Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel)

by K. M. Golland

  Unable to help myself, I studied his mouth and slowly traced the top row of my teeth with my tongue. Brad had great lips, especially the bottom one. It was fuller than the top—plump, pink, soft, and definitely suckable. Not to mention it was perfectly framed by one of the sexiest, defined jaws I’d ever seen. That jaw. That mouth. His freckle. Fuck!

  Snapping out of my Brad-bewilderment, I smiled sweetly at him and swallowed the spell he cast. “We’ll see, Surfer Brad. I’m sure that once you’ve ridden one board, you’ve kinda ridden them all.” Nicely played, Em. Nicely played.

  I turned 180 degrees in the hope I’d find a new place to stand before I erupted into flames and incinerated on the spot, but what I found was Cori in Josh’s arms and Josh feeding her his apple. Nope. Not goin’ over there. Turning another ninety degrees, this time I spotted Noah, Dimps and Chief standing next to what looked like a wall of rubber pussies, Noah poking his finger into one and saying, ‘warm, it is not’ and ‘prefer the real thing, I do.’ Not goin’ over there either. I had no choice. I couldn’t keep spinning on the spot. Then again, I’m a dancer. I totally can.

  No. I couldn’t. I had to find a new BOB and fast, so I turned back around only to smack directly into Brad’s chest … again.

  “I don’t think so, sexy pixie,” he said with amusement, catching me in his arms and tilting my chin to look up at him.

  I bit back a smile and willed my vagina to stop sending me subliminal messages of ‘feed me’. “Don’t think what?”

  “The ‘we’ll see’ part. I want to dance for you on stage.”

  Wow! I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my clothes on if he does that. I’ll probably strip quicker than him.

  Ugh! Resisting that face was useless. Resisting his advances was useless. Resisting him was … useless. I might as well give up. Finito. White flag waving frantically. Honestly, I’d have more chance of avoiding my period for the rest of my life than avoiding his lure.

  Smiling, I surrendered my fight and draped my arms around his neck. “You want to dance for me?”

  “Yeah. I have a new routine that I tried out on Cor—” Brad cut himself off before he could finish saying Cori’s name. But he hadn’t been quick enough. I’d heard.

  “Seriously?” I said, annoyed, pushing against his arms to break his hold on me. “You want to perform for me the same fuck-me dance you performed on my best friend?”

  “Wait! Stop,” he pleaded, holding me tighter. “I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

  I stopped pushing him and sighed. “What’s to explain, Brad? You’ve been with Cori, and recently. It is what it is.”

  “Yeah, it is. And I’m sorry. Look, Cori and I both know we fucked up. What we did was a mistake, a big one, regardless of whether Josh screwed her over or not. And he did. He was an arsehole. He knew it. She knew it. I knew it.” His posture slumped, but he didn’t loosen his grip on me. “Em, what happened between Cori and I was a moment of fucking madness, but believe it or not, it helped the situation. It helped all of us in a fucked up kind of way.” Brad paused for a second before continuing. “They love each other, and they needed to get all of that other bullshit out of their systems. I just happened to be in the way.”

  I understood what he was saying, even though I didn’t like it. But I was never a part of what had occurred between the three of them, so it wasn’t my place to judge. “It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business. You can fuck whoever you want to fuck … then, now, and in the future.”

  He moved his hands to the sides of my face, holding my head firm, his eyes steadfast and full of purpose as they searched mine. “I want to fuck you.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve figured that out already.”

  “So let’s do it.”

  My heart danced within my chest, but I stubbornly ignored it and shrugged instead.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked, mimicking my shrug.

  “What?”

  “The shoulder lift.”

  “It means I leave in two days, so what’s the point?”

  “That’s two days of fucking.” The crinkle at the corner of his eye deepened—he was trying not to laugh.

  I punched his arm and glared playfully.

  “Look, Em. I’ve got it bad for you. And not just in my pants. I think you’re amazing and … well … I can see you and I together at some point, you know?”

  My jaw dropped. “But you don’t even know me.”

  “I want to know you,” he said softly, his eyes swimming in a sea of veracity.

  I stared at him, his intent for us to be a ‘thing’ not what I doubted. It was how he’d feel once he got to know the real me. That was what I was scared of. That was what I didn’t want to face, because I liked him. Really liked him. He was just … different somehow. He made every part of my body sing, from the pit of my stomach to the surface of my skin, to the heavily guarded gates of my heart. And who knew? Maybe one day if I opened myself up and revealed the real me, maybe he’d unlock those gates and let himself in. Maybe he’d want to.

  Matching the same level of sincerity in his eyes, I offered him a warning, my voice not much louder than a whisper. “You might not like what you discover.”

  “True. But that’s what discovery is all about, right?”

  “Yes. Exactly. Which is why it won’t work.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.”

  “Why? Because I’m a stripper?” Anger gently simmered across his face.

  I went to say ‘no’, because I’d be a big fat hypocrite if that were the case, but he continued to speak. “Okay, so yeah, I take my clothes off on stage to make women happy. To excite them and get their fucking juices flowing, but that’s all I do, Em. That’s all I ever do. My performance is for them, not for me. I’m an entertainer, not a pervert.”

  “I don’t think you’re a pervert, Brad. Not at all. I respect what you do. I just can’t see us—”

  “Just don’t rule anything out,” he interrupted. “Come to the show tonight with an open mind and see for yourself.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been to a male revue before.”

  “Which one? And don’t say Le Coq Fantastique. Those blokes are a bunch of parading peacocks. We’re the best in the country, and we’re the best for a reason.”

  “And what reason is that?” I asked, smiling at the dedication and pride rolling from him.

  Brad’s hands slid forward, pushing my cheeks to the centre of my face. He looked at me adoringly, appearing amused by my puffy expression. Then, leaning forward, he kissed my newly formed fish lips. “You’ll find out tonight.”

  “Fine,” I slurred, unable to talk through my bunched cheeks and mouth.

  He laughed and kissed me again. “Fucking adorable.”

  ***

  “Is that what you’re gonna wear?” I asked Cori, as she threw a pair of Chucks on the bed and pulled on a pair of skinny jeans.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Shouldn’t we dress up a little? There’s gonna be highly made-up women everywhere.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I don’t really care. I can’t comfortably take photos in a short dress and heels,” she explained, tying her shoelaces.

  Standing naked and wrapped in a towel with my hands on my hips, I huffed. “But I’ve got this really cute short, black Bettina Liano dress with lace detail at the neck.”

  “Then wear it. There’s no reason why you can’t dress up if you want to. I’m working. You’re not.”

  I tapped my lip in thought. “True. Okay. I’m wearing it. But you’re not wearing that.” I pointed to her outfit. “Working or not, you can at least glam it up a little.”

  “Em, I can’t squat to take photos in a dress, and if I’m going to be on my feet all night I’m not wearing heels. What I have on is fine.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “If you’re heading to a game of football, sure. But you’re not. You’re heading to a male revue
show, and with me.”

  She looked down at her Chucks, jeans, and singlet top. “But I’m comfortable in this.”

  “You’re daggy.”

  “Fine!” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you suppose I wear then, huh?”

  Ha ha!

  Prancing over to her suitcase, I rifled through it, plucking out a pair of short grey chino shorts and a white ruffled chiffon singlet top. “These. You can still squat, leap and roll all over the floor in these if you want to.” I tossed them to her. “And wear your pewter Nine West gladiator sandals.”

  Cori caught the items of clothing against her chest and tilted her head, smiling curiously. I smiled, too… My job here was done, so I dropped my towel and walked to my suitcase.

  “Em! I don’t care how many times I’ve seen your muff. I don’t need to keep seeing it.”

  “You just offended her, you know.”

  “I don’t care. She’s offending me.”

  “Then close your eyes.”

  “I am.”

  Turning to face her, I found the muff-hater with her eyelids pressed shut. “Such a prude.”

  “I’m not a prude. I just don’t need to gawk at all your bits.”

  I threaded a skimpy, black lace G-String up my legs. “Apart from my boobs, or lack thereof, there’s nothing wrong with my bits.”

  “I never said there was anything wrong with them.” She tilted her head, eyes still closed.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Didn’t Helen ever teach you about private parts, and how they’re private?” she asked, her hands waving about and talking the same crap that her mouth was.

  I laughed. “You can look now. And yes, she did. She taught Sarah and I that our bodies should never be taken for granted, never used nor abused, and never flaunted in a negative way. She said we must always respect what we’d been given, to look after it and to be proud and never ashamed.”

  Cori opened her eyes as I stepped into my dress and turned toward the mirror, shimmying it up my legs to sit in place. “That said, Sarah grew a nice sized-rack, and Mum didn’t know about BDSM back them.” I waggled my eyebrows and winked.

  Cori took hold of my zip, pulling it up and tying the lace collar behind my neck.

  “Oh, hang on,” I said, reaching for my chicken-fillet inserts. “I need to put these in.”

  “Seriously? After what you just told me, you’re still gonna wear those things?” She rolled her eyes. “I thought we agreed the other night that you weren’t wearing them anymore.”

  “No, I said I wasn’t wearing them the other night. This dress requires cleavage, therefore I’m chicken-filleting. And just because Mum said that we should respect what we’d been given, it didn’t mean we shouldn’t try to enhance it. I can do both the respecting and enhancing at the same time, see?” Hiking my chicken-filleted boobs in my hands, I jiggled them around until my cleavage popped behind the lace overlay covering my chest and neck. “Respect,” I said, nodding to the reflection in the mirror.

  Cori bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head at me, so I turned around and placed my hands on her shoulders. “Now, get dressed. We have dancey man-meat to watch, and I’ve been dying to see this all week.”

  ***

  “Hello, sexy surfer,” I blurted out, gawking wide-eyed at the larger-than-life-sized poster of Brad hanging from the wall inside the Parkwood Tavern function room. He was propped against his surfboard with his hand down the front of his shorts, his head tilted back, and his eyes closed, the glossy image dangling before me like a proverbial carrot.

  I swallowed.

  As did my vagina.

  “I’m stealing that.”

  Cori followed the direction of my pointed finger. “You are not.”

  “Oh, yes I am. You can’t stop me.”

  “No, but she can.”

  Turning my head, I watched Patsy—the Wild Nights Revue manager—walk toward us. I smiled sweetly. Patsy was a lesbian, and lesbians loved me. “Patsy, those jeans look great on you!”

  “They look great off me as well, hon,” she replied with a wink.

  I laughed—a little too girlishly. “I’m sure they do. You have great legs.”

  “Oh Pah-lease!” Cori groaned. “Em, stop it. You’ll get Patsy all worked up for nothing.”

  “Whaaat?” I drawled. “I’m just complimenting her.”

  “You’re buttering her up because you want that poster.”

  Patsy and I turned toward the large sheet of sex on paper that Cori was pointing at, and I nodded. “Yes, I do. Very much so.”

  Patsy burst into laughter and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Consider it all yours.”

  “Yay. Thank you!” I clapped excitedly and kissed her cheek.

  “Uh-uh. Don’t you go gettin’ your panties wet just yet. It’s all yours … after the tour.”

  I pouted.

  She tapped my nose.

  I mouthed thank you.

  She gave me a quick once-over and groaned, shaking her head as she walked off, disappearing backstage all the while yelling, “Ten minutes till doors open.”

  Score! My abilities and powers of persuasion even impressed me sometimes, and I couldn’t help but greedily smile to myself.

  “You’re a shocker, Emily Davis. You just seduced a lesbian twice your age.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I replied, assessing my reflection in the mirrored panelling of a concrete pylon, one of many that supported the roof of the building.

  “It is!”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I smoothed my short, black dress down my hips and over my thighs.

  Cori shook her head at me.

  “I can see you, you know.”

  She poked her tongue out. “I know. Oh, and by the way, you’re helping me tonight. I need you to be my bag bitch.”

  Wiping a small smudge of lipstick off my tooth with my middle finger, I simultaneously flipped her the bird in the mirror. “I’m nobody’s bitch.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I need you to be my assistant.” She looked down and huffed as she rummaged through her camera bag. “The guys are performing a new routine tonight, so I want to get as many shots as I can.”

  Pirouetting one-and-a-half turns, I landed in an extended fourth position directly in front of her, right arm forward, left arm to the side. “Ahh … assistant. That’s better. I can deal with that title. Now, give me your bag.” I flicked my fingers in a come-hither motion, indicating she hang the strap over my arm. “Let’s do this. Let’s get up close and personal with five delicious naked men.”

  She hung the bag as requested. “Oh, you are in for a treat. Mark my words.”

  ***

  “Em! EM!” Cori’s hand hit my leg, snapping me out of my near-paralysed state.

  “What? Sorry. What?”

  “Can you please pass me the smaller lens?”

  Shit! Fumbling, I dipped my hand into her bag and pulled out a lens. “This one?”

  “Yeah.” She took it from me and chuckled. “As you were.”

  As I was? Fuck! If I go back to ‘as I was’ I’ll need to duck behind one of the floor-to-ceiling curtains traversing the room and rub one out like the horny deviate that I am. Holy shit-fuck!

  On stage Brad, Josh, Noah, Lucas and Matt wore construction worker vests, hard hats and jeans. “Welcome To The Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses blared through the speakers, and the lights had only just brightened to reveal the glistening, shiny, oiled works of man-art strutting before me.

  Ouch.

  My vagina was smouldering, and if you were to put your head between my legs, I’d no doubt be able to give you an awesome steam facial. Yeah, I’d become Emily the Steam Engine in the time it had taken Brad to lift his tilted head to meet my gaze. Toot. Toot.

  “Oh my God! I can’t … I can’t even right now,” I babbled, tongue-tied as my eyes raped him.

  The sexy son-of-a-bitch held a tape measure at his crotch and grin
ded his hips while he pulled the tape out slowly, inch by inch. I wanted desperately to check his measurements, and I wanted him to take mine and record the distance with his tongue. Gah!

  “Ha! Wait until you see his solo performance,” Cori shouted, her face still buried behind her camera. “It’s SO good!”

  Hearing her say that and knowing he’d performed it for her made my stomach retch a little. I didn’t like it. It was an icky feeling, that retching jealousy. And I wasn’t normally the jealous type.

  I controlled the green-eyed monster.

  And that green-eyed monster could kiss my arse.

  Quickly swallowing and digesting the ickiness in my tummy, I rid myself of any green within. “Oh, believe me, I can’t wait to see his solo. He mentioned something this morning about riding his board.”

  “I’m sure he did,” she said, laughing. “So, are you going to ride—”

  Cori’s question was interrupted when the level of decibels in the room went up, women screaming and cheering as Dimps stepped off-stage and chose a random woman in the crowd. He dropped to his knees before her and placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them apart and shuffling in between them.

  Lucas’s kind but devilish eyes held hers before he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and dropped her hands to her sides, which was when he ran his hands up the insides of her thighs and back down again.

  The women seated at the table surrounding them squealed and bobbed up and down in their seats, the odd few covering their faces with their hands, seemingly embarrassed for their friend. But the woman at the centre of Dimps’s attention wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, when he stood upright and stepped between her legs, she greedily wrapped her arms around his waist and clenched his arse, tight.

  I cracked up laughing. The look on his face was priceless—a comical expression, one of ‘get me out of here’ and ‘squeeze me harder, baby’. And in the end, the ‘squeeze me harder, baby’ prevailed, because he placed his hands over hers and pushed them into his firm cheeks before removing them and gliding them down his ripped abs as he rolled his hips toward her face.