by Claire Kent
He’d lived by careful rules for a long time—and one of them was to never get involved with a customer—and he’d just thrown that rule out the window without a second thought because he’d wanted to have her so much.
He wasn’t going to let her start regretting it.
Her hair was a rumpled mess around her flushed face, and her skin was moist with perspiration. Her lips looked swollen, and her dress was hopelessly wrinkled, no matter how much she tried to smooth it down.
He’d never seen anything sexier in his life.
Without saying a word, he moved over her, kissing her gently until she relaxed against him. When he felt her body let go of the tension, he eased her down onto her back on the seat.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, gripping his shirt. “We just finished.”
“Who said we were finished?”
“But—”
He didn’t let her complete the thought. He kissed her deeply, stroking her mouth with his tongue, and slid one of his hands down her body, feeling the soft curves of her through the slinky fabric until he’d reached the hem of her skirt. Then he stroked his fingers up the inside of her thighs as she parted her legs for him.
She was so responsive to his touch. It caused his heart to race and his cock to twitch, although it was too soon for him to really get hard again.
He kept up his slow exploration until his fingers found her wet pussy. He was kissing her and he could feel her body tighten with pleasure when he slid two fingers inside her. She was warm and soft and wet, and he loved the feel of her.
“Matt,” she gasped over his lips.
“Shh.” He pressed a few little kisses on her mouth until she was pliant, and then he started to fuck her with his fingers.
He held the kiss for as long as he could, but soon she started to build toward orgasm and kept tensing and shaking. He drew back so he could watch her deepening flush, her tightening face, the tossing of her head against the seat of the car.
Pleasure filled his head and chest as he worked her up to climax, pressing against her clit when her soft grunts became ragged and helpless. She came hard around his fingers, and he watched as the pleasure washed over her face.
It was better than any high he’d ever experienced, the way she looked like she was feeling something entirely new to her, like he was making her feel a way no one else ever had.
Her whole body relaxed, and she was smiling when he finally removed his hand.
At least now he was satisfied that she wasn’t starting to regret it.
—
Elizabeth wasn’t used to acting like this. She wasn’t used to feeling like this. And she definitely wasn’t used to having a man look at her the way Matt was looking at her right now. Pleased. Possessive. And even more than that. It was like his gaze could somehow swallow her whole.
“You’re pretty good at that,” she said, feeling a brief wave of self-consciousness at the realization of how easy it had been for him to make her come.
He straightened up, idly sucking the moisture off his fingers in a way that was almost unconscious—and incredibly hot. “You think so?” he asked with a little smile.
She managed to sit up too, pulling her clothes back in place. “I believe it was pretty obvious that I thought so.”
He chuckled and leaned back against the seat, his eyes resting on her face. “I know a thing or two about pleasing women.”
Irrationally, the words bothered her a little, since they implied she was just any woman and he hadn’t made a special effort with her. She resisted the impulse to be disappointed, though. What had happened between them was obviously nothing but sex, and she wasn’t foolish enough to expect anything different. “I bet you know more than a thing or two.”
He kept smiling at her, but an underlying mood changed in his expression.
She wondered about the shift and couldn’t resist asking, “Did it take a lot of practice?”
His eyebrows arched. “Making you come? Not really. I pretty much improvised it.”
With a little laugh she said, “Not that. I meant did it take a lot of practice to learn how to please women onstage—to get good at doing your thing.”
He glanced away briefly. “I’ve been doing it for a while.”
“That’s not an answer to the question.”
“It is an answer. It’s just not the answer you want.”
She returned his steady gaze and finally nodded. “Fair enough.” There was no reason to expect him to share his private thoughts with her, and there was no reason to be disappointed because he hadn’t. After all, they’d shared nothing but some temporary pleasure.
He must have sensed her silent response, though, since his face relaxed and he said, “The moves are easy enough to learn. But building the fantasy—that takes some work.”
Genuinely interested and pleased that he hadn’t completely closed her out, she leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”
“What we do on that stage is try to give women exactly what they want. It doesn’t necessarily come naturally. First we have to figure out what they want—and then we have to figure out how to play out the fantasy in the space of one song. Believe it or not, it’s not a simple proposition.”
Elizabeth thought about that for a minute. Finally she concluded, “Please don’t take it as an insult, but I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to capture what all—or even most—women want. Most of us want more than some thrusting and grinding.”
To her relief, Matt didn’t look offended. He actually laughed softly, his gaze never leaving her face. “Yeah, but it’s not about the thrusting and grinding. Not really. It’s about giving women the opportunity to be sexually free, in control. What happens is all in service of pleasing them. How often does that happen in the rest of life?”
Elizabeth gave a huff of amusement. “Not very often.”
“How often do you feel that way?”
There was no reason to tell him the truth, but she did anyway. “Never.” She shook her head thoughtfully. “I feel like I’ve spent all of my life trying to please other people. I’m not even sure what I would want if I were in the position of deciding just for me.”
She glanced over at him self-consciously, and she saw he was listening to her. Really listening. “Maybe it’s time you found out,” he murmured.
“Maybe.” She shook off the reflections with a taunting smile. “But I can tell you one thing right now. What I want isn’t going to be all that humping and grinding in the club.”
“Maybe not,” Matt said, smiling back at her and looking just as smug as he always had. “But the month isn’t over yet.”
That was undeniably true. She got a little shiver of excitement at the thought.
—
Matt stayed outside in the parking lot until Elizabeth had driven away. She’d been quiet as they said good night, but she’d obviously had a good time, and he already wanted more of her.
His body was relaxed, and he didn’t feel as self-conscious as he would have expected at what had become a surprisingly intimate conversation. He thought as he walked inside that he might actually have had a good evening.
But as soon as he entered he felt the sickening clench in his gut he often felt in the club, surrounded by his history, his identity.
His father had owned Bare Assets for years, and Matt had come into ownership only after his father had died ten years ago. He’d grown up spending weekend evenings in the office, getting sent out only when his father brought different women in to be fucked. That was why he’d made the rule against fucking customers to begin with—he’d seen firsthand how messy it could get.
Maybe he was more like his father than he thought.
He shook the thought away and went backstage to make sure everything was going smoothly, the knot heavier than usual for some reason, as if what had happened with Elizabeth in the back of the car made all of this feel even emptier.
“Stokes,” Brent called out as h
e entered the room where the guys hung out between acts. “You got a minute?”
Matt walked over to the young man, who’d been a performer here for four years now and was one of the most popular with the ladies. “What’s up?”
“Any chance of taking on a new guy?”
“A dancer?”
“Yeah. I know a guy who might be great. He’s interested.” As he spoke, Brent was pressing wax strips onto his chest and then ripping them off.
Matt frowned. He had more than enough men on staff, and it was always a lot of work to get a new guy up to speed. “I don’t know. We’re not short.”
“I know. He’s just in a money crunch. He’s a good dancer. He was trained in all this ballet shit, but I guess he wasn’t good enough for the big leagues.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “We don’t need a ballerina.”
“He’s got the right stuff. Trust me. I know the ropes.”
“I’ll talk to him. Make sure he knows the ground rules before you bring him in.”
The ground rules were simple, but Matt had zero tolerance for their being broken. Some of them were necessary because of state and city ordinances, and others were his own. No dating customers. No drugs on the premises. No touching below the waist. No dicks at full mast. Underwear always stays on.
“Sure, man. Thanks. I’ll let him know.”
Matt was frowning as he walked into the main room and then through it to his office.
When he’d been seventeen, he’d gotten into a huge fight with his father because his dad wouldn’t help his mom out financially—since the money would inevitably go for drugs—and Matt had to use every penny he earned through his job at a hardware store just to make ends meet. His dad had blandly told him he should find a job that earned more money. Out of youthful, petty spite, Matt had gone out onstage at Bare Assets that evening and taken his clothes off. He’d been around the club long enough to know the moves, and he’d been an instant hit.
His dad had just laughed. His performance had done nothing to change his father’s mind.
That was how Matt had gotten his start. He’d made more cash from stripping than he’d ever imagined possible, but he’d eventually stopped dancing because he’d never really enjoyed it and it got less appealing the longer he did it.
Then last week he’d danced for Elizabeth.
That had felt different, and he still wasn’t sure exactly why.
Chapter 4
Elizabeth filled in the skirt of the girl she’d drawn on a big sheet of construction paper with the red crayon and then passed the crayon over to Olivia, Katie’s four-year-old daughter, who’d decided she needed to use the red too.
“That’s looking really pretty,” Elizabeth said, glancing over at the girl’s sheet, on which was drawn a flower garden with blooms as big as the sun. “What color are you going to do the dog?”
“It’s not a dog,” Olivia said with a deep frown. “It’s a goat.”
Elizabeth leaned over to look at the child’s drawing more closely. “Oh yeah! I can see the horns. That’s really good. Is there going to be a fence around the garden, so the goat won’t eat all the flowers?”
Olivia nodded with perfect sobriety. “Yes. There will be a fence.”
“I like it.”
Elizabeth had come over to have dinner with Katie and her family, only to discover that Steve was working late and both children were throwing fits because they were bored. So Elizabeth had stepped in to entertain the kids while Katie worked on fixing dinner.
“What game are you playing, Shelton?” Elizabeth asked, raising her voice slightly so the six-year-old boy with his head ducked toward a handheld game unit would hear her.
Shelton muttered the name of a game she’d never heard of and didn’t look up.
“Oh. You know what I always thought would be fun?” Elizabeth said in a light, casual voice she knew often worked with kids his age. “Drawing my own video game.”
This seemed to interest him enough to pause his game. “What do you mean?”
“I mean draw my own game. Design the background for it and the playing pieces and figure out how the scores would be added up and how you win and all that. It would be pretty hard, I guess, but I always thought it would be fun.” She was careful to keep coloring as she spoke, so it would seem like nothing but a random comment.
“Ooh, Shelly!” Olivia gasped. “That would be fun! I can help!”
“I don’t need any help,” Shelton said, frowning thoughtfully as he put down his game and came over to join them at the table. “I can do it myself.”
“What kind of game will you make?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you like?” Elizabeth asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He likes dinosaurs,” Olivia chimed in.
“That would work,” Elizabeth said, nodding at him encouragingly but making sure not to sound like it was a big deal. “You could start with a background of a prehistoric scene with strange plants and maybe some dinosaurs in the distance. Then maybe dinosaurs could do something as part of the game.”
“Would we shoot them?” Shelton asked, obviously thinking through the idea deeply.
Elizabeth gave a little shrug. “Maybe. But if you like dinosaurs, maybe they don’t have to be shot. Maybe they could be racing each other or something.”
“Ooh, that would be good!” Olivia said, her little face lighting up. “A dinosaur race.”
Shelton was already grabbing the green and brown crayons and pulling out a piece of light blue construction paper. “A dino-race,” he said, as if he were already an expert.
“ ‘Dino-Race’ would be a great name for your game.” Elizabeth handed him the yellow crayon after she finished with it so he could fill in the sun he’d just drawn on his paper.
She was making sure not to smile too much, or he would think she wasn’t taking it seriously, but she was delighted that he’d put his game down and was working on something creative.
It would have been nice to use art to work with children who had real problems—that was what she’d been trained to do and why she’d gone into art therapy to begin with—but most of her job was more like this. It was worthwhile. She enjoyed it. And she thought it was good for all kids to engage with art and be more creative.
She just wished her job allowed her to do even more, to make a real difference.
The three of them spent a very happy half hour working on their coloring. When Elizabeth finished her picture of a house and family, she offered to draw another background setting for Dino-Race so players could advance to a second level.
When Katie came out of the kitchen, the three of them were deep in discussion about the rules of the game, and when Katie told them to wash up for dinner, the kids obeyed without whining only when Elizabeth said she’d stay to help them with the game some more after they ate.
She was planning to head over to Bare Assets tonight, since it was Thursday, but she could easily spend a little more time with the Olivia and Shelton and still get there in plenty of time.
When the kids ran to the bathroom, Katie shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know how you do it. They’ve been impossible all day.”
“I think it’s easier when it’s someone new.”
“No. You’re always good with them. You’ve just got the knack.”
Elizabeth knew she was good with kids, so she didn’t try to argue. All she said was “I really like them.”
“I know.” Katie helped Elizabeth collect the crayons and put them back in the plastic box. “I can’t wait until you have kids yourself.”
Elizabeth felt a little weird for some reason, although she’d always been open about wanting children. “I’ve got to find the right man first.”
“I know. I’m sure he’ll show up—probably right when you’re not expecting it.”
Elizabeth looked around the attractively designed house with its open concept, high-end finishes, and comfort
able family spaces. This was what she wanted for herself. A husband who was a good fit for her. A family she could pour herself into. A job she was good at. A comfortable, secure life.
She thought about Matt and how hot Saturday evening had been. She’d thought about it all week long, particularly before she’d gone to sleep. She’d actually had to get herself off under the covers in the dark every night before she could really relax.
But that wasn’t what she really wanted—just a temporary fling with a sexy guy that was ultimately meaningless, that would lead nowhere.
She wasn’t sorry she’d done it. She wouldn’t take it back, even if she could. But there was no sense in pursuing any more of it, since Matt simply couldn’t be the kind of man she really needed.
The knowledge clicked in her mind, felt right to her.
When Katie looked at her questioningly, Elizabeth realized she’d never responded. “Yeah. I guess. It feels like I’ve been waiting for him for a long time.”
—
She got to the club after nine, and she managed to snag an empty seat.
She looked around for Matt, feeling determined, wanting to make sure there was no confusion or hurt feelings between them.
After about ten minutes, she saw him come out the door she assumed led into an office and then lean against the bar, eyeing the crowd.
She knew he’d been looking for her when his eyes stopped as they landed on her.
He gave her a secret little smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
He didn’t come over immediately—he just kept eye flirting until the football-player routine onstage was over. Then he finally strolled over and took the empty chair at her table.
When he didn’t say anything, just looked at her with a leisurely, smoldering gaze, she asked, “Aren’t you even going to say hello?”
“I thought I already had.”
“You haven’t said anything at all.”
“You know very well that’s not true. We don’t need words to speak, you know.”
Ridiculously, she flushed hot, feeling excited and amused and like they had a real connection. “Words are sometimes helpful, though.”