Taking It Off

by Claire Kent

  But he didn’t want to leave it. He wanted to fuck her again.

  He didn’t care if she was a customer. Maybe he was really a hypocrite, but that rule didn’t seem to matter where she was concerned.

  If she decided against giving an entire month to her adventure at the strip club, he’d never get to fuck her again.

  He’d probably never see her again.

  He was telling himself to get a grip when he got a glimpse of auburn hair that made him pause.

  He stepped around the lighting booth so he could see better.

  It was her. Elizabeth. Right up front with a group of other women. She wore a fancy gray dress and looked delectable enough to eat, a lot of fair skin exposed, her hair tumbling down from the twist on her head.

  What the hell was she doing up there, acting like all the other women?

  She must be playing some sort of game. He glanced over at Robbie, who caught his eye and gave a shrug, clearly a sign that he also had no idea what had gotten into the normally reserved Elizabeth.

  Now twenty-two-year-old Vinnie, Brent’s friend who was working his first night, in his navy cap and white bikini briefs, with his completely hairless body, was coming down off the stage right in front of her.

  Matt felt his whole body tense up when Vinnie put Elizabeth’s hands on his shoulders and started to pump his pelvis against her.

  Damn it, what the fuck was going on here? Maybe Vinnie was new, but Brent was supposed to be training him and Brent should definitely know better. Even if Matt hadn’t shown interest in her himself, one of the first things they learned was to recognize someone who wasn’t comfortable with participating.

  And Elizabeth never had been—with the exception of that one very hot routine she’d done with Matt himself.

  But now she was doing something similar with Vinnie. With Vinnie. Who barely knew what he was doing.

  Matt experienced the strangest wave of anger and outrage as he watched.

  Vinnie had her turned over the table now and was thrusting his crotch against her ripe little ass.

  Matt clenched his fists, trying to make his mind work clearly enough to figure out how to stop this.

  He had to stop it.

  Vinnie wasn’t allowed to be playing with Elizabeth, touching her, making her blush and laugh.

  No one else was allowed to be with Elizabeth that way, even if it was just part of a routine.

  And why the fuck was she letting him do it?

  He’d taken a step in their direction, with some vague idea of pulling her out of the crowd, when Robbie appeared at his side. “Steady, old man. She won’t appreciate you making a scene.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what she appreciates. What the fuck is she doing with that fucking boy?” he gritted out.

  Robbie laughed out loud. “That’s a lot of fucks for one tame routine. Look, he’s moving on now.”

  Matt let out a breath when he saw that Vinnie had picked up a small blonde and was doing the carry-and-hump with her.

  Elizabeth had taken her seat again, flushed and still smiling. She pushed her hair out of her face and picked up a glass, swallowing half of the whiskey down in one go.

  “How many of those has she had?”

  “That’s just her second. She’s not drunk yet, but she came in tonight seeming to want to let loose a little. What’s the big deal?”

  The big deal was that she hadn’t let loose with him. It had happened while he was busy, distracted by dealing with his mom.

  And Matt had no idea what had prompted it or what was going on in her mind.

  He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  And he definitely didn’t like the memory of another man’s hands on her luscious body and another man’s cock rubbing against her.

  In fact, it made him so irrationally angry that he made a guttural sound.

  Robbie, evidently understanding where it was coming from, just laughed again.

  —

  Elizabeth felt like someone else—someone more fun, more spontaneous, less vanilla—had taken possession of her body.

  She liked herself this way.

  She’d gotten cash from the ATM in the foyer, and so far she’d spent over three hundred dollars in tips. Her ears were buzzing with noise, motion, and alcohol, and her voice was a little hoarse.

  She’d lost count of the number of routines that had passed—and the number of dancers she’d humped—when she finally went to sit down during the break.

  Without conscious thought, she glanced over to the spot near the bar where Matt would sometimes hang out.

  She gave a little jerk when she saw him standing there.

  He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of beat-up gray trousers, and his eyes were slightly narrowed as he scanned the room. There was something off about the way he looked that she couldn’t quite pin down. Something about the set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw. Even the tattoos down his arms appeared more intimidating than normal.

  He looked so hot she felt a shudder run up her spine, but he also looked like something was brewing inside him.

  Something dangerous.

  She smiled and lifted a hand in greeting, thinking there was no reason not to have sex this evening, since she was doing anything she wanted. And she definitely wanted to have sex with Matt again.

  He saw her. She knew he saw her. He held her gaze for just a moment before he turned around and walked away.

  She stared after him. It was like a door had been slammed in her face.

  Feeling that same surge of determination, she rose to her feet and made her way through the tables and chairs.

  Who did he think he was, anyway? She hadn’t done anything to him. There was no reason to be so rude to her. If he hadn’t seen her, that would have been different. But he’d clearly seen her and then rebuffed her for absolutely no reason at all.

  She wasn’t going to be rebuffed. Not by Matt or anyone else.

  She’d played by other people’s rules for long enough. It was time to make up her own.

  Matt had disappeared through the doorway she’d always assumed was an office, so she headed in that direction. Just before she reached the door, she glanced reflexively over to the bar, where Robbie was calmly topping off a beer.

  She didn’t know why she looked over at him. Just the good girl in her making one last appearance.

  Robbie seemed to get it, though, because one corner of his mouth lifted as he nodded toward Matt’s closed office door, as if indicating she should go in.

  She didn’t need Robbie’s permission, but she felt even more confident as she knocked on the door.

  She heard a wordless grunt from inside, and since it wasn’t a clear command to keep out, she decided to interpret it as an invitation to enter.

  She swung open the door.

  The room was indeed an office. Not very large—just a desk, side chair, love seat, file cabinet, and small window. The desk was piled with paperwork, and the computer screen had a spreadsheet pulled up.

  Matt had been in the process of sitting down in the desk chair, and he whirled around as she stepped in.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I’m saying hello.” She felt strangely defiant, and she closed the door behind her with a loud click. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem, except for the fact that you barged in here as I’m trying to work.” He was tense and still frowning, and there was something erotically compelling about the hard lines and tension of his body.

  “You weren’t trying to work.” She walked closer to him. “You were just hanging out by the bar. I saw you. You snubbed me.”

  “I what?”

  “You snubbed me.”

  “Who says ‘snubbed’?” He sounded almost grumpy now, rather than cold.

  She liked the grumpiness better. It was almost cute.

  “I say ‘snubbed.’ What’s wrong with ‘snubbed’?”

  “It sounds like someth
ing out of Jane Austen.”

  “It does not. Jane Austen would say ‘slighted’—or ‘scorned,’ maybe. She wouldn’t say ‘snubbed.’ ”

  “I’ll bet you that she uses the word ‘snubbed.’ ”

  She sucked in an outraged breath at his bad-tempered expression and his intentional obstinacy. “Are you saying you know more about Jane Austen than I do?”

  He made a choked sound. “No. I’m really not.”

  “Then good. She doesn’t say ‘snubbed.’ I say ‘snubbed,’ and it’s a perfectly fine word.”

  It was as if his sense of humor was stronger than whatever had been bothering him earlier. That little smile she knew so well started to flicker on his lips for just a moment. “I guess you won that argument.”

  She relaxed as a wave of amusement and desire washed over her. “I did. You should get used to it. I win a lot of arguments.”

  “You’ve never really argued with me before.”

  “Maybe I’m different tonight.”

  His expression changed. “You are different tonight. I was watching you.”

  She realized he must have seen how she was behaving earlier, groping and dancing and humping with the performers. She suddenly realized something—why he’d been so tense and bad tempered.

  With a gasp, she said, “You were jealous!”

  He frowned deeply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not ridiculous. That’s why you were so rude. You were watching me with the other guys, and you were jealous.” With the recognition she felt a thrill of excitement and pleasure. “You don’t want me to do that with anyone but you.”

  His expression transformed yet again. It tightened with a heat she knew well. He reached out to stroke his knuckles down her cheek. “I don’t,” he said hoarsely. “You only get to do that with me.”

  Her breath was coming out in fast pants now, and she felt arousal begin to pulse between her legs. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

  “No. But I get to decide it for myself.”

  She was in too much of a blur to even figure out what he meant by that. Either the scotch, the lust, or the leap into a new person—or maybe all of them at once—served to fill her mind and overwhelm her spirit.

  She stepped closer to him, resting her hands on his chest. She liked how hard his body felt beneath the fabric. Hard and warm and substantial. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  He slid his hands down to her hips, easing her body closer. “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “I think it’s obvious what I want.”

  “Well, tell me anyway.”

  “You tell me.”

  “I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you until you can’t remember your name—and you can’t remember anyone else’s name but mine. I want to show you why you don’t want to be touching anyone’s body but mine.”

  She shuddered, her hands fisting in his shirt. “That’s a lot to expect from one fuck.”

  “I’m not worried. But maybe you should be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the one who’s not going to be able to think of anyone but me afterward.”

  She rubbed herself against him and felt that he was already starting to get hard. “What about you? Do you think you’ll be able to think of anyone else afterward?”

  “I’m already there.”

  She was trying to process those last words when he kissed her.

  Even without her strange mood, she would have had trouble resisting his kiss. In her current mood it never even crossed her mind.

  She made an odd little sound in her throat as she experienced a rush of intense pleasure and excitement. She clutched at his shirt as he pulled her closer to him, holding her head against his with one of his hands at the back of her head.

  “You don’t want to stop, do you?” he murmured against her lips, pressing a series of little kisses against her mouth and skin.

  “Fuck, no.” She managed to make her hands move and slid them up to his broad shoulders and then one of them further up into his hair. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  With a husky laugh, he sank into a deeper kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth as he walked her back until her legs connected with the desk.

  Startled by the impact, she gave a little squeal and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck in a hurried attempt to stabilize herself. He laughed again as he raised her up enough to seat her on the edge of the desk, pushing up her skirt and parting her thighs with one hand so his body could fit in between.

  He stood still for a few moments, staring down at her. She liked the lust and possessiveness in his eyes, but there was something else—almost conflicted—that she didn’t understand and that distracted her.

  “What?” she demanded. “What are you waiting for?”

  “What’s gotten into you tonight?” The question was soft, slightly confused.

  “Nothing. I fucked you last week, didn’t I? This isn’t a new thing.”

  “But there’s something different, and I want to know what it is.”

  Elizabeth grabbed him with both hands at his waistband and pulled him back toward her. “There’s nothing you need to know except that I want to fuck you right now.” She rubbed her hand against the front of his pants. She felt his erection beneath the fabric and squeezed.

  Matt groaned almost helplessly, and she was thrilled by the sound of it, by how out of control she could make him.

  Her action seemed to have fired Matt up again, distracting him from his questions. Before she expected it, Matt eased himself against her again, rubbing his groin against hers. The sharp edge of the desk was poking into her butt.

  His mouth lowered to her neck, and he slid one hand into her neckline, cupping a breast. “So this what you want?” The words were spoken against her skin.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth breathed, trying to press his hips closer to her body with her hands. “Don’t you?”

  Matt raised his face so he could reach around to unzip her dress. “I’m what you want?”

  She didn’t understand the question—it should have been obvious that she wanted him. “Yes. Of course. What do you think?”

  He didn’t answer the question except by kissing her again. And, as he did, he pulled her dress down and then reached around to unclasp her bra.

  When they broke out of the kiss to breathe, she looked down at her exposed breasts, almost embarrassed by the situation, at the sight of them in Matt’s office in the strip club. The door wasn’t even locked. But before she could generate any coherent response, Matt pushed her backward and his lips had descended to one of her nipples.

  And nothing was coherent after that.

  She was beyond forming words, was only making strange grunts as she tried to adjust to the sensations. Matt wasn’t much better—he was attacking her body like he was ravenous, like he was desperate. The one small part of her that could still reason was comforted by Matt’s urgency. She might be in a strange mood tonight, but clearly he was too.

  Matt pulled away from her nipple and started pushing her skirt higher. His hands were even more urgent now, and frustration was reflected on his face as he was unable to get her straight skirt up high enough to reach his goal.

  Elizabeth put her hands on the desk and raised herself up slightly so Matt could bunch the skirt around her waist. His hand was immediately between her thighs, moving past her panties.

  She was very wet—wetter than she could ever remember being so quickly, wetter than she’d even been the week before with Matt. She wondered what it said about her that she was at her horniest when she had sex with a stripper, but as soon as his finger was inside her, those questions ceased to matter.

  Involuntarily Elizabeth arched her back, her mouth falling open soundlessly as he fucked her with his fingers. He wasn’t showing any particularly skill. The movement of his fingers was rushed and almost clumsy, but his touch was entirely effective.

  Elizabeth was now clutching his shirt
in her fists, trying to get his body closer to hers. Matt removed his hand from between her legs before she came, and Elizabeth almost cried out at the loss of contact.

  Looking at his damp face, however, she realized it was probably because he couldn’t wait much longer, and there was a different kind of thrill to that.

  His fingers fumbled at the button on his trousers, so she reached over to help him. Together they freed his cock and then rolled on the condom he’d pulled out of his pocket.

  “I thought you didn’t carry them around in your pocket,” she said, stroking him until he huffed.

  “I came prepared tonight.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She pulled him down into a kiss, and he spread her thighs farther apart, angling her hips until he could comfortably enter her.

  She let out a silly, broken groan as he penetrated her, and then she groaned again as he bent her legs so he sank even deeper.

  “Fuck, you feel better than…” He gasped.

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than anything.”

  “Good answer.”

  He started to thrust, using the same rocking rhythm he’d used last week for a few minutes, until she was squirming with pleasure and fighting his grip on her legs. His hands were too strong, though, and he pushed her knees closer to her body until she was lying on her back with her legs bent up—an entirely undignified position that made her hotter than ever.

  His eyes never looked away from her, and they seemed to brand her, as if he saw her sprawled body and wanton appearance as entirely his.

  Eventually his rhythm intensified as the control he’d held on to at the beginning seemed to crack. Soon he was pounding into her, leaning over to brace himself with one hand on the surface of the desk and holding onto one of her legs with the other.

  She was biting her bottom lip so she wouldn’t be too loud—there was just the office door separating them from the rest of the club. But the pleasure was spiraling quickly and she was a little afraid she wouldn’t be able to stifle herself when it finally let go.

  “You’re about to come, aren’t you?” he rasped, his eyes raking over her hot face and jiggling breasts.

  “Yeah. Oh yeah.”

  “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”