5. Terra
TERRA
The thick, spangly curtain fell closed behind them, muting the thump of the bass to a dull, distant heartbeat. Suddenly, the world shrank to the size of the velvet-draped booth, the single wide chair, and him…Taurex.
The name fit, Terra thought. It had a heavy, solid sound, like a stone door closing. He filled the space, not just with his impossible size—the horns, the broad shoulders that seemed to absorb the dim red light—but with a quiet, watchful intensity that made the air feel thicker, harder to breathe.
And then she smelled it.
Away from the main floor’s cocktail of stale beer, cloying perfume, and sweat, a new scent reached her nose. It was clean, male musk, like sun-warmed skin after hard work. Underneath that was something darker, richer—like well-oiled leather and the smoky scent of night air.
The scent was nothing like the cheap cologne or the sour desperation she usually smelled in here. It was… good. It pulled at something low in her belly, a primal tug she hadn’t felt in years, if ever.
It was Taurex, she realized–he was the source of the scent.
Was he wearing some kind of cologne? But it didn’t smell like any cologne she’d ever smelled, and she’d smelled plenty–the guys that considered themselves “high rollers” were often drenched in expensive scents.
But somehow Taurex smelled better than any of them. In fact, he smelled amazing.
She blinked, trying to clear her head. The strange, electric tingle from when she’d taken his hand was gone, but a phantom echo of it hummed in her nerves, a static charge waiting for a spark.
The hot, raw images it had shoved into her mind—his mouth on her, his big hands spreading her thighs—were tucked away, but not forgotten.
They were a secret she carried, a blush warming her skin beneath the glitter.
“Make yourself comfortable, sugar,” she said, her voice coming out softer than her usual stage purr. She gestured to the chair.
He sat, the furniture groaning in protest of his muscular bulk, but holding.
Even seated, his eyes were nearly level with hers.
They were a luminous gold, like old coins, and they watched her with an intelligence that was unnerving.
There was no leer in them, no glaze of drunken lust. He was just…
present and giving her his undivided attention.
His golden gaze made her feel more naked than taking her clothes off ever had.
For a moment, she got lost in his eyes…and then she realized she was just standing there when she ought to be dancing…putting on a show for him.
The music from the lounge speakers was a slow, pulsing synth track. Terra began to move, falling into the familiar rhythm of her private dance routine. She swayed her hips, ran her hands over her own curves, let her head fall back.
But tonight, her routine felt different. Usually, her mind was a million miles away—mentally calculating bills, planning grocery lists, wondering if Cody had finished his homework. Now, her mind was right here, trapped in the cage of his gaze and the essence of his scent.
She reached behind her back, found the tie of her halter top, and pulled.
The silky material loosened. With a practiced shrug, she let it slither down her arms and drop to the floor.
The cool air of the booth kissed her bare skin, making her nipples pull into tight, aching points.
Terra didn’t cross her arms or try to hide herself–she let the huge Monstrum look.
Taurex didn’t move. His huge hands rested on his powerful thighs, fingers relaxed. He didn’t reach for her or try to grab her or pinch her like so many VIP clients did. He just… looked.
But to Terra, his look felt almost like a physical touch–a slow caress that traveled from her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts, to each tightened peak.
A flush of heat, completely separate from the stage lights, spread across her chest as she felt her body reacting to those golden eyes watching her.
What is wrong with you? a part of her brain–the part that was always the accountant, the mother–hissed. This is a transaction. Get the money.
But the other part of her brain–the part that had been buried under diapers and debt and disappointment for years–was waking up. It was intrigued…hungry.
She turned, presenting her back to him, and began to sway closer. She leaned back, letting the bare skin of her back brush against the expensive fabric of his shirt. She could feel the immense, solid wall of muscle and heat beneath it. A shiver, one hundred percent genuine, raced down her spine.
Oh God, was this turning her on? It never had before. She had always hated doing private dances in the VIP lounge. But tonight, for some reason she was really feeling it–her whole body felt alive like it hadn’t in, well…ever.
She turned around again, this time stepping between the big Monstrum’s spread knees. She put her hands on his broad shoulders for balance—the first deliberate contact since the handshake—and lowered herself, grinding the soft mound of her pussy against the hard ridge straining against his trousers.
Oh, dear God–he was huge.
The thought was a lightning strike of pure, feminine shock.
She’d felt a lot of hard-ons in this job.
This was not a hard-on–this was a monument.
It was a thick, rampant length of pure male demand, and even through two layers of clothing–her thong and his trousers–the sheer size and rigidity of it made her breath catch in her throat.
He was hot, too. It felt like she was rubbing against a steel bar wrapped in velvet. How in the hell could he possibly use this on a woman? How would it fit?
The images from the psychic flash—him between her thighs, licking her, getting her ready for him—re-surfaced with terrifying, vivid clarity and Terra’s body reacted. A fresh gush of wetness soaked her tiny pink thong.
“Are…are you… enjoying yourself?” she heard herself ask, her voice coming out more breathy than she liked.
His golden eyes burned into hers.
“Yes,” he rumbled, the deep vibration of his voice traveling through her hands on his shoulders and straight to her core. “You are beautiful, Terra.”
She felt another jolt go through her. He had used her real name–not Bunny. The sound of it in that rough, deep voice, here in this fake, tawdry place, felt more intimate than anything she’d ever done on stage.
Terra could feel herself getting overheated–she had to break the intensity. Her gaze flicked to the shelf of toys beside the chair, her professional autopilot seizing control.
“I think I forgot to introduce you to our wall of toys. See anything on the menu that catches your eye, big guy?” she purred.
He followed her gesture and frowned at the brightly colored toys, all wrapped in plastic.
“Toys? Are these objects of amusement you give to Earth younglings?”
Terra bit back a laugh.
“Er, not exactly. These toys are strictly for adults, sugar,” she told him.
“Adult toys?” His frown deepened. “Explain them to me.”
Terra made herself go into professional mode, even though his scent and his golden gaze kept making her forget what she was supposed to be doing. Right. Business. She could do business.
She stepped back, putting a tiny bit of space between them, though the heat of his big body seemed to follow her teasingly. She picked up the first toy, the one with the long handle and the fluffy white feather.
“This is a tickler,” she said, her voice regaining a semblance of its practiced purr.
She dragged the feather over her own nipple, and though she’d done this routine a thousand times, this time, her little gasp wasn’t faked. The sensitive peak was already so tight, so eager, that even that soft touch sent a jolt straight to her clit.
Before she could stop herself, Terra wondered what it would feel like if his mouth were there instead—if those full, human lips were to close over her, if his tongue, which she’d seen in her vision, were to circle her tight peak and begin to suck.
The thought made her knees feel weak. What was wrong with her?
“If you buy it,” she continued, forcing the words out, “I’ll use it. Or you can, if you’re gentle.” She put it down, her fingers trembling slightly.
His golden eyes were half-lidded now and he nodded with understanding.
“I find that most intriguing. Please, tell me more about these ‘toys.’”
Terra’s voice, usually a flat recitation for this part, took on a husky, speculative quality as her gaze—and her imagination—drifted over the rest of the gaudy inventory.
Her body was humming, every nerve ending still singing from the feather’s torture and the solid, impossible ridge of him beneath her. Explaining the toys now felt less like a sales pitch and more like a confession of her own mounting curiosity about his big, muscular body.
“These…” she said, lifting a pair of cuffs lined with plush black velvet. The chain between them gave a soft, metallic whisper. “Are for holding me still. Wrists only with these. Ankles…”
She trailed off, a sudden, vivid image flashing behind her eyes–her legs spread wide, those cuffs buckled tight around her ankles, hooked to the sturdy legs of the chair, leaving her utterly open and helpless before him as he knelt to taste her.
A fresh pulse of heat made her pussy throb at the thought.
“Ankles are a separate purchase. And a different… experience,” she made herself finish.
She put the cuffs down, her fingers lingering on the velvet, trying to get back to herself.
Next, she picked up the smooth, twisted rod of clear glass. It was cool and heavy in her hand under its layer of crackling clear plastic.
“What is that?” Taurex asked, frowning.
“This is an icicle, sugar–for temperature play.” She leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “We can run it under hot water, or put it in ice. Then…”
She paused, deliberately building his anticipation.
The huge Monstrum rumbled deep in his throat.
“Then what, lovely one?”