To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  His lips part like he wants to say something, but instead he leans forward and presses an unbearably soft kiss on my right breast.

  I moan quietly, my inner walls clenching so hard I have to lean into him.

  He does it again. His lips dance across my exposed skin, teasing and kissing beneath my nipples, while his hands squeeze my ass and he moves me with him. We’re grinding together to the music.

  “How does it feel?” His voice vibrates through me as I quiver everywhere. I let out a soft sound that’s not really a word, and he gasps under my movements. “Hm? How does it feel to tease me like this? An older man… One you can’t have.” His thumbs brush in small circles on my flesh through my fishnets. “Does it turn you on?”

  “Yes.” My answer comes out like a plea, his sweet, hot mouth continuing to leave delicate kisses all over my breasts while I ride his cock through his pants.

  “Show me how badly you want it,” he growls, nuzzling my nipples beneath the hot pink hearts.

  “God, Lazarus…” I’m dizzy as my hips rotate, his hard cock sitting directly beneath the apex of my thighs.

  “In this room, we’re not us, okay? I’m not Lazarus and you’re definitely not Tracien. You’re Trixie. And Trixie shows her customers a good time.”

  I mewl and nod fast, biting down on my lip while I go to town, rubbing myself so sturdily on the stiffness through his pants, I swear I could come any minute.

  My hands find his chest and I touch him, sensually, grating my nails over the hardness in his pectorals through his shirt. We keep moving, keep breathing, rough and unsteady, him thrusting up to me while I rock down on him, watching his tongue peek out to graze my supple peaks.

  I can’t believe he’s doing this with me.

  He’s here. He’s mine.

  “You taste like candy.” His fingers dig into my ass so hard I’ll have bruises. I love it. “I’m dying to taste between your thighs.”

  “Mmm do it. Please,” I beg, to which he chuckles deviously.

  “That’s something I can’t do, beautiful girl,” he slow-blinks, and I feel him throbbing between my thighs, even through his pants and my panties.

  I know he feels the bliss we’re working up to, but internally he’s still resisting it.

  His lips subtly shiver on my skin. “Jesus, what the fuck am I doing…?”

  “Please don’t stop.” Moving more steadily now, the feeling in my core climbs higher and higher. And I chase it, ready to give in. “Lazarus.”

  I grab his face. I know he said he wasn’t him in here, but I can’t play the pretend game with Lazarus. He’s the only person I want.

  His eyes set on mine and he swallows visibly. They drop to my mouth.

  “Please…” I want so much from him, but more than anything, I want him to give in.

  He shakes his head a little in protest, but then abandons his reservations and presses his lips to mine, tender and hesitant.

  So fucking euphoric, I immediately erupt into a mystifying orgasm.

  Riding his hips, I kiss him harder, faster, with no real idea what I’m doing, just sucking and biting on his mouth in between breathing out his name over and over and fucking over, the walls of my insides pulsing through throbs that almost match the tempo of the music.

  Lazarus holds me to him, pushing his tongue in my mouth and tasting me; tasting my lust while I come on his lap, trembling for minutes on end.

  “Traci… fuck…” he groans, fisting a hand in my hair to kiss me deeper.

  This is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. We’re connected right now.

  My Lazarus.

  The inner contractions eventually stop, but the kisses don’t. They go on for many easy, intoxicating minutes, his tongue tracing mine, our lips advancing on one another. Lazarus kisses like he was put on this earth to do it; hungry, raw and captivating. He’s my own slice of heaven, right here in the back room of this dingy strip club.

  I recover from my debilitating climax, though these slippery, erotic kisses are working me up all over again. I’m insatiable for this man. I can easily see myself becoming a slave to him. If he would let me…

  My hand drops between us to rub up on his generous package, still rock-hard and pushing through his pants in an almost unforgiving manner. Lazarus grabs my hand to stop me, pulling back from our magnetic kisses. I pout at him and he exhales slowly.

  “This has to stop now,” he breathes in a sufficiently hoarse voice.

  “But you didn’t come…” I whine, something like elation flashing across his face, though he quickly replaces it with one of his scolding looks.

  “I’m not going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager, Traci,” he grumbles, and my cheeks flush hotter than they already were.

  “You mean like I just did?” I sit back on his lap and cross my arms over my chest, meaning to look sassy, but it pushes my tits together and he can’t stop gawking at them, which is incredibly satisfying.

  “Pretty much,” he leans back, having returned to his usual unaffected self. I hate how he does that, just flips a switch and becomes a dick again. He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You know, strippers aren’t supposed to come while giving lap dances.”

  “Yea, well, that wasn’t just a lap dance…” I mutter, feeling naïve and insecure all over again.

  He’s quiet for a moment, blinking at my face, apparently dumbfounded. I want to laugh, but then I’m not feeling very giggly right now.

  “What was it then?” My gaze drops in humiliation, ignoring his question, until he tugs my chin, forcing me to look at him again. “What was it, Trix?”

  “Come on, Lazarus.” I shake my head. “You already know…”

  Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me admit out loud how unbearably infatuated I am with your grouchy ass.

  He stares at me for a while, eyes wide, looking so out of his element I almost start to feel bad. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but I can’t control my emotions around him. I lose all semblance of control with this man.

  He’s my complete and utter weakness.

  There are no more words we can say. So instead of talking, I cuddle up on his lap and tuck my face into his neck, just breathing him in. His scent and the slightly rapid way his heart is beating into my chest calm me; they mollify me until my eyelids droop and I drift.

  His fingers comb through my hair methodically, while his other hand rests protectively on my thigh, holding me in place on top of him. I’ve never felt safer in my entire existence.

  Despite the choppy waters between us, Lazarus storming in here tonight and paying to take me off the floor was like something out of a twisted fairy tale. He’s like my dark knight.

  Except he doesn’t want to be. And he’s not allowed to be.

  “You changed your hair…” he murmurs by the top of my head while twisting a strand of my newly blackened locks between his fingers.

  “Yea,” I sleepily sigh.

  Uncertainty tightens my chest. Of course I didn’t change my hair for him, but I’m in love with him. I obviously want him to like it.

  Insecurities swarm my thoughts until he says, in a barely audible voice, “I love it.” Then he drops a kiss in my messy hair.

  My smile is so big it covers my whole face. And my whole heart.

  “Quit this job, Traci,” he whispers a firm command.

  But I’m too busy grinning at how unexpectedly sweet he is every once in a great while.

  Still, I whisper back to him, “Not a chance, Scary Spice.”

  When my eyes peel open, I think I’m dreaming, because there are soft lips brushing along my neck, pressing even softer kisses behind my ear. I’m momentarily nervous I’ve taken too many of my pills; that I died and somehow wound up in heaven due to a mix-up with God’s paperwork.

  But I quickly realize I’m not dreaming, nor am I in heaven. I’m lying on a chaise lounge in the Champagne Room at the grimy strip club where I work, though I couldn’t give the tiniest fuck about my location right n
ow, because I’m being spooned by Lazarus Weston, his big arms wrapped snugly around my waist while he pushes his erection against my butt and nuzzles me.

  It occurs to me that he must be dreaming, because there’s no way he’d openly be doing this without putting up a solid internal fight first. I can tell by the gentle rocking of his hips and his calming breaths that he’s in between reality and dreamland for sure.

  “Laz,” I hum as the solid ridge of his clothed cock brushes my ass.

  From the limited times I’ve been presented with Lazarus’s dick recently, I’m beginning to think it must be huge. There almost seems to be no end to it. It feels like it goes on for miles.

  “Make me feel good…” he mumbles, partially incoherent. It brings a lazy smile to my lips.

  I spin in his arms so I can look at him, wasting no time allowing my fingers to trace the angles of his perfect face, symmetrical and naturally contoured like a sculpture.

  He’s a true work of art. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

  Our bodies meld together, writhing in slow motion while my lips find his neck and I kiss his pulse.

  “I can’t have you…” he breathes, sounding pained and yet determined in his words. It weighs heavy on my heart.

  I wish it wasn’t true. I just wish he wasn’t my dad’s best friend. I don’t care about the twenty-two years between us in age, though I’m sure he does. But to me, it makes no difference.

  The thing that makes us impossible is also the only reason we’re in each other’s lives to begin with: my father. He’s the link between us, and the sturdy wall keeping us forever separate.

  Lazarus shifts suddenly and blinks his eyes open, fluttering them around for a moment while he reacquaints himself with his surroundings. I expect him to slither away fast, but he doesn’t. Instead, he trails his fingers up my back and along the nape of my neck, while gazing at me so intensely I can barely find my breath.

  Fingertips glide the line of my jaw, his thumb grazing my lower lip. His eyes drop to my mouth and mine close like a reflex, awaiting his kiss. I’m desperate for it. Now that I’ve tasted him, I need more of his lips like my next fix. Fully addicted.

  But when I don’t feel them, I reopen my eyes to catch him biting his own lip in uneasy contemplation. He clears his throat and lifts his wrist to check his watch.

  “It’s ten minutes to close.” He releases me with a sweep of his hand down the length of my body before sitting up. “I can’t believe we fell asleep on this thing. Who knows how many bodily fluids are on here.”

  I snort out a laugh and he glares at me, though I can see the amusement dancing in his slate eyes.

  “I can’t believe we just slept in here…” I sit up, stretching out my arms. “What a waste of the Champagne Room.”

  “I seem to remember you enjoying yourself before you passed out,” he smirks and stands, brushing off his shirt.

  My cheeks heat at the memory of grinding on his dick, exploding into orgasm while moaning his name into his mouth. It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me, and completely against my job description.

  If Kurt ever finds out, I’m sure I’ll be fired. Too bad I don’t really give a tiny rat’s ass about this job.

  “Don’t act like it wasn’t good for you,” I tease him, standing up slowly on shaky legs, almost toppling over in my giant heels. “But if you need help getting rid of those blue balls, all you have to do is ask.”

  I grin and bat my eyelashes as he scowls.

  “I don’t have blue balls,” he mutters, but I can sense his discomfort in the way he keeps fidgeting around. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “Can we please get the fuck out of this place before I contract hepatitis or something?”

  I roll my eyes and stomp toward the door. “Fine. I just have to change and get my things. Meet me out front.” But I pause when his words actually sink in, turning to him. “Where are we going?”

  Lazarus sighs, running a hand through his hair. “As much as I’d love to deliver you back to Damien, I know you won’t give in that easily. So I’ll take you home… To wherever it is you’re calling home these days.”

  I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear. “My apartment is only a ten-minute walk from here.”

  His face instantly morphs into one of horror. “You walk here? In this fucking neighborhood, by yourself… At night??”

  His eyes grow fiery once more, and he looks like he’s two seconds from Hulking out, so I lie.

  “No, I take an Uber. Unless Merci is working the same shift, then she drives me,” I attempt to convey sincerity, hoping to calm him down before he bursts a blood vessel in his neck. “I only suggested walking because you’re with me.”

  “Yea, well, even I can’t protect us from a drive-by gone wrong, Traci.” He rubs his forehead, as if I’m testing his patience. “Jesus, it’s like you have no consideration for your own safety. Do you even know how devastated we would be if something happened to you?” He pauses to clear his throat. “I mean, your dad would blame himself, and I can’t let him suffer anymore. He’s been through enough.”

  His words strike a nerve and I bark, “So have I! News flash, my father isn’t the only one who lost her! I’m not a kid anymore, and I’m trying to find my way, so you can either shut up and walk me home or say goodnight and leave. Your call, Lazarus.”

  His eyes round in shock as he gapes at me, baffled by my outburst. I’m sure people rarely speak to the Lazarus Weston, billionaire playboy and business mogul, like this.

  But I’m not those people. I’m me, and I’ve had just about enough of him treating me like a baby.

  It takes him a moment to recover before he nods. “Okay. I’ll walk you home.”

  Pursing my lips, I leave the room, a sliver of satisfaction breaking through my chest.

  I head to the changing rooms where I wash the excessive makeup and glitter off my face, then change into shorts and a hoodie. Grabbing my bag, I leave through the front, waving at Viktor the bartender and Dante the bouncer on my way out, stepping through the front door into the muggy air of late summer in Miami.

  Lazarus is leaning against the building waiting for me, and I have to stop to acknowledge how bizarre it is that he’s here right now. I still can’t believe he showed up tonight, and that even more inappropriate stuff transpired between us.

  But wrong or not, my heart rocks steady in my chest just looking at him as I wander closer, watching him smirk and hold out a hand for me. I slide my fingers through his and we walk toward my apartment, holding fucking hands. I must have slipped through a wormhole somewhere, because this can’t possibly be my life.

  The streets are relatively quiet tonight, though you can hear softened music and cheers of people partying nearby; the occasional revving of speeding cars racing through the night, likely delivering drugs or Fast and Furious-ing things.

  Little Haiti gets a bad rep sometimes, and most of it has been dissolved into Wynwood at this point, but honestly in the week or so I’ve lived here, I haven’t seen what all the fuss is about. It’s just a bunch of families who happened to be less well-off than the ones my dad and Lazarus live amongst. Okay, maybe way less well-off, but still, I’ve yet to feel unsafe. Actually, the neighbors from our apartment building seem like they’d stick their necks out for us if we needed it.

  People around here have loyalty and dedication in their marrow. They’re not fake, like the people I grew up around. When you’re raised without money, you learn what really matters. Love, honor, and family.

  Ten minutes later, we’re in front of Merci’s and my building. I stop before Lazarus and grin up at his face, shadowed by the lack of working street lamps.

  “This is me.” I squeeze his hand tighter when he tries to release mine.

  He looks over the exterior of my new home and his forehead lines. “Traci, this place looks…”

  “Like where you grew up?” I blurt out, but immediately regret it as his eyes flick down to mine, his jaw ticking v
isibly. I’m prepared to apologize profusely, when he interrupts me.

  “Exactly,” he narrows his gaze. “So I should know this is the kind of place you escape, not run away to.”

  “That was different, Lazarus. Your family was fucked up. Here I have Merci and our neighbors. The people who live in this building are really great. My friends at the yoga studio, too. I’ve never had people like this in my life before. I finally feel like… Like I belong somewhere.”

  He does that thing where he stares at me in silence for a minute, considering my words, like he’s putting together parts of an equation. I can see his mind working, looking at all the variables to my situation, to determine if there’s any way I could be making sense.

  Eventually he nods warily. “Well? Are you going to show me inside or what?” He raises his brows and my stomach flutters like no one’s business.

  He actually wants to come inside with me?? Oh my God… What if he wants to spend the night?! Jesus, I’m going to pass out.

  Breathing in slowly through my nose, I smile, tugging my keys out of my purse and walking him to the door, my left hand still clasped around his right.

  Inside, we climb the three flights of stairs to my apartment, passing Hugo, Hector and Big D, who are playing dice in the hallway, drinking Dos Equis. They look up as we pass by, and I give them a little wave, to which they nod, all their eyes locked on Lazarus. I’m not sure what they’re thinking, but it must be about how he’s visibly older than me, though his tattoos probably give him a lot more cred than if he was just some stuck-up suit.

  We head inside the apartment and I immediately know Merci’s home because I can hear her TV blaring from behind her closed bedroom door. Tossing my stuff on the kitchen table, I finally let go of Lazarus’s hand to open the fridge.

  “Want something to drink?” I offer, going for a bottle of water myself.

  Lazarus ignores me for a moment while he investigates my new home, poking around at things as he goes.

  “No thanks,” he rumbles with his back to me, wandering into the living room.