Braxton #3
When she looks up, her blue eyes latch onto mine.
Vanessa watches me as she pulls the sheer fabric tied around her neck away and lets it fall, exposing her jewel-studded bra.
Her hips continue to writhe while she’s on her knees, and her hand trails to the belt at her waist. One by one, she unbuttons the strips of long, sheer fabric covering her lean, muscled legs.
The fabric lies around her as though she’s tangled in sheets.
I don’t break eye contact and neither does she.
Men are clapping, waving money in front of her as she teases them. But she doesn’t seem to pay them any mind, though, standing from the stage dressed in only a bra and a pair of barely-there thong panties before walking toward the pole.
Vanessa leans against the metal and slides down once again, meeting my eyes as she slips one bra strap off her shoulder, then the other.
I lean forward in my chair as one of her hands moves behind her back and she unclasps her sparkly bra, letting the straps fall down her shoulders.
Her perfect tits are on full display. From here, I can see her hard nipples and my mouth waters, wanting to taste them on my tongue.
I run a hand over my mouth, and Vanessa treats me to another secret smile before the tempo of the music picks up and she pops back into a standing position.
When she wraps her legs around the pole and climbs the length of it, the crowd goes wild, cheering for her as she spins round and round upside down, her hands cupping her tits and hair flowing around her.
She leans up and grabs the pole again while she spins and spreads her long legs in the splits for a few turns before wrapping them back around the pole and sliding to the floor.
The music ends and the lights fade. I’m breathing hard as Vanessa collects the money that’s been thrown on the stage, blowing the crowd a kiss as she walks away.
I’ve seen plenty of dancers perform on our stage through the years. I’ve had my fair share of VIP room experiences in and out of the club. But that? That was something else entirely.
Chantel is announced next and her music starts off completely different than Vanessa’s—loud, fast, and in your face.
There’re no looks between her and me like there were between me and Vanessa.
As far as she’s concerned, I’m not even in the room.
Her focus is on the men in front of her.
And my focus is on attempting to slow my racing heartbeat.
Before Chantel finishes her song, I get up from the table and walk over to the bar.
“Hey, Braxton. What are you having?” the cute bartender we hired about six months ago asks.
“A bottle of beer,” I say as a woman walks up next to me.
“Tracy, can I have a bottle of water, please?”
I turn to see Vanessa in a short skirt now with her bra back over her supple breasts.
“What did you think?” she asks as Tracy comes back with the beer and the water.
“You were great,” I say and offer her a bland smile.
I don’t like the effect she had on me. I’m not here to drool over her. Not the way these men are. And I know better. Goddamnit, I know better. Vanessa wasn’t dancing for me. She is here to make money. And if her performance is anything to go by, this girl is damn good at her job.
Then why did it feel like it was just the two of us in this room? It was as though every time she touched herself, I could practically feel my hands against her skin. My fingers tangled in her hair, or running over the length of her soft thighs.
Because she’s a professional. That’s her job, dumbass.
“Oookay,” she draws out and looks around the room. Chantel is still on stage, and the other dancers are walking around mingling with the customers at tables.
Suddenly everything is too much. The stage lights, the cloying perfume of all the women, the smell of alcohol and horny fucking men salivating over every dancer here.
“I need to go help Sylvie with a few things,” I tell her before grabbing my beer and stalking toward the hallway in the back.
I knock on Sylvie’s door, but I don’t wait for an answer before opening it, stepping inside and closing it behind me. Leaning against the wood, I press the beer to my lips and take a long pull from the bottle.
“You weren’t prepared, were you?” Sylvie asks, glancing up from her desk and then back down to the paperwork in front of her.
I push myself to stand and walk over to the couch against the wall, practically collapsing into it. “Prepared for what?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “I have cameras, you know. I watched Vanessa’s performance. Wanted to make sure she wasn’t pushing herself too hard to come back to work. Saw you watching her, too. And the way she didn’t pay the crowd any attention. Just you.”
“She’s a good dancer,” I say lamely.
Sylvie looks up and studies me for a moment before leaning back in her chair. “Bit of advice?”
“Shoot.”
“Don’t tempt me.” The corner of her mouth tips up in a teasing smile before her face drops into a serious expression. “Don’t come in when she works. Not unless you’re here on club business and don’t plan on staying. If she needs a personal bodyguard, have someone else do it.”
“I am here on club business. The club takes care of all their employees, including their dancers,” I say with a touch of defensiveness in my tone.
“True. But I don’t imagine you have quite the same reaction when you see one of your mechanics working on a bike.”
“She’s a good dancer,” I reiterate. “I was appreciating her craft.”
“Braxton, you can bullshit yourself all you want, but don’t bullshit me.
I saw you watching her, and I saw the look on your face when you barged into my office.
Vanessa has talent unlike anything I’ve seen in a long time.
Her pole work is outstanding, but I don’t want drama in my club.
Because, like it or not, if there is any, she’s going to be the one to go, not you.
So I’m telling you now, if you have a problem seeing her take her clothes off in front of other men, don’t come in. ”
I’ve always appreciated that Sylvie is the ruler of this castle.
Until now.
“It’s not that I have a problem with it.
I don’t. I just…wasn’t expecting that.” I lean my head against the back of the couch and let out a long breath.
“I think you may have missed your calling. This couch would be great for a therapist,” I quip before glancing at Sylvie, who rolls her eyes toward the ceiling.
“Lord save me from men who don’t know what to do with their feelings.”
I quirk a brow. “You have much experience with those?”
“We’re talking about you, not me. But you aren’t the first brother I’ve dealt with who can’t come to terms with having feelings for a woman.”
Sylvie has never been one to divulge her past to any of us. And out of respect for her, the rest of the brothers and I haven’t asked.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, staring at the bottle hanging between my fingers.
“The night Vanessa and I met was…electric.” There’s really no other way to describe it.
“Both of us were pretending to be other people. It sounds weird, but we both knew the other was lying. It didn’t matter, though.
Having her at the clubhouse this last week, getting to know the real her, having her put her imprint all over the damn place, then seeing her perform tonight, it threw me for a loop. I just need to get my bearings back.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because…because neither of us is in a place for anything else. I like my life, my solitude. My priorities are my brothers and my work. Everything else is a distraction I don’t need.”
I love my brothers and their women, but with their commitment comes more people we have to look out for—more people we have to protect. The last thing I want is to be attached to someone and watch them get hurt…or worse.
“Sounds like you’ve had a few conversations with yourself about this,” she replies.
“Maybe.”
“And maybe you’re trying too hard to convince yourself. But that’s just my opinion.”
Maybe. But like hell am I going to admit that to her.