by Kaylee, Katy
“Me, neither,” I said. This was easily the most intimate moment that I’d ever shared with Harrison, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and put my hand on his and squeezed. Touching him sent a thrill shooting down my spine.
He didn’t brush my hand away. When I looked into his deep blue eyes once again, I saw the look there mirrored my own feelings. There was a connection between us, and it was obvious that he felt it, too.
Did he love me? Did he want me, the same way I had always wanted him?
Our hands were still touching, and I had to fight to restrain from throwing myself into his arms and kissing him, lipstick on his neck be damned.
“I ... I ...” I opened my mouth, unable to bear keeping my feelings for him a secret any longer. I had to confess, I had to tell him that I loved him. That I’d always loved him, and that I’d love him for the rest of my life.
Before I could say anything else, there was a flurry of footsteps on the stairs. Harrison yanked his hand away from mine like he’d been scalded, and the intimacy between us vanished like a bubble of soap popping.
Hollie appeared in the kitchen and Harrison got to his feet, walking over to his daughter and kissing her on the forehead.
“I’m heading to bed,” Harrison said. I wanted him to say something to me, to look at me, to do anything other than what he did, which was walk up the stairs without a second glance in my direction.
“Night, Dad,” Hollie called up the stairs after him. Then, she sat down at the table with me.
“What are you doing up so early?” Hollie asked. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep,” I told her. “I think I’m nervous about tonight.”
Hollie threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. A flash of guilt ran through me. I couldn’t believe that moments ago, I’d been on the verge of confessing my love for her father.
It wasn’t right, and it would deeply upset her if she knew my feelings were anything more than the vaguest hint of a crush.
“You’re gonna kill it, Paris,” Hollie said, giving me a confident grin before pulling away. She got to her feet and walked over to the coffee pot. After pouring herself a cup, she sat back down.
“Seriously, you’ll be great,” Hollie continued. She took a deep sip of coffee and turned to me, frowning. “What’s wrong? You look like someone just ran over your puppy,” she joked.
How could I tell her what was wrong? I’ve never kept secrets from Hollie. But now, they were piling up all around me and I felt like I couldn’t control any of them. I hadn’t told her about losing my scholarship, or my deep love for her father. I hadn’t told her about how I had to take a job as a stripper in a seedy gentleman’s club.
It would change everything. Hollie would never be able to think of me in the same way again, and if there’s one thing I couldn’t stand to lose, it was her friendship. She and Harrison were the rocks I’d clung to for ten years, and if I lost them both, it would kill me.
I couldn’t risk it.
“Well, you might not wanna talk about it, but I can tell something is really bothering you,” Hollie said brightly. “Let’s go for a run. That always makes me feel better.”
I groaned. “A run? Seriously?”
Hollie nodded. “Yes,” she said, raising an eyebrow at me and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m exhausted,” I told her. And I should probably save my energy for later. An unfortunate image popped into my mind: me, on stage at The Pink Diamond, sore and tense from a long morning run. Patrons laughing, other dancers sniggering at me from backstage.
I shook my head in hopes of clearing the thought away.
“Paris,” Hollie said. “Doctors have to set a good example for their patients, don’t they?”
“You’re going to be a doctor,” I reminded her. “I’m going to be a counselor. Dealing with peoples’ minds. Not their bodies.”
Hollie rolled her eyes at me. “Physical health is a huge part of mental health,” she said. “You know that. It’s like, a basic part of psychology. Exercise releases endorphins, and keeps your hormones in check. That’s why everyone feels so good when they start an exercise regime.”
I frowned at her. I had to admit, she was right – I’d heard that several times over studying psychology.
“You know it’s true,” Hollie added in a sing-song voice. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t want to go running – I hated running – but I figured this was the only way to get Hollie off my back, to get her to stop asking questions about what was on my mind. And I couldn’t help but wonder if a run really would make me feel a tiny bit better: I was so anxious over what I had to do later that night that I would have tried almost anything.
“Okay,” I told her. “Let me just change, and then we can go, deal?”
Hollie nodded. She looked satisfied as the two of us left the kitchen and went upstairs. In the guest room where I was staying, I hadn’t really had much of a chance to unpack. My things were scattered and strewn all over the room. As quickly as I could, I changed out of my yoga pants into a pair of spandex running shorts and added a bra under my loose t-shirt. I felt so exposed in those little shorts, and a nervous thrill ran through my when I realized that tonight, I’d be way more exposed.
I’d be naked, in front of a whole room of men.
I swallowed hard, exhaling sharply, and left the room.
“Paris, let’s go,” Hollie called from downstairs. “We need to get a move on!”
“Coming,” I called back, trying to sound normal and confident.
I had no idea what would happen later.
But there was only one way to find out.
5
Harrison – Friday
Another night in the club. Another long, boring span of hours spent sitting at the bar while scantily-clad women danced in front of me, hoping for tips and dances and attention.
Steve wasn’t with me. I had thought it would be too risky for him to come back to The Pink Diamond so soon after duplicating Angel’s hard drive. There might have been someone who saw us, or even security footage that I wasn’t aware of. Steve was spending the night downtown, in the precinct, going over the data dump with the digital forensics team. They were hoping to cobble together some kind of ledger, or even a list of appointments in order to get a fuller picture of everyone involved. I knew for sure that there was a drug ring operating out of The Pink Diamond, but I had suspicions about other illegal activity as well. We had enough evidence to pin this place for drugs, but we were still in the process of piecing together all the players.
I just hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer. I wasn’t sure that I had many more nights in me, sitting at the bar and playing the part of Madison’s devoted boyfriend. Plus, although she was ditzy, she wasn’t stupid. I worried that after long enough, she might start to get suspicious if the relationship didn’t progress. Other dancers at the club dated men who went all out trying to impress them, much like Madison’s ex-lover had paid for those gigantic fake tits of hers. Other girls started coming home with diamonds and cars.
On a detective’s budget, there was no fucking way I’d buy Madison Maxx anything more than a gumball machine ring.
“Another drink?” The bartender glanced my way and raised an eyebrow. After coming to the club for weeks on end, I’d figured it out pretty clearly. The bartenders were always smarter and more cynical than the dancers. They were willing to flirt, willing to banter, as long as you didn’t treat them like idiots.
I smiled at her. “Sure thing, sweetheart,” I said, forking over another five. “Put it on my tab, will you?”
She nodded, and handed me a drink that was much stronger than the one I’d just finished. I sipped it and leaned back against the sticky, faux-leather back of the barstool.
Just sitting there, waiting, was killing me. It was something I was used to doing for work, but there was a huge difference between sitting in a cruiser for hours and sitting in a strip club. I f
elt like my mind was going to atrophy if I couldn’t get this solved and done with soon.
I was relieved to see that It didn’t look like anything was out of the ordinary. It all seemed like business as usual, even if it was incredibly boring.
I heard the sound of a door slam and turned my gaze to see Angel emerging from his office. His arm was around another dancer’s waist, holding her close. She was still made up in glitter and sequins and lace, but she looked tired. There were bags under her eyes, and her face was drawn and taut.
I wondered if the rumors I’d heard were true: that some of the women worked after-hours as hookers. Madison hadn’t mentioned anything about it – we’d been getting closer, but I was starting to think it was something I’d have to ask about. Sure, it was just a rumor, but years of work had trained me well. I could sense that something else was going on beneath the surface.
Something exploitative.
It was obvious if you just looked at some of the girls. Besides being obviously tired, they had a look in their eyes that signaled they were in trouble. Bruises, and not just the kind that came from accidentally banging into the pole or stumbling on stage. Smeary makeup that I could tell wasn’t just from perspiration.
I had to get to the bottom of this. I took another sip of my drink, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down to my stomach. The music slowed, then changed to a song with booming bass. The lights dimmed and the DJ came on over the speakers, announcing a new dancer.
This should be interesting, I thought. Someone new, someone fresh – maybe someone I can keep a close eye on.
I turned my attention to the stage, along with every other horny, lonely man in The Pink Diamond.
When I saw who was walking over to the pole, my eyes widened at the sight of her familiar curves.
What the fuck was Paris doing on stage?
I did a double-take – at first, I couldn’t believe that it was her. I didn’t want to believe that it was her. No, the Paris I knew wouldn’t be doing this: walking out in a pink bikini that left little to the imagination. Her ripe, pale curves were stunning in the bright lights of the stage, and there was a smile on her face, but I could tell that she was faking it. As she walked closer to the pole and leaned against it, swaying and undulating her curvy body, I felt a chill.
This was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare that I’d fallen into.
That was when Paris opened her eyes and scanned the room. In that moment, I had no fucking idea what to do: suddenly, I felt like bolting.
But then, she saw me.
Our eyes locked, and I felt a sizzle of pure, white-hot electricity between us. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. She smiled sensually, for real this time, and I felt the rest of the room fall away as Paris began to dance. Her hands moved up, up, up in the air and behind her, untying that obscene pink bikini top and slowly lowering it down.
Oh, god. I was a fucking goner.
It was just Paris and me. She was dancing for me, moving and writhing and swaying that curvy body of hers on stage. As she slowly lowered the bikini top, I felt my cock stiffen in my pants. It didn’t even occur to me that this was the reason men went to strip clubs, to lose themselves in the sexual, private dancing of naked girls on stage. I was too spellbound, too hypnotized by Paris and her perfect tits.
She was so fucking beautiful. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she licked her lips and ran her hands down her body, cupping her breasts in both hands and closing her eyes. She arched her back, like she was in the throes of pleasure, and rubbed her strawberry-pink nipples with her thumbs.
My cock was throbbing as she moved her hands lower and lower. Paris got on all fours, turning around and shaking her ass. She got on her back and kicked her legs high in the air, showing the slight bulge of her pussy through the bikini bottom. As she pulled it down her legs and kicked it to the side, I felt like I was about to explode. Every cell in my body hungered for her, ached to taste and tease and fill her.
In my mind, I was no longer sitting at the grimy bar of The Pink Diamond. In my mind, I was walking up on stage and kissing her. Tasting those perfect, pouty, pink lips of hers in mine. Tasting her sweat and her perfume. Running my hands down her body, cupping her tits and pinching and rolling her stiff nipples until she moaned in my mouth. My tongue would caress hers, exploring her mouth and tasting her. My hands would stroke her soft, smooth skin, moving down to her inner thighs. I’d tease her, moving my fingers closer and closer to her pussy. She’d beg me to touch her, and I’d finally give in, my cock aching with arousal and lust in my pants.
God, I wanted her so bad. In my mind, I was holding Paris in my arms and laying her down on the stage. She’d moan and spread her legs for me, filling my nose with the sweet, luscious scent of her pussy juice. I’d crawl between her thighs and nuzzle her flat belly, lick her just above her trimmed blonde patch of pubic hair. Her smell, fragrant and delicious, would fill my senses and I’d move my mouth closer and closer. She’d tangle her hands in my hair and arch her back, her tits quivering as her body shook with desire.
Her pussy would be open for me, ready for me, waiting for me. Her clit, pink and exposed, would be begging me to lick it. All I wanted to do was bury my face between her legs and suck her clit, lick it, stroke it with my tongue while sliding a finger inside of her wet pussy. Paris would cry out with pleasure. She’d buck her hips and ride my face, moving faster until my chin was soaked with her juices. I’d keep lapping and sucking, keep swirling my tongue around her clit until she bucked and gasped and came with a loud scream of my name.
Jesus Christ, I wanted her bad.
When the music changed, it seemed too abrupt. Suddenly, I realized that I was still sitting at the bar with a melting drink in front of me. I wasn’t on stage, bringing Paris to a powerful, scorching climax. I was sitting in the dark, watching her collect dozens of bills while holding her discarded bikini against her chest.
I was back in the present, and I didn’t like it one bit. The reality of the situation hit me in the face, hard, and I shuddered as I realized the truth of what was really happening.
Paris was stripping.
My daughter’s best friend was stripping.
In the club that I was trying to bring down.
I had no idea how things had gone from bad to massively fucked up in the span of just under four minutes, but they had.
And now, I was totally screwed.
6
Paris – Friday
My heart thudded as I stared at the door, still wondering if I had imagined the whole exchange. What was Harrison doing with a stripper? Madison Maxx, of all people? I was so confused that I couldn’t even begin to process it in my mind. He watched me dance, but now he was acting like he’s never met me before.
And he had walked out with Madison like he was dating her.
Could he really be dating a stripper? Was Hollie really that wrong about her father?
Or was Harrison ashamed, and trying to keep it a secret?
That didn’t seem like him at all, but then again, I was starting to wonder how much I really knew about the man.
I swallowed hard.
“Honey, you’d better get moving,” one of the other dancers, a girl named Livvie, said to me. “You making the rounds, or what?”
I nodded and flushed. “Sorry,” I told her. “I’m feeling kind of out of it.”
To my surprise, she gave me a sympathetic smile. “First night’s always the hardest,” she said. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”
I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to be a pro – I wanted this to be a short chapter of my life, something I could and then move on from and forget all about. It was strange: after having taken off my bikini and cupped my tits and showed my pussy to a room full of strangers, I should have felt fearless. But the idea of making the rounds in a tight dress, asking strangers if they’d like to buy a dance, was somehow even more intimidating. Dancing had been one thing. No one had been touching me then. B
ut what would happen if someone groped my ass or brushed their hand against my boobs?
“Don’t worry, honey,” Livvie said, as if she was reading my mind. “Angel’s real good about taking care of his girls. If anyone touches you, they’ll be thrown out.”
I nodded, although her words didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Sitting down at my chair and mirror, I touched up my makeup and blotted the oil from my face. I redid my hair and pulled on a tight, shiny strapless dress that made my ass stick out like a caboose. Now, it was my turn to work the room. I knew that I kept half the lap dance fee, as well as any tips. Despite being an intimidating prospect, I knew that I could potentially make even more money doing private dances than I had on the stage.
The dressing room door opened and closed and my heart skipped a beat. I was hoping that it would be Harrison.
Instead, it was Angel, the owner of the club. I’d met him once before when I’d had my interview there, and I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about him. He was attractive in a way that was almost frightening, with tattoos and straight white teeth. His eyes were dark and although he’d been nothing but cordial to me, I sensed a menacing aura there that was easily provoked.
Angel walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he said. His hand was warm and dry and yet, I felt a shiver of revulsion run down my spine.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’ll be topping Madison soon,” Angel said. He grinned at me. “People are already talking about you. That first dance, that was stellar.”
“Thanks,” I repeated. “I was just about go out on the floor and make the rounds.”
Angel nodded approvingly. “Good girl,” he said, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “You know,” he added, leaning closer and meeting my eyes in the mirror. “You did so good, there’s a way you could make even more money. You feel like talking about that?”