by Penn Rivers
He’s a virgin.
She’s a stripper.
He’s a bouncer.
She needs protecting.
He’s falling hard, and hard where it counts.
She’s careful, but can’t deny how he makes her tremble with just a look.
Kanaan
A brutal past and a secret I’ve held tight my entire life have left me no desire to have a woman of my own. Until I see her, dancing on the main stage of The Sassy Sapphire, body stripped bare, eyes haunted. She awakened me, body and soul. But she has her own secrets. Ones that I intend to uncover, so that I can make her mine. I’ve chosen her to be my first, and if I’m lucky… she’ll also be my last.
Gemma
I’m running from a mistake. One I made when I was too young to realize the consequences. I trusted the wrong man, and now I can only put my faith in myself. Until a sexy, broody bouncer at the club I dance for changes all that. He unravels me. Plucks at the strings that hold me together, but what he doesn’t know about my past could hurt the most innocent person I know. My little son.
STRIPPED
For The Very First Time
By Penn Rivers
Stripped For The Very First Time
Copyright © 2017 by Penn Rivers
First electronic publication: March 2017
United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database, without prior written permission from the author, with the exception of brief quotations contained in critical reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this work may be scanned, uploaded, or otherwise distributed via the internet or any other means, including electronic or print without the author’s written permission.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Models: Nathan Hainline, Cassady Rose
Photography: Nathan Hainline
Cover design: Agent X
Penn Rivers
www.pennrivers.wordpress.com
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Chapter One
KANAAN
They say the good guys always finish last. I say they don’t fucking know a thing because I’m one, and I’ve got a sweet life. I’ve got money in the bank, a house all to myself, nice goddamn hair, and a job most assholes would kill for. I’m surrounded by naked beauties every night working at The Sassy Sapphire.
Nah, nice guys don’t finish last. But maybe they had a point. Maybe they didn’t finish first, because I sure as hell wasn’t exactly satisfied with this existence.
Or maybe I still hadn’t done enough good things to be called a nice guy. Maybe it would take my whole life to make up for my history.
Music was a thundering bass in my bones as I scanned the electric blue stage area, looking for any jackasses getting handsy. I wasn’t on shift yet. In five minutes I’d be working the door. But I felt the need to always be watching.
In my time at the club, I’d seen more than a handful of crazies. Angry spouses, ex-girlfriends or boyfriends. No one liked to find out their significant other was getting hard to someone else’s jiggling tits. Or that they’d spent the rent down the front of a g-string. But the most dangerous of them all was the occasional obsessed fan. The ones filled with delusions of getting between the legs of one of the dancers.
Marco ran a tight operation at the club. Safe girls were happy girls. Happy girls meant he kept the best in the business. And people paid more for the best.
Besides, I’d seen enough of females getting hurt to last a lifetime. I wouldn’t stand for it on my watch.
A girl worked the pole, swinging and twirling and contorting in unimaginable ways, working off of the fantasies written in the minds of the men who watched her.
Delilah.
She was bare except for the neon blue patch of fabric over her slit, held together with barely-there strings, and the silver stiletto heels on her slender feet. She was curvy in all the right places, with a set of tits so perfectly round they looked drawn into place. Pert nipples that almost gleamed in the flickering lights. Peach-shaped ass. Long, smooth legs. Tatted up arms, fuckable lips, big blue eyes, and waist-length blond hair that flipped and swung as she pretzeled expertly around the pole.
She had the guys slobbering and the other girls taking notes on her performance. She was damn near the best we had. She didn’t get dollar bills. Tens and twenties and hundreds rained down on her.
But… she did zero for me.
Marco called me broken. Because even though he’d been in this business since he was old enough to smoke a ciggy, and the sight of a pair of tits should have bored him stupid, Delilah could make him stop in his tracks and watch. “That one’s gold,” he’d say, shaking his head while he swirled the scotch in his glass.
But I wasn’t broken. It’d just taken the right girl to get me hot, and Delilah wasn’t my girl.
“Enjoying the view?”
Speak of the devil. Marco sidled up to the bar, leaning in to wave over Sal.
I grunted out a non-committal response.
“Aw, come on, Kane. You can’t bullshit me. That’s a heart-stopper right there.” He nodded to the stage, one eyebrow raising in appreciation.
“Your heart maybe.”
Marco frowned, but Sal’s imposing frame shadowed over us from the other side of the bar, his giant palms pressing into the countertop. “What are you two arguing about?”
As far as bartenders go, Salvatore Ricci was an unconventional one. He wasn’t a chatty type. He was brusque and to the point. He had no time for listening to your problems, but if he did lend his ear, you were bound to get an earful back. He’d tell you just what you could do about your problems and it usually ended with a suggestion to kill someone. Or at least fuck ‘em up good.
But Sal hadn’t really ever killed anyone.
I didn’t think so anyway.
I was pretty sure.
“Same old shit,” Marco drawled. “Give me a scotch will ya?”
Sal eyed me as he poured Marco’s drink. “He giving you hell about the girls again?”
Marco scoffed at Sal’s summary.
I shrugged, like I didn’t care. Because I didn’t. “Just offended I’m not drooling over his gold standard.”
Sal gave a wary stare, and I knew what he was thinking. Somehow, I resisted the urge to wink at him. But I wasn’t gay. I was one of those males whose dick is all tied up in feelings. My sexual desire was altered by my past, and couldn’t be helped. But I didn’t waste time begrudging what I was, and I didn’t see it as a handicap. I saw it as an asset. One day, some lady was going to get all I’d been saving. All the pent-up passion and lust. The touch I’d been keeping to myself. That shit had been building and building, like a bull pacing behind the start gate. But there was a woman out there who could take it, who would get me. The real me, all of me, let loose finally.
And it was going to blow her fucking mind.
“Yeah, well…” Sal started. “Damn, I was gonna say you could just take ‘im out back and shoot ‘im, but then I guess we’d all be out of a job.”
“True,” I agreed, and Marco rolled his eyes. I tapped the counter and backed away. Time for shift to begin. “Good thing shit-talking bothers me zero.”
Sal fired off a lazy salute, and Marco muttered, “Yeah, yeah�
� swirling his scotch.
I stalked toward the front entrance, grabbing a scanner and booting it up before taking Ralphie’s place checking IDs. It was still early, sometime between the afternoon sneak-a-show-in people and the fast and furious night crowd. I gave it an hour before the place was so packed it was standing room only.
Through the open door, I watched the night darken, keeping an eye out for a ratty looking Honda Civic. White, with gray primer covering the passenger side rear quarter panel. Around eight thirty, it rolled in, easing past the front entrance where I stood watch, and taking a spot toward the back of the parking lot.
My pulse quickened, thumping against my neck making me aware of the tight collar of my cotton t-shirt.
She was here. My girl.
Gemma Lane. They called her Gem for short.
Well, damn. She wasn’t mine. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But she was the first woman to ever make me feel something. Make me feel like I wasn’t dead inside. I welcomed the hot and cold warring within me every time she was around, because it was something.
Not gray, dead, nothing.
It was excitement and disappointment. My stomach twisted whenever our eyes met, but in a way that didn’t feel sick. She made me feel new things inside. She’d done that without even trying.
And she didn’t even know it.
No one did. And I planned to keep it that way.
I checked a few more IDs while she slowly approached. She always walked slow. I wondered if maybe it was because she dreaded coming to work. She didn’t perform like the other girls, though she was wildly popular among the patrons. She didn’t smile or flirt while she danced. No, her dances were somehow… emotional. Sultry, sexy, but… deep. Like she was working through some inner turmoil while she worked her hips to the music.
Gemma’s dances were art.
I’d tried not to watch her when she was on stage. It didn’t seem right. It was different than watching Delilah, because when I watched Gemma it wasn’t as a bouncer. It wasn’t with distance. It was as a man. One who would eat her up like candy if he wasn’t so fucked up.
She drew closer, and I straightened my shoulders, making sure my face gave nothing away. Her head was bent as she stared at her cell phone, thumb moving rapidly across the screen. Deep mahogany hair fell over her shoulder, shielding one side of her face, but I could see her features in the parking lot lights. Even in the harsh glow, damn… she was beautiful. Small nose, slightly crooked. Large, expressive eyes. Soft round cheeks. Prim little lips I wanted to match mine to in so many ways I was making a fucking list so I wouldn’t forget.
Soft, like a whisper.
Playful, like a partner.
Easy, like it was normal.
Hard, because I was overcome with lust.
Wet, so I could taste her.
Biting, to see how far I could push her.
Licking, so she’d remember she was mine.
I swallowed hard, gritting my jaw to make the visions of me kissing Gemma go away. But it didn’t work. My brain started filling in the details of her body.
I’d seen it twice. Only twice. I made sure I wasn’t around for her performances after realizing what she did to me. But twice was enough, because I had one hell of a fucking memory.
She was more lithe than curvy, and muscular. Breasts on the smaller side, tipped in tight pink buds. Hips that didn’t flare as much as the other girls’. But I knew she’d fit against my body as perfectly as a puzzle piece finding home. The right height to tuck her head under my chin when I held her. And light enough I could hold her with one arm while I fucked her standing.
Shit. Stop, Kane you fucking bastard.
I wasn’t one of those delusional assholes who stalked the girls. I was their protector. I couldn’t obsess over her like this. It wasn’t right.
She looked up suddenly, her grass green eyes finding me through the semi-darkness. Damn, I hoped my face was as blank as I usually felt.
I said nothing as she stepped inside. Just reached over to unhook the rope that blocked off the performers’ hallway. Her mouth—that sexy as hell mouth—turned up just a touch, and fuck all and everything, it made my dick jump.
Just the faintest hint of a smile did that. A fucking miracle.
I held the rope back and made room for her to pass, even though I wanted to block it partially so she’d have to brush up against my body. I wanted that, she didn’t. And there was no way in hell I was going to make this girl uncomfortable in a place she had to come to everyday to get paid.
Gemma stepped into the hallway, her clean perfume scent hitting me like a waterfall of oh-yes-more-please. I’d drown in that shit and not even regret it. Spend my last living moments sucking more of it into my lungs until my head spun and my world turned black. It was all I could do to keep from dragging her back to me and pressing my nose to her neck for more. I wanted to rub her all over me like a fucking dryer sheet. Just get it everywhere so I could keep it with me all day.
Shit.
Practically shaking from restraint, I carefully reattached the rope and looked up, expecting to get a view of her back as she walked toward the dressing rooms. But she’d stopped just a few steps away, still holding her phone in one hand but not looking at it. Instead, her eyes were on me. They were guarded. I imagined that’s what mine looked like too.
“Thank you, Kane.” Her voice was very quiet. The thumping music from the main room of the club almost drowned her out.
But… thank you for what? Moving the rope? I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I gave her a tight nod.
“For… for what you do,” she added quickly, twisting her phone around in her fingers like it was some nervous tick.
I narrowed my gaze, trying to see past my lust and her awkwardness so I could hear what she was really saying.
“I saw what you did for Eleanor last night. You waited with her until that nasty bastard left and then walked her to her car to make sure she was safe. I’m really glad you did that.”
I swallowed hard. She was thanking me for doing my job?
“Just… going the extra mile like that,” she rushed out, her phone twirling and twirling. “It really means a lot to us. To me. Er, well, anyway. Thanks. I know Eleanor appreciated it.”
She turned to hurry down the hall where she would fade from my sight.
“Gem,” I blurted out to stop her. She looked over her shoulder at me, her gaze locking in on mine for a heavy moment. I cleared my throat, made sure my face was void even though my words were going to give something away. I couldn’t help it. Holding everything in was a battle I didn’t want to fight. “Be careful out there tonight.”
She dipped her head in a solemn nod. “I will.”
Good girl. And when the club closed down and her shift was over, I’d be right here to watch her get in her Honda and drive away. Safely. Because that’s what good guys did.
And I was a very bad good guy.
Chapter Two
GEMMA
Be careful out there tonight…
Careful, careful, careful.
I was trying, but it was hard to know who was safe and who wanted to take from me. Mostly everyone wanted to take. Even some of the girls. They wanted advice or money for cigarettes or to switch hours or to borrow my costumes… which was kinda yuck. But the worst people wanted to take other things. Important things. Like my body or my happiness.
Or my kid.
I tossed another quick look over my shoulder at the head bouncer for The Sassy Sapphire. He still watched me. Like a Doberman keeping guard at the gates of some medieval castle. Like he didn’t plan on looking away until I was safe behind the dressing room doors.
He was a protector.
Kanaan Joseph. Kane. He was safe. I could feel it like a calm in the marrow of my bones. Marco was safe too. And Sal. And most of the girls.
But Kane was different. Seeing him made me feel like I could breathe again. Breathe without my chest locking up in fear.
And he had no idea I felt that way.
Because it made no sense. I didn’t know him. Not well anyway. We’d been acquaintances since I started at the club six months ago. Spoken a few times. I’d witnessed him taking his job seriously, the way he hawkeyed any handsy fellas. And last night saw him go the extra mile, waiting with Eleanor until she felt safe.
Something about him just felt… secure. Like he was a fortress I could run into and hide, and he’d never give me away. He’d just be that Doberman, protecting what was in his castle.
Yeah, I’d be keeping that little tidbit to myself.
I glanced at my phone again as I made my way toward the dressing rooms, narrowly resisting the urge to shoot off another text checking on my boy.
Noah was so little. Only four, and so trusting it broke my heart. I dreaded the day his innocence was lost. The day he learned the world didn’t run on smiles and gummy bears.
It was too early to teach him that hard lesson, and until he learned it, he was vulnerable. If the danger came lurking, Noah would grin at it with those big blue eyes, run to it, hug it, without knowing what it would take from him. I could never let that happen.
It’s why I’d taken the strictest precautions to hide us both. But I could never let my guard down. The second I did, would be the moment I lost everything.
You’ve already lost everything.
My chin jutted in defiance of that bastard thought. I had lost it all. All except my life and my son. But I was building it back. Slowly but surely. And mom was helping.
My finger rolled over her number again, itching to check one last time, on her and Noah. I jumped as my phone beeped and a new message flashed across the screen.
Everything is fine. Stop worrying. See you in the morning. P.S. Get your finger off the send button.
I rushed out a relieved laugh. Mama, hoping to fend off another frantic text from me. Damn, I’d only been away from them for the twenty minutes it took me to drive across town—the long way, so I couldn’t be followed—and I could hardly breathe through the worry.