8. Terra #2
“You know why not! He can't keep his hands to himself.” Terra lowered her voice, though there was no one in the room besides the other dancers. “The last time I danced for him, I told him three times not to put his hands between my legs. Three times, Marty. He kept doing it anyway.”
“He was drinking.”
“So?” Terra raised her eyebrows.
“So maybe he didn't understand you.”
Terra stared at him.
“Seriously? You’re trying to excuse him? He absolutely understood me–he just didn't want to listen.”
Marty gave an impatient sigh.
“Look, I'm not saying the guy doesn't get a little handsy. But he spends a lot of money here.”
“And that means he gets to do whatever he wants?” Terra demanded.
Marty held up his hands in a “don’t shoot” gesture.
“Now, that's not what I said.”
“It's what you're implying,” Terra said accusingly.
“What I'm saying is that he's a good customer and he's asking for one of my best dancers.” Marty spread his hands. “It's business, Terra. Come on now–help me out.”
There it was again–business. Everything unpleasant at The Doll House eventually came down to that word.
Marty didn't care if some guy grabbed a dancer's ass as long as he bought enough drinks.
He didn't care if a VIP customer pushed the boundaries as long as he kept buying private dances.
There were rules written on paper, of course, but the rules became surprisingly flexible whenever enough money was involved.
Terra felt a surge of anger.
“I've got enough money right now,” she said. “I don't need his tip.”
That felt good to say and for once, it was true. The money Taurex had given her had paid for the repairs on the Honda and new clothes for both kids and there was even some left in savings. For the first time in months, she wasn't facing an immediate financial emergency.
Marty's eyes narrowed.
“That's great. I'm happy for you,” he said flatly, sounding anything but happy.
“Good. Then tell Orlov to pick somebody else.”
“He doesn't want somebody else,” Marty said.
“That's not my problem.” Terra shrugged again.
“It becomes your problem if you're not willing to take care of customers.” Marty’s voice was verging on an irritated growl.
Terra stared at him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Marty rubbed one hand over his bald head.
“Look, I don't want to argue with you. But stage time is limited. I've got plenty of girls who want the good slots—girls who are willing to work with the customers instead of turning them down.”
Terra felt her jaw clench.
“Are you threatening to cut my stage time?”
“Hey, I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to,” Terra snapped.
He shrugged.
“I'm just telling you how this business works.”
Terra stood and put her hands on her hips.
“No, you're telling me that if I don't go into a private room with a guy who won't keep his hands off me, you'll stop letting me earn money on stage.”
Marty looked annoyed.
“Fuck, Terra, don't make it sound like that.”
“How else should I make it sound?” she demanded.
Marty’s face got red.
“Nobody's telling you to fuck him! Give him a dance, let him have a good time and if he gets out of hand, come get me.”
Terra almost laughed. If he got out of hand? More like when. And by the time she “came and got Marty,” whatever Orlov wanted to do would already have happened.
She looked away from him and stared at herself in the mirror.
Her Bunny Canyon wig was already in place—the long, straight blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back.
Her makeup was perfect and the jeweled pink bra she wore pushed her breasts high enough to create an impressive amount of cleavage.
She looked sexy and confident and completely in control, but it was all an illusion.
Behind the wig and the makeup she was still Terra—a woman who needed this job, even if she didn't desperately need tonight's money.
The two thousand dollars Taurex had given her wouldn't last forever.
The Honda would break again. Cody would need something for school. Lisa would outgrow another pair of shoes. Her mother's heart medication had already gone up twice in the past year. And Terra still had tuition to pay if she wanted to finish her accounting degree.
If Marty started cutting her stage time, she would be right back where she'd been before Taurex walked into the club.
Damn it.
“All right,” she said at last, clenching her jaw. “I’ll do it.”
Marty nodded as though the matter had been settled all along.
“Good.”
“But I'm setting the rules before I go in,” Terra continued, glaring at him. “He keeps his hands off my crotch and my ass unless I specifically tell him he can touch me. If he doesn't like that, the dance is over.”
Marty shrugged.
“Fine.”
“And you stay nearby.”
He frowned.
“Terra—”
She pointed a finger at him.
“You want me to do this? You stay nearby.”
Marty sighed again.
“All right. Fine. I'll be in the lounge.”
Terra didn't believe that for a second. Marty would probably disappear the minute another customer wanted something.
Still, she had made her point.
“Give me five minutes,” she said.
Marty frowned.
“He's already waiting.”
“He can keep waiting,” she said grimly. “I’ll come out when I’m ready.”
Marty rolled his eyes but left the dressing room.
For a moment, neither Candy nor Crystal said anything. Then Candy reached over and touched Terra's arm.
“You want me to go out there with you?” she asked in a low voice.
Terra looked at her and felt a little warmth in her chest despite her irritation.
“No, honey. I'll be okay.”
Crystal gave her a worried look.
“Are you sure?”
Terra nodded.
“I'm sure.”
She wasn't, exactly, but Orlov was just a man. A creepy, handsy man, but still only a man. Terra had dealt with his kind before.
As she stood and adjusted the straps of her high heels, however, she couldn't help thinking about Taurex again.
The huge Monstrum had been nearly eight feet tall. His hands could probably span her entire waist, and his horns alone were wider than some of the VIP booths. He was the most physically intimidating male Terra had ever met in her life.
And yet she hadn't had to tell him twice not to touch her–not even once, really.
He had watched her dance completely naked and kept both hands to himself until she'd actually begun to fall after her orgasm. Even then, he'd only caught her hips to keep her from hitting the floor.
And when she'd told him to leave, he'd left.
When she'd told Orlov not to touch her, he treated it like the beginning of a negotiation and then he tried to see how much he could get away with.
The thought followed Terra out of the dressing room and down the dim hallway toward the VIP lounge, but she tried to push it out of her head. She needed to get through the next fifteen minutes, collect whatever tip Orlov wanted to give her and get back on stage–that was all.
She just hoped she could make it through without slapping the slimy bastard.