Chapter 7
Seven
When I leave Black Magic Bar and check my phone, there’s a flurry of texts from Louise and my stepsisters with a list of chores they want done at the house. I bite back my curse. They’re the ones who said I wasn’t making enough and the reason I had to take on a second job. Exactly when did they think I’d have time to be their cook and housekeeper too?
Fatigue weighs in my bones as if I’m not in my twenties but rather my eighties. The schedule I keep these days is taking its toll.
“Hey, girl. You ready to do this tonight?” Trina asks when I walk in through the back door.
I paste on a smile. “You know it.”
She frowns, sensing something’s off, and pushes past some of the other girls getting ready to come over to me. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” Her bright pink lipstick is migrating from her lips up into the wrinkles around her upper lip.
“Just tired, that’s all.” I open my locker and place my purse and bag inside, then spin around to face her.
She squeezes my shoulder. “You need a pick-me-up? Pick your poison.”
I have my choice of alcohol, drugs, or even just some energy drinks. It’s not a well-guarded secret that a lot of the girls need to be half out of their minds to get on stage. I’ve always stayed away from that stuff, though, since I’ve seen enough of the women fall on the slippery slope.
“I’m okay. I’ll snap out of it.”
She nods. “All right, sweetie. Wear one of your favorite outfits, get your makeup on, curl your hair, and you’ll feel better.”
She’s not wrong. Once I’m done up in my role as an exotic dancer, it boosts my self-confidence. I brought two outfits tonight: one for the stage and one for when I work the room.
Lisa arrives a few minutes after I do. Our schedules have been opposite since last week.
“Lisa, how are things?” I ask when she rushes over to her locker.
“Good, I’m just running behind. My sister was late showing up to watch my kids. Trina’s gonna kill me if I’m not ready for my performance.”
I step over to my locker and pull out of my purse the cash that I set aside for her. “You have time. Just hustle. Before I forget, this is for you.”
She looks at the money in my hand. “I can’t keep taking money from you, Cin.”
“Please just take it. I want to help.”
Her brow furrows, and she looks as though she wants to say no, but we both know that she won’t. She needs the money.
“Thank you.” She takes the cash from me and stuffs it into her locker. “I swear I’ll pay you back someday.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to. I just want to help you and your kids. Honestly.”
She hugs me, squeezing tightly. “Thank you.”
The small show of affection leaves me with glossy eyes and a tight throat because I’m so unaccustomed to it. “You’re welcome.”
I sit in front of one of the mirrors to get ready. Once my hair is curled and placed up in a high ponytail, I do my makeup, then slip into the white thong and sheer halter with rhinestones. I step into my heels and wait for my turn side stage.
Trina is watching from the side of the stage. “Your man’s here.” She grins.
Though I know who she’s talking about, I pretend otherwise. “I don’t have a man, Trina.”
She rolls her eyes. “That man sits in the same seat every night you perform, and he leaves straight after. He’s only here for you, which makes him your man.”
I want to insist she’s wrong, but the DJ starts with my introduction.
“Ladies and gentleman, get ready to be captivated with every sway of her hips and bounce of her tits. Up next, we have the electrifying Cin!”
The crowd cat-whistles as I step up the few stairs and out onto the stage. Tonight, I’m doing a set with a little more energy, so “Kickstart my Heart” by Motley Crue plays, and I start on the pole with a more aerobic routine.
One glance at the back booth tells me “my man” is indeed shrouded in the shadows. I can’t help but look at his figure as I move off the pole and pay attention to the men front and center.
When “Cherry Pie” by Warrant starts, I move to the floor, rubbing myself on anyone who’s willing and has cash in hand. I come across more than one erection pressed against my ass, but they do nothing for me. Still, I play along to siphon more cash from them. All the while I’m more than aware of having his eyes on me.
Finally, when “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard starts, I climb up on the stage to slow my routine down and tease the men by slowly revealing my top. My performance goes well, and I leave the stage with a stack of cash. Still, it’s not enough for what I need, which means I’m going to have to work hard to get some lap dances or get someone back into the VIP room.
“Good show,” Trina says as I pass her while coming down the stairs.
I smile at Lisa, who’s waiting to do her routine, and I head off in search of some water and a towel to dry the sweat off my body.
Ten minutes later, I’ve changed into my second outfit—a schoolgirl costume complete with a plaid tie that matches the too-short skirt revealing a black thong under. I’m just hiking the black stockings up to mid-thigh when Trina approaches with a wide smile.
“Your presence has been requested in VIP room number one.” Her eyes glitter with excitement.
My head rocks back. “Really? One of the regulars?”
It’s unusual to score a VIP room before I’ve left backstage.
She shrugs. “Not sure. Eric just came and told me. Said he’d be waiting there.”
Eric is one of the bouncers who works the VIP rooms and stays outside in the hallway in case any trouble goes down. Patrons have to make arrangements with him to have a dancer join them in a room.
“I’m on it.” I check my hair and makeup one last time, then give my boobs a hike up in the tiny black sports bra I’m wearing under the tie before making my way out of the dressing area.
“Remember,” Trina says before I pass by. “When their dick is hard, their brain is soft. Go get that money, honey.”
I laugh and make my way out. My eyes have to adjust to the lights in the club once I’m in the front of the house since it’s dim here with lots of neon signs throughout the space.
A quick glance at the booth in the back tells me that the mystery man is gone. I curb my disappointment. Maybe one of these days he’ll stick around, and I’ll get to see who he is.
“Room number one?” I ask Eric as I pass him.
He nods. “I think you can fleece him for a lot.”
I stop and turn to face him. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ll see.” He smirks and winks.
Curiosity piqued, I twist the doorknob and push open the door, coming to an abrupt stop.
It’s the mystery man. I’m not sure how I exactly know it’s him, but I do.
Worse yet, it turns out my mystery man is Nero, my stepsister’s ex-fiancé. Interesting that he comes here and watches me every night. Memories of the dance we shared, the feel of his hand on the small of my back. God, his smile. His amazing, sweet smile that Maude was so undeserving of. And now he’s here.
His ice-blue eyes bore into me as I take in his clean-shaven face, full lips, and straight nose. This guy could be straight off a runway with his perfectly tousled brown hair and his expensive dress pants and button-down shirt. Designer for sure. I’d know that even if I didn’t know that Nero Voss is a billionaire.
It’s clear why Eric made the comment he did. Nero isn’t wearing the usual jeans and T-shirt most of the guys who come in here do, nor does he exude the energy of a down-home local boy. No, his presence demands your attention, and the way he’s looking at me makes me want to preen under his watchful gaze. It reminds me of the night I first saw him at the ball.
He might remember me from the ball, but I’m certain he won’t recognize me as Maude’s stepsister. I was always forced to hide in the attic whenever he was at the estate. Knowing Maude, she probably never even mentioned that I existed.
“Hi.” I turn and close the door behind me.
A sharp intake of breath rushes from him, and when I turn to face him again, it’s obvious he was checking out my ass. Or what you can see of it with this short skirt.
With my left hand, I flick the light switch that turns on the neon light, and the room is bathed in red. Then I sashay over and take a seat next to him.
“I’m Cin,” I say, though I’m fairly sure he already knows that from watching me dance so many times.
He nods. “Nero.”
I smile with flirtation. “Nice to meet you, Nero.”
He returns my smile, and my heart rate picks up.
How the hell did Maude ever land this man? She’s a grade-A bitch and a horrible person. But she’s also a chameleon, so I’m sure she fooled him—for a while at least.
I’ve never been jealous of Maude for a minute in my life, even though she got all the freedom, all the praise, and all the love. I always knew what kind of person she was, and since I never wanted to be like her, I considered myself lucky, even given my circumstances. But looking at this man and knowing she was able to make him love her, sleep with her… my stomach rots with acid.
“What would you like tonight?”
“How about a lap dance?” He drags a finger from my shoulder down to my elbow. It’s a simple move, somewhat innocent even, but I clench my thighs together from the current of electricity concentrating there.
I lean in, and his gaze flicks to my cleavage like most men. “Just a lap dance?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Let’s start there.”
“Fair enough. One song will cost you a hundred dollars.” It’s more than I can usually get out of any of the guys around this place, but Nero can afford it.
“I’ll give you two thousand dollars for the next hour of your time, how does that sound?”
I try not to act as if he’s surprised me, but I’m not sure I succeed based on the way one corner of his lips tip up.
“Sounds like we should get started.” I stand from the couch and walk over to the wall to turn up the volume of the music.
The music in the VIP rooms is different from what plays in the main club. It’s a rotation of sultry music that plays on repeat.
As I make my way back to him, I exaggerate my hip movements and walk to the beat of the music, coming to stand in front of him. He’s relaxed, arms splayed across the back of the couch. The muscles in his arms stretch the fabric of his shirt. His blue eyes watch me with intensity, and I turn around and give him my back.
Something about this man rocks me and makes me forget about all my problems outside of this room.
I bend forward, grabbing my ankles and wiggling my ass side to side, staring at him through my legs. He licks his bottom lip, and his eyelids grow heavy with lust. Not wanting to lose any of his attention, I slide back up and set myself in his lap.
A moan escapes me when my weight settles on his hard cock. His huge hard cock. He must know I like the feel of it because he raises his hips, pressing into my ass. I slide along his body, gyrating my hips to the beat of the music, and eventually slide the tiny black sports bra up over my head.
“Leave the tie on.”
His tone brooks no argument, and my nipples tighten. Tossing the fabric aside, I lean back so his chest is pressed against my back and grind on him. I feel like a cat in heat, as if I’m doing this for my pleasure and not his. If it weren’t for the persistent erection pressing into my ass, I might wonder whether I was the only one enjoying this dance because not once have his hands ventured to touch me. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t wish he’d try to cop a feel.
I lean forward and place my hands on his hard thighs, grinding down on his lap and swinging my ponytail from side to side.
Tired of teasing myself, I eventually stand, turn around, and straddle his lap.
Big mistake. Now I see the way he’s looking at me as though he’s a minute away from devouring me. I grow wetter. I circle my hips on him then raise myself on my knees a bit so that my breasts are in his face, my nipples turgid and begging for attention. They’re aching for him to touch, to lick, to play.
I gently move them back and forth over the seam of his lips, acting like a desperate cat.
God, I’d do just about anything for him to open his mouth and wrap his lips around my nipple. They’re so hard it’s almost painful.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays in the same position with his arms splayed and watches me intently.
I want to beg him to do it. Do something, anything. Touch me, fondle me, fuck me. Something.
I’m not a virgin, and I’m no angel, that’s for sure. I’ve fooled around with men in the VIP rooms before, but I don’t cross the line of getting paid to do so. Men can pay for me to dance for them, and I’ll shove my naked tits in their face, but I’ve never accepted money for sexual favors, though I don’t judge the girls who do. We’re all just doing our best and doing whatever it takes to survive.
I’m only physical with a man because I find him attractive and because I want to mess around with him. I know I’m looking for affection in all the wrong places—case in point, none of these men have ever even bothered to give me an orgasm. It’s all about their pleasure when they’re in here. But for just a moment, I can pretend I’m in a loving relationship, that someone desires and needs me, no matter how hollow I’m going to feel afterward.
I stand and turn around again, arching my ass out and easing myself across his lap.
When I lean back against him, he nuzzles his head into the crook of my neck and whispers, “Hook your legs on the outside of mine.”
His voice is a rough rumble in my ear. It’s what I assume is a bedroom voice. The kind that makes you want him to spit out a string of dirty words.
I do as he asks even though it’ll be much harder for me to move this way.
“Now touch yourself, princess.” I startle, stilling, and he bites my earlobe. “Come on now, be a good princess and touch yourself. We’re going to make you come.”
It’s the “we” part of that statement that gets me to comply.
I bring my hand between my legs and center my fingers over my G-string where my clit is, sucking in a breath when I make contact.
Seconds later, his big warm hand covers mine. The pressure is light at first as he moves my fingers in a circular motion. When he increases the pressure, I tense, my legs automatically trying to close, but he stretches his legs, not allowing me to.
Gradually, he increases the pressure and the pace. My breasts rock as I thrust my hips into our hands. Unable to take the ache, I bring my free hand up and cup my breast. Nero growls in my ear, and I feel the rumble in his chest behind me as I tweak my nipple.
Then his hips thrust up underneath me as though he’s fucking me while his hand forces mine to rub my clit faster. My body grows more and more tense, and my legs strain against his, wanting to close, but he refuses to allow it. With my heart beating like a war drum, my body tingles, and the sensation grows stronger, unstoppable.
“I’m going to come.”
“That’s my girl,” he says into my ear.
And even though I’m not his girl and never will be, those three words send me over the edge. I cry out, jerking in his lap as my orgasm washes over me.
He keeps moving his hand over mine, slowing the pace and the pressure until he stops altogether and pulls it away. I want to cry out for him to return his hand to where it was, but I’m still catching my breath and trying to make sense of what happened. I just let my stepsister’s ex-fiancé give me the best orgasm ever.
The worst part is, I don’t feel bad about it. No, everything about what happened feels oddly right, and I don’t know what to do with that realization.