious look. “What was your life's ambition then?”
“Dance.” I smoothed down my dress. “Actual dance, not stripping.”
He nodded. “I can see it. You have the body and grace of a dancer.” He flushed. “I mean–”
“It's okay,” I said. “I know what you meant.” It was nice to know that all of Brock's friends didn't automatically assume that because I’m a stripper I was an easy lay.
“All right.” Brock emerged from the bedroom looking as hot as ever. “Who's ready to have some fun?”
When I entered the casino with Brock's arm around my waist and Julien on my other side, I was surprised at how many people stared at us. Then a man in an expensive suit hurried over and I realized that Brock was well-known here.
“Mr. Michaels, a pleasure to see you again.” The man gave a little bow to Brock, then to me and Julien. “Welcome to your friends as well.”
“Anything exciting going on tonight, Johnson?” Brock asked as he looked around the room.
I glanced over at Julien and he seemed almost as unimpressed as I was. Apparently, he hadn't come to Vegas for the gambling. I looked around as Brock led Julien and me after Johnson. It was funny, but even after two years, I'd only stepped into a casino half a dozen times, and only ever to apply for a job. I didn't have a problem with gambling, but it had never really appealed to me. Probably because I'd never had extra money at any point in my life.
“Come be my good luck charm,” Brock said as he sat at one of the tables. He yanked me onto his lap and then pushed out the chair next to him. “There you go, Julien.”