by Kay Manis
“Rory,” she called again.
“Yes?”
“What did you think?” She swallowed hard. “Of my dance? My dance for you,” she added.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you? For other people?” My tone was more accusatory than I’d intended.
She pulled back as if I’d slapped her. “Why? Would that bother you?”
I sat up straight. “Hell yes, it would.”
She reared back, a snarl curling her lips.
“What?” I asked in shock. She couldn’t possibly think this wouldn’t bother me.
She remained silent, her brows knitted as she glared at me.
“Hindley, come on. Are you seriously asking me why it would bother me to find out that perverted old men have pawed at your naked body for money?”
Her jaw fell lax.
I wanted to feel bad for my harsh words but I didn’t. All I felt was a sick type of fury burning in my stomach at the thought of other men in dark, seedy places touching her.
She cocked her head and raised a brow. “So, have you ever been to a strip club before?”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
She pushed against my legs and rose to her feet, glaring at me with disgust. “It has everything to do with it. Answer my question, Rory.” She slammed her clenched fists to her hips as her eyes narrowed.
Fuck. I was totally screwed.
“Yes.” I finally answered.
“So what’s the difference between that woman dancing on your lap, and you being one of the perverted old men lusting after her?”
Sometimes I hated that she was such an attorney. I would never win against her arguments, she was too damn smart. Her reasoning was right though, I had been a dirty old perv.
“You think you’re better than that stripper, don’t you?” Her voice was louder now, echoing through the small space.
I jumped to my feet and approached her. “What the fuck do you expect me to say, Hindley? That I’m okay with this?” I waved my hand toward the pole. “With you being a stripper?”
“You’re just like everyone else.” She swept a hand through the air. “So judgmental.”
“Me, judgmental?” I cocked my head and stared at her in disbelief.
“Yes, you.” She poked my chest. “What you’re saying is, it’s disgusting for a woman to dance around naked for a man, but it’s perfectly fine for a man to let her?” She shook her head, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “God, you’re so hypocritical.”
“I’m not hypocritical or judgmental.”
“Oh, yeah?” she spat. “When you were in one of these clubs, did you pay a woman to sit on your lap and dance for you?”
Oh, shit. I knew where she was going with this, and I hated it. It was true, she was right. I had paid for women to do exactly what she’d done and had never thought twice about it. It had always been in fun, during a bachelor party or some other stupid shit like that.
“That’s what I thought.” She turned on her six-inch ‘Come Fuck Me’ pumps and stalked toward the velvet curtains.
I chased after her, grabbing her elbow and turning her to face me. “This is different, Hindley.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts higher. “How?”
I fought the urge to stare at her chest, which would only prove how much of a dick I was.
“It’s you.” I pointed to the pole. “It’s you. Up there.” I scrubbed my hands through my hair wanting to yank it out by the roots.
“So?”
“So. You don’t know what those fuckers are like in those clubs, Hindley.”
“It’s just dancing.”
“Maybe to you, but not to them.”
“You mean, not to you? Don’t forget, you’re one of those perverted old men, remember?”
I bit down so hard, I was afraid I might actually break a tooth. How was this girl getting the best of me?
She shifted her weight on her feet, jutting out a hip. “Just be honest with me, Rory.”
I steeled my features, wanting to argue but the truth was, she was right. It was a double standard, no matter which way you looked at it.
I had been hypocritical and judgmental. But the girl didn’t understand the way men’s minds worked.
It may have been a job to her, but to us sick fuckers, these women were dream girls, an image perpetually stuck in our mind as we whacked off later at home, or worse yet, in the bathroom stall of the fuckin’ strip club. I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat at the image.
“Do you think differently of me now because—” She swallowed hard.
How could she seriously expect me to be okay with her being a stripper if she couldn’t even say the word?
I stared up at the ceiling, trying to erase the image of her, bare ass naked on a stage as sick, perverted men licked their lips in anticipation of touching her milky white skin. I was seriously going to hurl.
“That’s what I thought,” she said in disgust. She yanked her elbow from my grasp as her heels clicked on the wooden floor.
“Wait, Hindley!”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
I slid in behind her, my body only inches away from hers, careful not to touch her in any way. “It’s not what you think.”
She turned to face me, the height of her shoes placing her gorgeous eyes directly across from mine. “What is it then?” she asked, her eyes softening.
“You’re right. I am a hypocritical, judgmental dick. It’s a double standard, and I’ve participated in it. It’s just…” I didn’t know how to articulate all the things that were racing through my mind. “Look, Hindley, you don’t understand how men think about shit like this. To you, it may be just dancing, but for them…” I had no idea how to express what I was feeling.
“For them, it’s more?” she finished.
“For some of them, it’s a lot more.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Some girls take it further.”
“Like prostitution?”
I nodded. I’d never done it but I knew guys who had.
“Yes, some of them do,” she said, “but not all dancers. In fact, most of them are extremely smart women who know how to take advantage of men who are dumb enough to pay money to see something they could probably get for free.”
“You’re asking me to completely change my way of thinking in one afternoon, change beliefs I’ve had for years. I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s wrong to think that way. I’m sure a lot of you are smart. I mean, look at you, you’re an attorney. It’s just. It’s you, Hindley.”
“I was never a stripper, Rory.”
It took several seconds for her words to register. “What?”
“I said I was never a stripper.”
“But, you just danced. And then, you were defensive of the lifestyle, and—”
“It’s not a lifestyle. It’s a profession, a means to an end.”
“Not a great means,” I added.
She shook her head.
“So, if you weren’t a stripper, how do you know about all of this?” I waved my hand around the vast room.
“I worked with them.”
“Doing what?”
“I designed their costumes and they taught me how to dance. It’s good exercise.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded.
My shoulders slumped in relief. She hadn’t been a stripper. Well, thank fuck for that.
“There you go again,” she huffed.
“What?”
“Your body language says you’re relieved to find out I wasn’t a stripper.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Hindley, but I am. Call me crazy, but the thought of men trying to touch you kind of sickens me. Just thinking of those bastards jerkin’ off to images of you in their mind makes me want to puke.”
She shook her head and stared at the floor.
“I know it may seem wrong to you but…” How
could I explain it to her without causing her to get angry again?
She lifted her head and stared at me. I had to get this right.
“How would you feel if you found out that I used to dance around on a table, completely naked and let women touch and fondle me?”
Her eyes widened with what I hoped was understanding. At least she was willing to see it from my point of view for once.
“But it doesn’t mean anything to the girls,” she said.
“But it does to the men, Hindley. We’re all sick motherfuckers. And trust me, if someone as hot as you shakes her ass in a guy’s face, he’s gonna dream about fuckin’ you for weeks. Hell, he’ll probably jack off to your image in the parking lot.”
Her head fell and she played with the chain of her outfit.
I reached out and lifted her chin until our eyes met. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair to judge. But men and women are different. I wouldn’t think any less of you if you told me you were a stripper.”
She yanked her chin from my grasp. “Sure,” she huffed.
“I mean it, Hindley. I couldn’t care less what’s happened in your past or what you’ve done. But you can’t expect me not to be affected in some way, not have a feeling about it one way or the other.” I waited for her to return my gaze, but she didn’t. Panic flooded me. Was I going to lose her over this?
I moved to stand in front of her again. “Hey,” I whispered.
She lifted her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?” she asked, her brown eyes wide.
“For judging you, for judging these women. I’ll never look at the profession the same again, I can promise you that.”
“But?”
“But it doesn’t mean it would be any easier to know that other assholes drooled over you and fantasized about you—knowing they went to bed at night jackin’ off to images of your naked ass running through their demented minds.”
“What?” she half laughed.
“I’m serious, Hindley. That’s the way guys are. We’re sick fuck bags. If you put eye candy in front of us, we’re gonna want a lick.”
“That’s a visual.” She giggled.
Oh, thank fuck. My girl was back. I grasped her in my arms but leaned back so I could see her.
“I meant what I said, Hindley. There’s nothing in your past that would make me love you any less.”
“Love me?”
Oh, shit. Had I just said love? Yeah, I had.
“Yes,” I answered honestly.
I did love her. I’d known it for a long time, I was just too scared to say it out loud, afraid to give her that kind of power over me. But after I watched her dance, and listened to her defend a profession that I’d judged so harshly, I realized she had a fire and a passion in her that I was addicted to.
She leaned in and kissed my cheek before pulling away to stare at me. She smirked, her eyes softer now, like she held a secret that could change the world.
“Give me a second to clean up then I want to take you to dinner.”
“Okay,” I said, thankful she wasn’t running for the door.
She turned and walked away, disappearing behind the curtains she’d entered through earlier.
I made my way back to the chair and collapsed with a huge sigh.
She wasn’t a stripper, thank fuck for that. But she was right. It was hypocritical to think that way. I had ogled strippers before. Was it all in fun? Did it matter? No, it didn’t. I’d taken advantage of them and you know what? Hindley was right. They were smart enough to charge me for it. Who was the dumbass now?
I closed my eyes, unable to stop the visions of Hindley dancing around that pole, splitting her legs, rubbing her little ass on my crotch had my soldier standing at attention, again. Shit. There was no way I was going to be able to walk anywhere or eat with this rod between my legs.
“What’s wrong?” Hindley said.
I opened my eyes and saw her standing in the doorway, holding a bag. God, how long had I been sitting here fantasizing of her?
She wore shorts and a T-shirt now. Her face was void of any makeup and her hair was slicked back in a ponytail. Whether she was dressed for the stage or a day at the beach, Hindley Hagen was gorgeous.
And I loved her.
But my dick was rock hard and desiring nothing more than to bury itself deep inside her. I prayed my face didn’t give away how weak I was. That was the last thing I wanted her to know, what a typical man I was.
She walked toward me and dropped her bag by the side of my chair. Kneeling down in front of me, she spread my knees apart.
Oh, fuck.
“Is something wrong, Rory?” she asked, one eyebrow arched high. “Is there something that we need to take care of before we eat?”
Holy shit.
“I’m really hungry,” she said softly, a spark of desire in her eyes. “But not for food. Not yet.” She licked her lips. “I could eat now and later.”
Holy motherfucker. What was she saying?
Before I could even ask, she raised up on her knees. Leaning into me, she reached for the button on my jeans and popped it open.
I sucked in a breath at the sound of my zipper giving way.
Against my better judgment, I stared down at her face.
“Okay?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.
Okay? Her lips on my dick was pretty much a necessity at this point.
She placed a small hand on my chest and gently pushed me back in the chair. “Show’s not over yet,” she whispered.
I fell back into my seat, watching as her head lowered, thinking how much I loved my Drunk Girl.
Chapter 13
-RORY-
I stretched out in the passenger seat of Hindley’s car as we drove away from what she’d declared, the best barbeque restaurant in Texas. I had to agree, the food was amazing.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said, rubbing my stomach.
“My pleasure.”
“Where are you taking me now?”
“Another surprise.”
“If it’s anything like my last one, I don’t know if I’ll survive.” I reached over and grabbed her hand but was surprised to see my sassy comment received no reaction from her. “Hey.” I drew her hand to my mouth and lightly kissed each finger.
Finally, she turned to look at me, her brow furrowed.
“Everything all right?”
“Umm.” Her gaze returned to the road.
“So, you really made that much money designing stripper clothes?”
She cut her eyes toward me, raising her brow.
I’d been derogatory. “Sorry, exotic-wear. Isn’t that what you called it?”
“Uh huh.”
“So how in the world does a girl go from law school to designing naughty clothes?”
“Actually, I went from designing naughty clothes to law school, if you want to be specific.” She drew in a deep breath and held it for several seconds.
I squeezed her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
“I swear I won’t judge, Hindley, I promise.”
“My friend, Regan, the one I told you about that owns the sex shop in Dallas?”
“Oh, yeah, I’d like to meet her.” I laughed.
“Well, she always told me I should be a stripper.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic, although I’d only want Hindley dancing for me.
“I knew I wanted to go to law school,” she said, oblivious to my thoughts, thankfully. “But Paul was having a difficult time financially and I didn’t want him to struggle anymore than he had to. And there was no way I was going to strap myself down with two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of student loans.”
“You made two hundred thousand dollars making these clothes?” I sat straight up, giving her my full attention.
“No.” She laughed. “If I had made that much money, I never would have gone to law school. I got grants and scholarships and stuff, but some of it I
made by sewing. Then my business grew.”
“Grew how?”
“Regan sold the outfits at her store. They caught on in the dancing world and it went from there. Then regular women wanted to dress naughty for their partners, so orders started coming in faster than I could keep up.”
“I could see that.”
“I’d design them and create a pattern then send it to Regan. She’d have them manufactured and altered in Dallas then ship them out to the customers, or sell them in her store. We worked our business together. I think she gave me most of the money, even though she did a lot of the work. She wanted to see me succeed, see me graduate from law school.”
“Do you still make them?” I asked. “These naughty clothes.”
“Why? Do you want to buy some to put in another Naughty Box and send it to my work?” She winked.
My Drunk Girl was becoming braver.
“Maybe.” I held up the barely-there outfit she’d worn earlier tonight. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I don’t know. It just never came up.”
“So, why now?”
“Honestly?”
I turned to face her, giving her my undivided attention. This was serious. “Of course, honestly. Always honest.”
She looked at me, her face riddled with an unspoken anxiety.
“I told you from the start not to put me on a pedestal, Rory,” she said. “You kept beating yourself up, thinking you were so far beneath me, like I was some perfect little rich girl from a lofty mansion high on an unattainable hill.”
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I still think you’re perfect.”
She smiled and something in my chest tightened. I loved making this amazing girl happy. For the first time in twenty-four hours, the tension in my body seemed to ease.
She pulled into a dead-end driveway. “We’re here.”
I glanced out from the windshield. Overgrown weeds surrounded the car and a dilapidated chain-link fence stood a few yards away on a hill. The place looked deserted and desolate. I was definitely not excited about this surprise.