by K. Webster
“Oh, you’re naughty.” Her smile lets me know she can be naughty too.
I’m already loving this atmosphere tonight. The room is dark, everything made from a cherry wood, and the chicks walking around in corsets make things that much more fun. When Kenny suggested a burlesque club, I laughed my ass off at him. Normally, we hit high-end strip clubs. He promised, though, that Gentleman’s Burlesque was really fucking hot. So, being the good friend that I am, I agreed to check this shit out.
I turn my attention back to the waitress who’s eying me with interest. “Tonight, babe, my friend and I are getting fucked up. How about you bring him and me a couple of shots of something strong?”
She leans in conspiratorially and I’m awarded a view of those perfect tits that are so close I could have a sample. “If you want to get fucked up, I’ll bring you some mastika. You’ll need something to chase it with, and I’ll bring you a watermelon and white brine appetizer. There’s no way you can drink that stuff without something in your stomach.”
I’ve never even heard of the shit, but I’m always adventurous to a fault. I pull out my wallet and set it on the table. After flipping it open to the wad of hundreds I brought for our night out, I slip two out.
“Thanks for the suggestion, pretty girl.” I grin and tuck the two bills into her cleavage.
Her eyes widen momentarily because we both know it’s against the rules to touch the women, but once she realizes that nobody saw our little exchange, she winks and nods. After she bounces off to fill my order, I pull out my phone to text Kenny.
Me: What the fuck, Kenny Mouse? Where are you man?
My eyes scan the room, looking for my manager, who’s become a close friend recently now that Chaz and Bobby are too busy playing the daddy roles.
Kenny: I’m sorry, D. I got roped into a conference call with an overseas rep from Sony. Apparently I got shit fucked up on my calendar. I can’t miss it, dude. As soon as it’s over, I’ll meet you for drinks.
I sigh in frustration. Lately, all I ever do is spend time alone. This morning, when I woke up to the dark-haired pistol in my bed and felt like a loser when she left me, I realized I’m just a lonely motherfucker that craves the attention of anyone—even from some random chick who already hates me and we haven’t even slept together.
I’m still baffled at how much I wanted that woman this morning. To be honest, if I knew how to get ahold of her, I’d suggest a real date. I’m sick to fucking death of the same old lonely shit in my life. I want to find someone real in my life, and the moment I laid eyes on her two nights ago, she burned a little mark in my brain. I can’t stop fucking thinking about her and I don’t even know her name.
“Here you are, sugar. The crowd’s picking up. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” The waitress grins as she sets down four shots of the shit she suggested, two bottles of Red Stripe, and some nasty-looking watermelon squares with picks pinning them to cheese. Then she flutters off to help some other tables.
I pick at the food and curl my lip in disgust. This is absolutely something my mother would have at one of her dinners. Just the thought of my mother brings my mind to my father. I, like always, replied and told him that I’d be at their Christmas dinner. The thought of seeing him makes me want to flip the table over in front of me, but when I think about sweet Daphney, I can’t help but smile.
God, I miss that girl. She may be my little sister, but what she lacks in size, she makes up for with fire. I’ve never seen someone take on life with such power and strength. She’s a tough cookie and can bring a grown man to his knees with just a look or a few choice words. In med school, she was in the top of her class and put all the men there to shame. She definitely has that quality, which our dad also possesses—I certainly don’t have it. I’m nothing like my mother either, so I’m thinking I must have been adopted. I smile at a memory of just that.
“Dappy, I have something very important to tell you. You’re going to want to sit down.” I keep my face as straight as I can.
My sister’s twelve-year-old eyes are already filling with tears of apprehension. I’m always such a goof that, when I’m serious, she worries.
“Give it to me straight, Do-Do.” She lifts her chin and braces herself bravely for my news.
I love her so much. Most teen boys hate their annoying little siblings, but Dappy is my best friend. She’s been my saving grace since the moment I held her in my arms at the hospital and finally had an ally against my father.
“I’m not your real brother.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “What? How can that be? Donnie, that’s not possible!” Her voice is shrill, and she nearly knocks me over when she tackles me with a tight hug.
“I definitely don’t have the golden genes like you got from Dad, so he’s definitely not my father. And Mom, well… I’m pretty sure she was made at the Mattel factory.” I’m biting my lip hard, trying to keep the hysterics at bay. But eventually, they win over and I roar with laughter.
“Do-Do! You’re a shithead!” she gripes as she begins to pull away.
I yank the rubber band on her perfect ponytail a bit to mess it up. “You can’t say shithead, shithead,” I tease.
She breaks from me and starts smoothing her hair back to adjust it. “I hate you, Donnie,” she grumbles.
But she doesn’t hate me. The girl loves me just as much as I love her. “No, you don’t, Crappy Dappy.”
She sticks out her tongue to make her point, but when I pull a goofy face she gives in and smiles back.
With a sigh, she agrees. “Ugh, no. You’re still my favorite idiot.”
The dimming of the lights snaps me from my thoughts of Daphney, and I turn to look at the stage. I’ve never been to a burlesque club before, so I’m not sure what to expect. When the sultry music begins, I pick up one of the shots, quickly slamming it back.
Fuck me!
That shit is intense. The chick wasn’t playing when she said that I’d need a chaser. I swallow down half the Red Stripe to force away the fiery burn in my chest. Ultimately, it dissipates and I grin. Whatever that shit is, I like it. This time, when I gulp down the second shot, I’m ready with my beer.
“Gentlemen—and a few brave ladies—welcome to our show. Tonight, our headliner is a crowd favorite. There’s no introduction needed, but please hold on to your seats because you’re about to get blown away,” the deep-voiced announcer booms in a theatrical voice.
I roll my eyes. Kenny didn’t tell me that it was a fucking show. Being a Vegas baby born and bred, I quickly became immune to the shows. I bring both of the shots designated for Kenny over to my side of the table and suck them both down effortlessly. I’m feeling aggravated because I’m not even feeling buzzed after four shots. There’s no telling what that chick sold me, but if I had to guess, it was the most expensive item on the menu.
Just as I’m about to wave her down to pay my tab so I can bail, thunder cracks through the speakers. The stage begins to smoke slightly around the bottom but then billows out more strongly, creating a foggy effect. The lights dim almost completely, and with every crack of thunder, the stage lights up as if lightning is in the building. I have to give it to them—it’s pretty badass. As a performer, I can appreciate a fucking cool-as-shit production.
The sound effects now include some torrential rain sounds and powerful wind. It’s fucking insane.
“Please welcome,” the announcer roars excitedly, “Lady Hurricane!”
The crowd goes wild, and several people have approached the stage. I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation to see what woman is creating such a fucking storm.
A deep, sensual voice floats through the sounds of the wind and something niggles at me. Something about that voice is familiar, and I need more than anything to see the face it belongs to. She’s still singing in the dark when I begin to feel the numbness crawl its way through my body. Fucking hell, those shots are getting to me.
A spotlight suddenly shines on the floor on th
e stage and an exceptionally long leg in fishnet hose in very high heels with a strap around the ankle eases its way into the light. This makes people go crazy, and they push up against the stage to see more of her. Fuck, I need to see more of her as well. I stuff my wallet in my jeans and stand on very wobbly legs. My vision has begun to spin and double.
My eyes are glued to the stage, though, as I start clumsily making my way toward it. When she places her foot on the ground, she pivots and we’re all awarded a view of the backside of her incredibly long leg. My cock thickens as I imagine rolling my tongue up the seam that runs all the way up to her still-hidden ass.
Her other leg comes into view and she bends her body over, finally revealing what I knew would be perfection. The swell of her ass is uncovered. A thin shred of a black thong runs between those creamy cheeks. I sway to the left before catching my bearings, and getting closer to her. Her sultry voice is penetrating my very soul, and I’m crazy with need for this woman.
The light stretches to reveal more of her as she leaves her bent-over position and stands erect. My cock rises with her. Long, wavy, mocha-colored hair cascades down her slender body before ending about midway down her back. All the blood has officially left my head as my dick now throbs uncontrollably at the thought of fisting that dark hair as I plunge deep inside of her from behind.
I go for blondes. But tonight, I sure as fuck don’t.
I’m too fucked up to pay attention to the lyrics, but I’m one hundred percent focused on this woman as I push past a few people who make room for me to squeeze between them and the stage.
Eagerly, I wait for her to reveal her entire self, but suddenly, the lights go completely black. A low roar of anticipation from the crowd rumbles through the room. When another crack of thunder, the loudest yet, booms through the club, electric-white light uncovers the mysterious Lady Hurricane.
My eyes greedily drink her up from the runway-model legs up to the barely there thong and along the slender curves of her body encased in a black corset that’s trimmed with white lacy frilly shit. Lickable—although not that large considering her popularity on stage—tits practically spill out of the top of her tight costume. More dark hair falls around her shoulders. That neck… Fucking hell, it looks like it’s just waiting for me to mark it up. Then my eyes zero in on a dark place on it that’s clearly been covered by makeup. A fucking hickey. The growl in my throat escapes me at the thought of another man savoring this beauty.
I grip the stage as another wave of dizziness passes through me. Of all nights to get fucked up, why’d it have to be tonight? Blinking the haze away, I continue my visual tasting of the delicacy before me. Her jawline is strong yet feminine. Dark-burgundy lipstick stains her just-barely plump lips, and I imagine what sort of trouble I’d have trying to get it off my cock later.
Oh, the troubles of being a man. What a difficult life…
Her nose is small and cute, but when I make my way to her eyes, I feel anger seep into my veins.
Toffee-colored eyes rimmed in dramatic, black liner with long, dark lashes blink seductively at the crowd. I fucking know those eyes.
Lady.
She continues her sexual singing as she prances provocatively across the stage. When my eyes scan those around me, I find horny, fucking lust-filled eyes—and I see red. I have no ownership over this woman, but dammit, she was normal. She didn’t fit the bill of the fucked-up world I belong in and that’s why I wanted her. Now that I see her owning the stage like fucking Queen of the Earth, I feel betrayed.
This cannot be the same fucking woman with the bushy bedhead and wrinkly-ass clothes from this morning. No fucking way.
The alcohol that’s burning through my veins is clouding my judgment and confusing the fuck out of me.
“I’d fucking abuse the hell out of that pussy, brother,” the beefhead asshole from beside me laughs as if we’re fucking buddies or some shit.
“You won’t fucking touch her,” I growl menacingly at him.
His eyes widen at my insane ownership of her and he backs respectfully away. My eyes must be rage filled at this point. When I snap my head back to my lady, I watch her slide to her knees in front of me. She’s still playing the crowd with her teasing smiles as she sings, but I’m fucking sick to my stomach. My glare burns right through her as I watch her do a thrusting-rolling combination of her pelvis practically right in front of my face.
She can’t fucking be on display for all of these fuckers. I claimed her already.
When her eyes land on mine, recognition immediately morphs her features into shock. She blinks several times as she shakily continues to sing. Before I have time to breathe sanity into my brain, I reach out and slip my fingers under the bottom of her corset just above the top of her panties and haul her to me. She quickly loses her balance and falls toward me, gripping my shoulders to steady herself. Unfortunately, I’m so fucked up at this point that I fall backwards with her and land hard on my ass on the floor.
There’s no way she can miss my hard-on because her legs are straddling me at my waist and she’s pressed firmly against my cock. Time freezes as she stares at me in disbelief of what I’ve just done. What the fuck did I just do?
“You’re s-s-afe, l-lady.” Fuck me, I’m slurring.
Her eyes narrow and she becomes furious. “What have you done, Donnie?”
I’m about to apologize when she’s yanked from me. Red once again blurs my vision, and I’m about to unleash my fury on whoever the fuck took her from me. Large, rough hands grab me up by the front of my shirt and haul me to my feet.
“Give her b-back to me, m-motherfuckers!” I scream at anyone who’ll listen.
With every other blink, I black out. The room spins as I feel myself being dragged away from her. My lady.
I’m being escorted protectively away from Donnie by one of the club bouncers, Bruno. Bruno is a massive powerhouse of a man and could probably break necks with his bare hands. You don’t mess with Bruno. But Bruno’s twin, Mario, is thicker and scarier. And Mario’s the one effortlessly dragging Donnie away with his arm hooked around his neck.
What just happened?
I haven’t even had a moment to think about what in the world just happened. One second, I was doing my thing on stage, hoping for some nice tips being that it was so busy, and the next second, I was locking eyes with him. Donnie.
When he pulled me off the stage, right into his lap, I was shocked at first. Then I was angry because he has no rights over me. But finally, I was worried for him. I saw the glassy look in his eyes and knew, just knew, he was completely messed up.
Where in the hell are his friends and family? It’s like he’s been left to the wolves to fend for himself. And for some reason, he keeps popping into my life. Like the idiot I am, I feel the need to freaking help him.
“Are you okay?” Bruno asks. His voice is so deep that he reminds me of a bullfrog croaking.
I nod my head as he ushers me into my dressing room. As he’s exiting, my manager, Lola, bursts in. She’s had more plastic surgery than Janice Dickinson. Her long, platinum-blond hair hangs board straight in front of her shoulders. I’m still in a daze as I watch her triple-E boobs bounce as she waves her hands wildly and babbles on about something.
“Nora! Are you even listening to me?” she demands in her high-pitched, squeaky voice.
My eyes fall to her big, pink lips. She had lip augmentation a couple of weeks ago and they still seem so swollen to me—surely they’re not supposed to look like that.
“Huh? Oh, yes. I’m fine. I know him,” I huff out. “Where are they taking him?”
She frowns at me. Frowning doesn’t really work for someone with that much Botox injected in their skin. I can’t help but think that she looks like one of those caricatures you have made at the fair that exaggerate your features. Lola is a cartoon in real life.
“Baby doll, we’ve already called the police. He can’t get away with putting his hands on you,” she says softly.
&
nbsp; “What? No. Tell them it’s not a big deal. He’s messed up on something and clearly isn’t in his right head. You can’t let the police get involved. The press will have a freaking field day!” I shriek and immediately begin yanking at the ties on my corset so I can change and stop them from taking him away.
“Nora, you know that’s policy. If anyone lays a finger on one of our girls, we call the police. End of story.”
I jerk off the corset and quickly put on my bra. It only takes a few moments before I’m dressed in my light-grey tracksuit, lacing up my tennis shoes.
“I have to help him,” I tell her as I snatch up my handbag.
Lola shakes her head but steps out of my way. “If you play with fire, Nor, you’re going to get burned. Anyone who pulls a woman from the stage like that is fire. Be careful.”
I don’t answer her back as I breeze past her and hurry to the office. When I burst through the door, it’s empty.
“Shit!” I grumble and push through the throng of people until I finally make it outside. I spot Bruno’s hulking frame right away. “Bruno, where is he?” I demand as I storm over to him. He furrows his brows at me. “The stupid motherfucker keeps digging himself further into a hole,” he grumbles and points to a squad car.
People are everywhere, snapping photos and recording his public failure. My heart sinks as I worry what the repercussions will be for him.
“What did he do?” I’m trying to see past the people to where Donnie’s being detained.
“He swung at a cop. Bad idea. They had him tackled and handcuffed in a flash. Had he just left the property like he was asked to, they’d have let him go with a warning. But the stupid asshole kept insisting that you go with him. What have you gotten yourself involved in, Nora?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders because I have no idea what I’ve somehow wrangled myself into. But now that I’m pulled in, I don’t see myself easily walking away. As the squad car drives off with the mysterious, lost soul of a man, I find myself running to my car, fishing my keys out along the way, and chasing after the man who needs someone in his court. And right now, that person is me.