Chapter 13 Willa
Willa
My shirt barely has the chance to hit the floor before Dean jumps up on the stage and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder.
“Dean!”
“You want to be a bad girl, Willa. Fine, let’s do this.” He smacks me on the ass when I wiggle, and my thighs clench tighter.
His fingers grip the back of my legs, and my heart races.
All around, I’m sure people are watching, but all I can think about is what Dean plans to do with me.
I knew that walking up on that stage would set him off, but I couldn’t help myself.
If he thinks I’m the same good girl I was in the past—too scared to be spontaneous—I’ll prove him wrong.
If he thinks he can scare me off with his world, then I’ll show him he can’t.
Dean carries me down the hallway, and the music dulls. But when we step into a new room with speakers, it’s louder again.
He kicks the door shut, and then the world tilts on its axis as he sets me on my feet.
My vision swims from being upside down, but his hands hold my waist, keeping me steady.
The room is lit by a single light overhead.
Dark wallpaper covers the walls, like it does in the main part of the club, but in this room, there are gold threads in it.
On one wall is a couch, and in the center of the room is a small stage with a single pole.
A stage he set me down on, putting us nearly eye to eye.
Dean’s hand cups my jaw, but there’s nothing sweet about it as he drags his thumb over my lower lip.
His eyes are nearly black as he grazes my teeth, notching my mouth open the slightest. I’m buzzing at his touch.
At the intensity of his stare. He watches my mouth as my lip pops with his thumb slipping over it, and then he spears me with his gaze.
“I never thought jealousy was sexy. But you getting territorial over me is hot as fuck, Willa.” He taps my chin.
I swallow hard, not sure what to think of that. It’s not like I intended to be territorial, but that’s what happened. The moment he disappeared with Tiffany, something angry stirred in my chest. I may have no rights to this man, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like he’s mine.
“You’re one to talk.” I narrow my eyes.
He grins. “Apparently.”
I’m not sure why I expected him to deny it, but he doesn’t.
“What are we doing in here?” I shift on my feet.
Only then does Dean drop his hand, taking a step back. When his eyes sweep me, he might as well take my clothes with him because I’ve never been more vulnerable.
“You want to dance? Then dance.” He backs up to the couch, dropping onto it and stretching his arms out across the back. “But in my club, you dance for me first.”
A little flare of jealousy burns in my chest, but I snuff it out. He runs a strip club. Of course he has all the girls dance for him first. Still, I don’t like thinking about it.
Dean watches me like he’s waiting for me to get off the stage and walk away, but I don’t. I’m proving this point.
To him.
To myself.
It doesn’t matter if it’s been twelve years. It doesn’t matter who has shared our beds in that time or how far apart we’ve drifted. When it’s just the two of us, there’s still no denying what we are when we’re around each other.
A furnace.
One that burned so hot he had to leave Texas to escape it.
So instead of backing down and leaving the room, I take a step toward the pole and wrap my fingers around the cool metal.
Goose bumps prickle my arms, but it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. It’s Dean’s eyes watching my every move. His gaze following my fingers as they slowly slide down the pole.
I’m wearing a bra since I already stripped my shirt off in front of the club, and there’s not much to the outfit I have left. But if he wants a show, so be it.
The song changes, and I erase any doubts. I ignore the voice screaming that there’s no coming back from this.
Gripping the pole harder, I slowly start to spin, gaining momentum, until I can hook my leg around it and rotate like the ballerina in my music box when I was younger. Except my cage isn’t a pink-and-white Victorian box; it’s Dean’s gaze watching me.
He’s inescapable.
My feet find the stage again, and I turn my back to him like I did in his bedroom. This time, I hook my thumbs in my skirt and slowly peel it down my legs, fully bending in front of him so he can get a good look at my fishnets covering my ass.
If there’s one thing that can always get Dean’s attention, it’s a pair of fishnets. I noticed it the few times I wore them at Ransack back home, and I haven’t forgotten.
Glancing over my shoulder, I throw my skirt at him, and it knocks him square in the face, which makes me laugh. When he pulls it away, he’s grinning as well, and it’s beautiful.
Comfortable.
There’s nothing particularly sexy about what I’m doing. I don’t actually know how to tease a man like this. But there’s always been this comfort with Dean, and it’s so incredibly hot.
“Is that all you got, princess?” He bites his lip, scanning me over when I turn to face him again.
I’m in a red lace bra and panty set with fishnets and cowboy boots. A little mismatched, although he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Not quite.” I smile, grabbing the pole again.
Each rotation, I snag his gaze, speeding up until I get enough momentum to jump, hooking a leg overhead, and hanging upside down this time. My arms burn because I’m out of practice, but I slowly turn with my feet pointing like an arrow, until I pause, facing him upside down from across the room.
“Where did you learn how to do that, Willa?” He sweeps me head to toe, his jaw clenched.
Carefully, I release my legs, dropping my feet to the stage until I’m standing with my back pressed to the pole.
“Practice.” I smile, and he shoots to his feet.
Dean skips the stairs entirely, climbing onto the stage in a single step and stopping in front of me. “Practice for who?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know—”
He grips my chin, angling my face higher. “So help me, I will spank your ass if you aren’t straight with me right now.”
I’m sure his words are meant to be a threat, but they have me clenching my thighs.
“Willa—”
“Pole classes,” I admit finally. “A girl hosted a class back home, and I thought it sounded interesting. But I’ve never actually danced for anyone.”
“Except me.”
Nervously, I bite my lip. “Except you.”
A growl rumbles in his chest. We’re so close, his body presses me to the pole, and I’m met with the firm effect of what I do to him, hard against me.
“Told you I could be bad,” I whisper, even if my bravery is faltering the slightest.
Teasing him is one thing, but toeing this line is another. If we cross it, we can never go back. And if I push and he rejects me, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.
“That you did.” He drags his hand down my throat, between my breasts, until he’s gripping the side of my waist. “You’re full of surprises.”
“I’ve changed.”
“So have I.”
That I don’t doubt. We’re different people. Hardened by life. Scarred by bad decisions. And yet, when I look into his eyes, everything that drew me to him back then is still there. His loyalty. His perseverance.
The wild side that makes no apologies.
So much proof that this could be the mistake that destroys us both.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I say, suddenly doubting myself.
“Maybe not.” He smirks. “But I’ve never been known for making good decisions. And seeing you like this…”
“Are you saying I got the job?”
“Are you trying to test me, Willa?”
“Maybe.” I shrug, running a finger down his chest.
“You know what I do with brats?”
I swallow hard, shaking my head as he leans closer.
“I tame them.” In one swift move, he hoists me higher on the pole. “You might want to hold on, princess.”
I barely have time to grab the pole above my head when his hands move between my legs until he’s gripping my ass and wrapping my legs around his shoulders. He grins, pressing a kiss right where I need him, and I can feel the heat of his breath through the fishnets and lace.
When Dean’s eyes meet mine, they’re nearly black. They’re possessive, and I’m desperate for whatever is running through his mind.
“You were a bad girl tonight, Willa.” He kisses the lace again, and I shiver. “Walking up on my stage.” His tongue drags over me, and I’m shaking. “Showing other men what was always supposed to be mine.”
“I’m sorry.” My thighs tighten at his ears as he slowly toys with me through the lace. “Please—”
“Please, what?” He nips at me. “You want me to eat this delicious pussy? I do like hearing you beg. Finally understanding who you’ve always belonged to.”
“Please, Dean.”
He hums, kissing the lace and tasting me through it, but holding that line, not offering more. It’s torture. His tongue drags over me, pressing hard to my clit, but he denies me.
Angling my hips, I grind against his face, and he grips my ass harder, moving me over him. Kissing. Tasting. A torturous layer of my underwear between us. My head tips back against the pole, and I’m holding so hard my arms shake. My entire body is vibrating.
Dean rocks me over his mouth so that stars prick at the edges of my vision. But right as I’m about to fall over that edge, he pulls back.
“Dean—”
He shakes his head, denying me a release. My fingers slide along the pole as he lowers me until my legs wrap his hips.
“I’ve waited twelve years to find out what you taste like.” He rests his forehead against mine, pressing his hips forward and pinning me to the pole. “To find out what you sound like when you moan for me.”
He thrusts, and I do exactly what he wants—I moan for him. We aren’t even fucking, and he’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.
“Such a pretty sound. Do you moan like that for anyone else?”
“No.”
He drives his hips forward again, his fingers digging into my ass. “You sure about that?”
“Only you, Dean. It’s only ever been you.” I probably shouldn’t admit that.
It’s too vulnerable. And being here has reminded me how dangerous that is around a man like Dean Graham. But I’m rocking against him, and I can’t lie. I can’t look into his eyes without admitting the truth.
“I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be us.”
He leans in, nipping my earlobe and dragging his tongue up as he thrusts against me.
We’re still wearing too many clothes.
There’s too much friction and no release.
But god, it feels so fucking good.
He wraps one hand around my throat, while the other cradles me against him. My legs and arms are wrapped tight as he pins me to the pole and looks me in the eyes.
Slowly, he starts to rock us. A steady pace.
His thick length grinds between my legs, and my body ignites.
“You fucked up, princess. You made me wait twelve years to taste your pretty cunt. To hear your lovely moans. And now, I’ve had a long time to be curious.”
“About what?”
“Everything.” He drags his tongue over my lower lip but doesn’t kiss me.
“I’ve had twelve years to wonder what you taste like when you come.
What you’ll look like on your hands and knees, crawling for me, begging for me.
What you’ll feel like with your sassy lips wrapped around my cock, tears streaming from your eyes.
Twelve years to wonder how it’d feel if you were mine. ”
He continues to grind me against him. His words and the friction are a match to kindling. I’m on the verge of combusting. His fingers tighten on my neck, making my head light, allowing me just enough breath to stay lucid. But in every other way, I’m floating.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re being bad for me.” He rocks me over him, and his whole body tenses.
“I like being bad for you.”
“Oh yeah?” He leans in, grazing his lips at my ear. “Then be a bad girl and make yourself come on my cock. Show me which brother your pussy belongs to now.”
Dean doesn’t let me go, but he stops guiding me. So I hold on, rocking to the rhythm he set. His mouth hovering over mine as I rub against him. I need more. I need everything. But he needs control, so I give him that. I do what he says. Until I’m shaking, and his hands are tightening around me.
Until pleasure peaks, and I do just as he asked. I come for him, soaking through the lace and making a mess of his jeans.
“Fuck, Willa. Fuck. Fuck.” His shoulders flex, and his teeth grit, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me as he comes as well. He thrusts his hard cock against me, and I wish I could feel it without clothes. But this is the line he’s drawn.
Dean shakes, curling against me, until we’re both panting as we try to catch our breath. My back aches from the pole digging into my spine, but I can’t find it in me to care right now.
After a long moment, he releases my throat. He cups the side of my face, but he’s looking anywhere but in my eyes. Distance creeps between us in every way. Physical and not.
Realization sinks in.
Reality settles.
“Dean—”
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “Twelve years we could have had this, Willa. Twelve fucking years. It’s your turn to wait a minute.”
At that, he sets me down and walks away.