Chapter 5—Tommy #2
But now I know she can’t be more than in her early twenties, if that.
Her jawline is straight, like I expect they want in a prima ballerina.
Her blonde hair is tied tight to her head in a bun, either from repetition with dance or just for ease with her aerial movements.
Her eyes, wide and doe-like, pull me in to a point that I have to adjust in my seat to hold myself back and let her run this show.
I can’t see their color, something I wish I could. I would even pay extra if she showed me. Telling me wouldn’t do them justice, as I bet they’re just like the rest of her, more than a simple color or category. Because she’s more than just a dancer. More than a stripper. Just more.
Her movements become bold as she raises one leg and slides it over mine before doing the same with the other, sitting on me and then adjusting to allow her knees to slide into the space between my legs and the sides of the chair to kneel.
I raise my eyebrows when she just waits there.
With a nod, either to me or herself, she slowly lowers herself and rocks her hips. Her hands stay firmly on the armrests on either side.
Honestly, it’s not the worst lap dance. Not in the top ten, or even thirty, I’ve had, but not the worst. Though that’s only because the girl puked on my shoes after.
“Where did you learn that?” I speak up, hoping it will reduce some of her anxiety. But from the flinch at my voice, I fear I worsened it.
“Learn what?” She seems genuinely confused, and I can only guess the thoughts going through her head. I doubt she thinks I’m complimenting her moves, at least not since she’s been in this room.
“The floating through air on sheets thing.” I use my hand to mimic what she did in the air, flittering it about beside us. Doing everything to not touch her more than she’s touching me.
“Took a class.”
I huff at her response. Another thing I bet no one taught her along with dancing: how to talk to the paying customers. She’s meant to be alluring. Teasing. Sometimes slutty. But never honest.
“What’s your name?” Not sure why I keep talking. Her movements have gotten better-ish. More sliding over me rather than bouncing on a yoga ball. But her voice? I like it. It’s soft, not harsh from smoking like so many strippers. It’s not the baby voice others put on either. It’s real. Like her.
“The Crown Jewel, but you can call me CJ.”
I glare at her words. I don’t like them. That’s what everyone else calls her. That’s not what I want to call her. “What’s your real name?”
Her moves falter.
“Jessica.”
“Liar.” I find myself smiling at her, proud that she didn’t tell me the truth. I know it’s a lie even if I don’t know her personally. She is many things, but not a Jessica. I’d bet my entire inheritance on it, and I’ve got a lot to inherit.
Time suspends between us as the songs continue and she keeps her movements going. The longer I sit, the better she gets. Not amazing, but more relaxed enough to bend her arms so they’re not rigid wooden planks gripping the armrests for dear life.
“Not much of a talker, huh?”
“Didn’t think you paid for that.”
I’m not sure who’s more surprised at her words, me or her. She stops moving completely, covering her mouth with her hand as if that would have stopped me from hearing what she said, while I swallow my spit and choke on it.
“S-s-sorry. I didn’t mean to. I….”
Her words trail off as I shake my head and attempt to clear my throat, all while trying to keep my distance. Which isn’t easy since when she stopped talking, her ass landed on my thighs and she’s now sitting comfortably on me. She’s completely oblivious to it, of course.
I really wish I had a drink right now. Water, whiskey—hell, even milk would work, but I have nothing to help me other than time.
“It’s fine.” I don’t have to speak. I don’t have to do anything, really. I already paid, and apparently I can do whatever the hell I want. But the need to comfort her and let her know it’s fine is burning in my soul. “You did nothing wrong. I was just surprised is all.”
“By what?” Again, her damn honest and childlike questions are all I need to know she wasn’t born from this world and should probably never be here.
I shake my head as I look away, but her persistence in not moving, just looking at me, spurs me into explaining more as I turn my eyes back to her.
“Never had someone call me out like that before. It’s the second time in one night that I’ve been unable to come up with a quick comeback.
Doesn’t happen much.” I shrug it off, playing my role like I’m meant to.
The playboy who’s just here to party. A pretty face.
Nothing more. Even if she can’t see me. Even if she’s clearly not from the same world I grew up in and live in daily.
“When was the first?”
I study her closely as I reply, trying to see if she’s as pure as she appears or if there’s something that will tell me she’s just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Wouldn’t be the first time a chick tried to be something they weren’t. “My brother told me he wouldn’t fuck me even if I paid him.”
“Did you want him to?” Her response is quick, and I doubt she thought it through based on her eyes going wide and now both hands covering her mouth and hanging on tight.
A surprised laugh floats out of my mouth.
“Sorry,” she mumbles behind her hands.
I shake my head, a small smile breaking out across my lips. “You’re….”
I leave the unknown out there too long for her, and she lowers her hands to speak. “Awkward?”
“Refreshing.”
Her eyes pop open more as I stare openly at her.
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t act coy. Just holds my stare as her body moves again.
This time there’s no stiffness. No holding herself away from me.
Her hands crawl to my lower stomach but don’t go farther up or down as she moves her hips.
This time she follows the music, listening to the beat and feeling it in her body.
I should put distance between us; she is an employee, after all. Tell her to go back to the stage. To do another dance for me. Anything but what she’s doing.
When my phone rings, I don’t answer it. She notices. Or at least looks at the pocket where the buzzing is coming from. But my eyes don’t wander around the room. The truth is, I can’t look away.
I’m held captive.
Till the lock disengages and the spell is broken. The sound is loud enough for both of us to know our time is done. The relief on her face is obvious, and I’m starting to understand that it’s not me she feared but being in the private room. One where anything could happen to her.
She climbs off me and doesn’t even look back as she exits, though I watch her the entire time. The quickness in her steps to escape me and this room only adds fuel to the hellfire I want to rain down on Carl.