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NICK RIVERA IS a man of contrasts.
When he smiles, he has the biggest, most open-hearted smile I’ve ever seen. When I make him laugh, it’s the greatest feeling in the world. When his guard is down, Nick is warm, authentic, and joyful.
But those are rare moments. Most of the time, Nick Rivera is serious, reserved, and downright intimidating. I can see why he’s so successful in business—he has the air of someone who always gets his way.
Like last night. When he whispered in my ear that he made the rules and then turned and walked away, Nick left me breathless, my mind spinning about the promise lingering between us—the “little games” we might play.
My mind is still spinning the next day when I see him in the kitchen. I’m fresh from dance class, my leotard still on under my shirt, my hair in its tight, perfect bun, and no makeup on. I wish I’d had a chance to freshen up because Nick looks good. Like, really, really good. Jeans, bare feet, white t-shirt that stretches across wide shoulders, broad chest, bulky arms. That thick hair and chiseled jaw.
I instantly picture him lifting me up onto the counter, letting me wrap my legs around him, the way the muscles in his back would bunch and ripple as he moved against me. The thought is chased by the ache in my heart I’ve been feeling all day, whenever I remember his words.
I will never touch you again.
“Hey,” I say casually.
His brown eyes catch mine, and he smiles—not the show-stopping grin that sets my heart on fire, but a polite smile.
“Hi.”
I walk past him to the fridge, which is all it takes to short-circuit my senses. I get a whiff of his warm, irresistible Nick smell, and it envelops me in a kind of disorienting euphoria. I can’t resist inhaling it before I open the fridge door and pull out my protein shake.
“You around for dinner tonight?” he asks. Cool and casual like nothing inappropriate has passed between us. Just a dad asking his kid’s friend if she’s staying for dinner.
Cringe.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply. The idea that Nick is inviting me to have dinner with him fills me with a vibrant, hopeful longing. “I’m not working tonight.”
“Great. I’m grilling steaks. My friend David will be joining us. You’ll love him.”
My heart withers to nothing in my chest and drops into my stomach in ashes. “Great,” I echo in a high, fake lilt.
I don’t want to have dinner with a stranger. I don’t want to meet one of Nick’s friends. I want Nick to myself. I want to know where we’re going after last night. I want to consummate this obsessive longing for him—somehow. Without touching .
But apparently Nick having things on his terms means keeping me at arm’s length, panting at the door like a dog who wants in. And since I’ve already accepted the dinner invitation, I feel obliged. So I smile at him gaily, as if just being in his presence isn’t physically painful. As if dinner sounds lovely.
* * *
As it turns out, Nick’s friend David is fun to spend time with. I remember him from the club the moment I see him—wavy, dark red hair, wide grin, and a teasing look in his eyes like he’s letting you in on a joke. He’s the one who handed me the money for Nick’s lap dance and called him Nicky.
I can see now that lighthearted jabbing is at the heart of the two men’s friendship, and it delights me to see Nick’s playful side come out in David’s company.
“We met in grade school,” Nick tells me with a fond smile.
The food is eaten, plates pushed to the side, and we’re sitting around the table with full glasses of a Spanish red wine that David brought. I’m on my second glass, and the rich, velvety liquid is making me feel warm and loose in a way I don’t often allow myself to feel. I rarely drink, with the demands of my schedule, and it’s going right to my head in the most pleasant way.
“David was the worst-looking kid,” Nick continues with a laugh, and David opens his mouth in mock outrage and swings a hand across the table as if to hit him. Nick leans back, his eyes dancing with delight, and I can’t help but smile. “This scrawny kid with a big shock of bright red hair and giant teeth. Even at that age I think I felt sorry for you that you were never going to get laid.”
“Well, I showed you,” David retorts. “Not,” he adds, turning to me, “that Nicky ever had trouble with the girls—obviously.”
He holds a hand out towards Nick as if submitting evidence, but I certainly don’t need it. Not only is it easy to tell that Nick has been good-looking his entire life, but I also know exactly what a younger version of him would have looked like— Tate .
Nick rolls his eyes and reaches for the wine bottle, topping us all up.
“What was Nick like when he was younger?” I ask, immediately regretting the question. A blush steals up my cheek as the implication occurs to me: that Nick is old now—so much older than me.
Except that… he is.
David chuckles. “Oh, he was always the same ornery bastard. When he was younger, he had less self-control, maybe. Twenty years ago, Nick would have been all over you.”
He lays a hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and smiles at me with a look that makes my pulse race.
The warmth of his hand is disarming, the innocent touch electrifying, and I’m surprised by how nice it feels to make eye contact with him and the sizzle of heat his smile gives me. I blink and cast a glance at Nick, almost guiltily, but there’s no sign he disapproves of this affection from David. If anything, he looks pleased.
“'s used to men being all over her,” he says in a low voice. “Aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug. I’m not sure if it’s criticism or praise. It’s clear that he’s referring to my job, and I’m keenly aware of how much my work is judged— hats off to Tate for that one —but nothing in Nick’s expression or tone seems mocking or derogatory.
“I have no doubt about that,” says David. His fingers move in a small circle, massaging the base of my cervical spine.
Is it just me, or has the energy in the room taken a turn? I don’t know if it’s the constant, low-grade arousal I feel whenever I’m around Nick that’s hijacking my senses, but I detect an undercurrent of innuendo. David exhales and slides his hand over my shoulder, and when I look back at Nick, the expression on his face seems to confirm it.
There’s heat in his eyes—a coiled ferocity in how he watches me that I take as a clue to the puzzle.
Is this one of the “games” he has in mind? He can’t touch me, but someone else can?
When I arrived in the city this past winter, I thought I knew everything I needed to know about sex. I had all the basics covered and knew better than to tell anyone the twisted things I thought of in my head. But the Paradise Lounge taught me that the basics of sex are just that— basic . Most people are having the same twisted thoughts I am, and whole industries have cropped up to indulge them. It’s part of what keeps me hooked on the work. Not just the dancing, but the undercurrent of desire, the secret longings, the yearning call to pleasure. Six months ago, I would have taken this conversation at face value and left it at that, but my job has taught me to pick up on the subtler nuance of the interaction.
That’s why I make a split-second decision and turn back to David with my best come-hither, Salomé eyes, letting my gaze drop momentarily to his mouth and then hitting him with a slow, teasing smile. And sure enough, he picks up the cue immediately, his blue eyes softening, the corner of his wide mouth lifting.
I’m not imagining it. There’s a vibe.
David is a sexy guy. Beefy like Nick, if not as muscular, but imposing nonetheless in his breadth and height. His easy confidence is inviting, promising fun and no hang-ups. Plus, I like him. He’s nice, and he’s funny. If Nick is trying to create some kind of scene, then the idea of any kind of play with David intrigues me.
Why not? I spent five months with Tate having no sex, only to turn my attention to someone who’s vowed not to touch me. I’m ironically celibate for a stripper.
Nick leans back in his chair, Mister Casual, and takes a sip of his wine. “David, you never did get a lap dance from at the Paradise Lounge, did you?”
“No,” says David, without taking his eyes off of me. “I didn’t.”
Aha.
So it isn’t just dinner with Nick’s friend. It’s so much more. It’s a show—for two men in an intimate setting. I’ve never done anything like that before but I’ve fantasized about it many times.
I look at Nick, who’s watching me with eyes that are so much like Tate’s. Same color, same shape, same lashes. But Nick looks at me in a way Tate never has— with hunger . And it’s fucking hot.
“Would you like to watch me give David a lap dance?” I ask bluntly, and a Cheshire Cat smile curves the full line of his lips.
“Yes, ,” he says, matching my tone. “I would.”
* * *
Context is everything. Pulling my t-shirt up over my head in Nick’s dining room for an audience of two is an entirely different experience from stripping on stage in front of a room full of people.
A large audience is anonymous. Two men eyeing me wolfishly is a situation. And one I’ve stepped into willingly, even if it is making my heart race.
I turn my back to David, where he’s pushed his chair back against the wall, and face Nick as I bend over to slide my leggings off, giving David a view of my ass and my lacy pink thong before sitting down on his lap. Then I lock eyes with Nick as I start grinding myself on David’s crotch.
A lap dance at the club is a delicate balance of touching and showing. As much as possible, erections are tactfully avoided. But here in the privacy of Nick’s home, I don’t bother with the niceties and move on David’s lap in a pure imitation of sex, rubbing myself back and forth against the taut swell in his jeans.
“That’s so good, baby,” he murmurs, clasping my waist with his hands and digging his thumbs into my lower back. “You’re making me nice and hard.”
The way he says it makes my breath hitch. This feels so much more sexual than a lap dance at the club, and when I raise my eyes to Nick’s, where he’s sitting at the table watching us, his expression is incendiary.
“Why don’t you take your bra off?” he suggests.
I reach back for the clasp and my fingers meet David’s, where he’s already eagerly unhooking the metal eyelets. The garment slips down my arms, and I drop it onto the floor just as David’s hands engulf each one of my breasts. The heat from his palms makes my nipples go hard, and the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
When I first moved into this house, I was trying to imagine a future with Tate. I never could have imagined how much things would change, the dramatic turn things would take. Now, here I am in this dining room in the same house, with Tate’s father watching me, his friend’s hands on my body, and everything is so different. But this, here, now, is what I’ve always wanted to feel. Every cell in my body is singing. With Tate, I was constantly judged and shamed. Strangely, in this situation with his father and his friend, I feel so much safer. And so much more alive.
David’s hands eagerly massage my breasts. He lets out a low, pleasurable groan. And Nick just watches, staring at us avidly. He watches me like I imagine he might if we were in bed together, just the two of us, and it makes David’s hands feel like his hands, David’s lap feel like his lap. David’s body becomes a tool for Nick to be with me.
I have the wildest, most shocking urge to go further. To have Nick watch me while another man takes me, for him to see me dissolve in ecstasy, for him to watch me come.
But I don’t know what the rules are, how far it’s okay to go, so I just lean back even further, lift my hand up to David’s hair and pull his face closer to me until he’s kissing the back of my neck, and grind my pussy against his crotch until I can feel myself getting close to the edge, my sex swelling and my breath coming quickly.
My attention contracts with the rhythmic motion, drawing inwards, pulling me away from Nick as the sensation moves from something mental to something purely physical. I’m getting close to orgasm, and I want to come. My vision is getting so tunneled, I hardly notice that Nick has pulled his chair closer so that he’s right in front of us.
“Is this turning you on, Bean?” he asks, in that serious professor-like voice, as if he’s just called on me to give an answer in the lecture hall. “Are you enjoying putting on this little show?”
“Yes,” I breathe, rolling my head back onto David’s shoulder.
His hands run down my sides to my hips, pulling me against him so that the bulge in his pants presses harder against me—right there, just where I need it.
“Touch her, David,” says Nick. “This little girl wants to come for us.”
“Yes,” I choke out, desperate.
I want to be touched by anyone, anything. The relief feels urgent and necessary.
David chuckles, a low tremor traveling down my back, and then his fingers are probing under the lace waistband of my panties, sliding mercifully over my skin until they reach my clit—the aching, pinpoint center of my need—and begin stroking.
I gasp, lifting my hips, my whole core clenching.
“Look at me,” commands Nick.
I’m right there. I’m going to come. I manage to lower my chin and look Nick dead in the eyes just as David slides his thick forefinger over my clit in the caress that breaks me, and I shatter. I lock my gaze on Nick’s black eyes, searing with nuclear intensity as he watches me.
The orgasm rocks through me like a seismic wave, leaving me panting for breath, and Nick is the anchor at the center of it all, keeping me rooted. It’s the most earth-shattering, intimate thing I’ve ever experienced, looking right into someone’s eyes during an intense orgasm.
A small smile curls his lips, and absolute warmth radiates from him. It’s the most loved I’ve ever felt.
* * *
Nick moves his chair beside David’s so that they’re side by side.
“Get on your knees,” he tells me.
David unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to free his straining erection. His cock is long, tapered at the tip but thick at the base, and I surprise myself with my mouthwatering hunger for it.
“I think it’s time for you to do something nice for David,” Nick says.
I nod eagerly. It’s a feast after months of famine with Tate, and I am ready and eager to please both men in any way they want.
I’m taking it one step, one minute , at a time. It’s clear Nick is making the rules. But if this is his workaround for not touching me, if this is the kind of “little game” he has in mind, then there are no complaints from my end. I’m still buzzing from how he watches me, how absolutely close I feel to him in this moment.
“Now take David’s cock into your mouth, and let me watch you suck him off.”
My cheeks are hot as I wrap my lips around the head of his member, inhaling a soft, cotton t-shirt smell that’s all David. Then I slide my mouth down, hearing him give a satisfying moan as I stretch my tongue down the underside of his shaft.
“Good,” says Nick. “Take him deep into your throat—that’s it. You look so good on your knees taking a cock like that.”
I shiver with pleasure. I love dirty talk. Needless to say, Tate never did it.
“Now look at me. Even though I can’t touch you, I want you to watch what you’re doing to me when you suck off my friend.”
I flatten one palm against David’s thigh and wrap the other around the base of his dick and slide my mouth down again, taking him deeply, this time tilting my head and lifting my eyes to Nick.
My breath catches as he unzips his pants, reaches into his briefs, and pulls out… a fucking anaconda.
Nick’s cock is quite simply breathtaking.
I’m not one to notice these things, not really. A cock is a cock is a cock… more or less. But Nick’s cock is huge, intimidatingly thick. Stunning.
He fists it, and I basically forget about David. My mouth goes slack, my attention completely distracted, until Nick’s other hand comes around the back of my head and pushes it down a bit.
“Suck him.”
Shit.
I re-apply myself, taking David as deep as I can until I’m almost choking, all the while keeping my eyes obediently trained on Nick—occasionally dropping my gaze to where his fist slides up and down his shaft before blinking back up at him. His jet eyes bore through me—dancing between my eyes and mouth. His nostrils flare, the muscle in his jaw flexes, and I’m seeing a side of Nick I thought I would only ever see in my fantasies. Nick on the edge of control.
Nick about to unravel.
“Fucking take his cock,” he groans. “That’s such a good fucking girl.”
David lets out a low moan. “That feels so good.” His voice quavers. “Oh shit, Nick, her mouth feels so fucking good.”
I tighten my hand at the base of his shaft, squeezing him with my lips as I pull up his length. Sweat beads on my brow as I lift and lower, moving from my core, but I never take my eyes off Nick. His lips part to take in more air, his teeth clenched together.
“I’m going to come,” chokes out David, and then cries out.
Hot cum floods my mouth.
“Yes,” whimpers Nick, as I still my movements, keeping my mouth locked around David’s shaft as I try to swallow down his cum without choking. “Yes, good girl.”
His brows knit together, and his teeth unclench, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The guarded look that’s so often there in Nick’s eyes absolutely crumbles, and he’s stark and vulnerable as he cries out, ejaculate erupting in ropes from the head of his thick cock as he loses himself in release.
Without even thinking and before I know what I’m doing, I swallow, let go of David’s cock and lean my whole body over to the side, planting my hands on Nick’s granite thighs and covering the head of his cock with my mouth in one swift motion. He moans, letting his hand fall away so that I can slide my mouth as far down as I can, while the last spurt of his cum hits the back of my throat.
Then he lets his body fall back, and everything releases, while I slowly, gently, run my tongue up his shaft as I pull away.
I’ve surprised even myself with what happened. I know we’re not supposed to touch, but I could not help myself.
I look up at Nick to read his expression, but he’s staring at the ceiling, his whole body collapsed over the back of the chair.
For a moment, nobody speaks.
Then, “Fuck,” Nick groans.