（Untitled）
My second night in the Gilded Lily started with a broken zipper and a substitute dress that was even shorter than the first. The only saving grace was that the tips, indeed, kept coming in.
I kept my head down, my smile bright, and my hands steady as I navigated the purple-lit maze of leather booths and wandering hands.
The trick was to move just fast enough that contact became accidental, and not a brush of fingers against hip that I could pretend not to notice.
By ten o’clock, my feet were screaming and my face hurt from smiling, but I’d made three hundred dollars in cash. All in all — nothing to bitch about.
Burgundy was the only one in tonight from the girls I’d made friends with, and she had just disappeared in the direction of the private rooms with a man twice her age.
I stepped into the kitchen, feeling the cool AC air on my scalp, and picked up my phone from the counter where I’d left it. Enrique was deep in yet another sports thing on his phone while flipping burgers at the same time.
I opened the last message from Cross and stared at the words.
When can I return the favor?
I hadn’t replied anything to that, because I didn’t know what to reply.
He made me feel like a giddy sixteen-year-old who was about to get her heart broken by the hot senior with the guitar.
The butterflies in my stomach were exactly that strong.
The very thought of him made me wet. And the thought of the thirty-five grand he’d offered, made me even wetter.
But I had a better idea for him. He had embarrassed me — outed me — it was only fair for me to redo the favor.
If he wanted to fuck me, he’d have to do it on film, I had decided. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have my fun in the meantime.
BabyDollXO: Swing by the club at around 2. I’m feeling like you could go for an early breakfast.
I set the phone back down and turned to Enrique. “Ricky?”
“Sí, chica?” He didn’t turn away from the counter, the knife doing the tap-tap-tap against the cutting board while the hamburger meat sizzled in the pan. The seasoning made my mouth water, and I considered stealing one of those burgers.
“Men are simple creatures, right?”
I saw his mouth twist in the profile of his face. “Keep our bellies full and our balls empty is what I say. Why?”
I leaned against the counter, the warm metal pressing into my lower back. “No reason. Just… thinking.”
Enrique finally turned, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. “Then think while you take these two plates out there before Remy has both our asses on the grill.”
I did. A burger and a steak for two guys in rumpled suits sitting by the stage, drooling over a dancer in a bright purple lingerie set.
The Gilded Lily was different in that regard. It served actual good food, not just watered-down liquor for the price of a premium.
One of the older 50 Cent songs started playing, and two other girls stepped on stage under the neon glow.
The lights flipped to blistering ultraviolet, catching the sequins of their thongs like stars jammed together.
The men started salivating — and not over the food I’d just brought out.
By the end of their dance, the floor of the stage was covered in stacks upon stacks of dollar bills.
My shift ended at 2, but there was no sign of Cross.
I had lingered near the service station, pretending to wipe down the counter while my phone burned a hole in my palm.
The club had thinned out — only the die-hards remained.
Burgundy had long since clocked out, her crimson bodysuit replaced by jeans and a hoodie as she vanished into the neon haze of the Quarter.
Enrique had already started shutting down the kitchen, the scent of bleach cutting through the lingering aroma of fried food.
At 2:09 AM, I finally left, and there he was, leaning against a black car, smoking.
His dark hair was slicked back, the piercings in his ears glinting under the streetlight.
The leather jacket he wore was unzipped, revealing a fitted black shirt that clung to his chest in a way that made my mouth go dry and something else turn wet.
Cross exhaled smoke through his nose, his eyes raking over me. “You’re sure in no hurry, doll.”
“Making sure you build up the appetite.”
He grinned, flicking the cigarette away. “Oh, I’m positively famished.”
He pushed off the car and stepped closer, the heat of his body cutting through the humid night air. The streetlight caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look real fucking tempting.
I tilted my head up to him and watched his grin grow before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine.
The rough stubble on his jaw grazed my chin, and I tasted coffee and the bitter aftertaste of cigarettes on his tongue.
Then, suddenly, his hand was between my thighs, and I yelped against his mouth.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Just saying ‘hello’.”
His fingers pressed against the lace between my legs, and I gasped, my hips jerking forward instinctively. And yet my hand landed against his cheek, slapping him, before I took him by the jaw and kissed him again, deeper, greedier.
The hand between my thighs didn’t relent, fingers curling against the fabric of my thong. “You’re dripping, babe,” he muttered against my mouth.
I pulled back just enough to glare at him. “Don’t make me slap you again.”
He grinned at that and withdrew his hand.
“Oh, you’re mean tonight.” The hand that had been between my thighs now wrapped around my wrist. He brought my fingers to his mouth, eyes locked on mine, and sucked two of them inside — tongue swirling around the pads before he bit down hard enough to make me gasp.
“I like mean,” he said, and finally nodded toward the car. “Get in.”
I looked back at my pink Barbie car and decided nothing would happen if it stayed here overnight, and got inside his Mustang.
The engine growled to life with a deep rumble that vibrated through the leather seats.
Cross didn’t look at me as he pulled away from the curb, his hands loose on the steering wheel.
The city blurred past — neon signs, drunken laughter spilling from bars, the occasional flash of a taxi’s brake lights.
I watched it all through the window, relaxing into the seat while I took off the high heels and stretched my feet.
“Give them here,” he said, eyes on the road.
“The shoes?”
“Your feet.”
I cocked an eyebrow but ended up turning in the seat and placing my feet in his lap.
His hands were warm, fingers pressing into the arches just right.
I let out a soft moan before I could stop myself, the sound swallowed by the hum of the engine and the distant wail of a police siren somewhere in the French Quarter.
Cross smirked, thumb digging into a particularly tender spot. “Long night?”
“Long enough,” I admitted, letting my cheek press against the headrest. The relief in my feet was almost perverse, the way his hand worked out the knots. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Oh yeah?” His thumb pressed deeper, and I bit my lip to keep from making another lewd sound. “What kind?”
“Film a video with me.”
His hand stilled on my feet. The car slowed at a red light, the engine idling. Cross turned his head to look at me.
“For my OnlyFans,” I added, lazily moving my toes against his stomach.
His fingers tightened around my ankle. “You want to film me fucking you.”
“After the way you aired our dirty laundry yesterday — I think it’s only fair,” I said, and then— “And it’s the only way you’ll get to stick it in, rockstar. No video — no p in v.” I shook my head, biting my lip seductively.
His eyes darkened, the streetlight catching the glint of danger in them. The light turned green, but he didn’t move. The car behind us honked, and Cross finally released my ankle, his hand sliding up my calf so slowly before he shifted the car into gear.
“You drive a hard bargain, Baby Doll,” he said, voice low. The engine growled as he accelerated.
“And I want that thirty-five K on top of that,” I said.
The car surged forward, tires gripping the pavement as Cross navigated the empty streets.
His hand didn’t leave my leg, fingers moving in idle patterns up my thigh, each touch sending an electric jolt straight to my pussy.
“Take my phone.” He nodded in the general direction of the center console. “Wire yourself the money.”
I reached over and grabbed his phone, the screen lighting up with a passcode prompt. “What’s the code?”
“6969.”
I rolled my eyes but typed it in. The screen unlocked to a home screen cluttered with app icons, most of them music-related. I opened his banking app, ignoring the number I saw there, and navigated to the transfer section, my fingers hovering over the keypad before I typed in my account number.
His thumb kept caressing the inside of my thigh. I had to say — I loved how his hand felt pressing against me.
My thumb hesitated over the amount line. “You sure about this?”
“Positive.” His voice was rough, the edge of something darker creeping in. “Send it.”
I entered the amount — thirty-five thousand — and hit confirm. The app processed the transfer with a quiet chime, the confirmation screen popping up. I turned the phone toward him so he could see it. “Done.”
Cross didn’t even glance at the screen. His eyes were fixed on the road, but his grip on my thigh tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make me think about how they would’ve felt holding me down under him.
I set the phone back in the console and shifted in my seat, spreading my legs just a little wider. His fingers stilled, then slid higher, brushing against the damp lace of my thong. “We’re going to your place?”
“Mm.” He checked the mirror before merging lanes.
I pulled the thong aside, the short dress now bunched up around my waist, and slid my fingers up and down my pussy.