by Xavier Neal
Paranoia now begins to work its way through my system. “Do....Do I know you?”
He opens the door and motions his hand. “Miss French is waiting for you.”
“Who?”
Rather than verbally responding, he repeats the action.
Curious and slightly terrified, I poke my head around the door to see a beautiful woman with milk chocolate skin in a sweater dress and knee high boots typing on a tablet. Without looking up she says, “Victoria Charles, please get in.”
“My name is Rory.”
Her eyes lift with a sharp look. “I do not enjoy repeating myself.”
The man who opened the door moves his body behind mine preventing me from turning back around. Now a little more than uncomfortable, but unaware of how to weasel my way out of this situation, I slide inside and start running through any self-defense tactics I can muster up.
Got any tips? If it was a guy I'd go for the nuts. Not really sure what to do here.
“You can stop panicking,” she assures, brown eyes settling on mine. “I'm not here to harm you. I'm your boyfriend's boss.”
The shock in my voice is apparent. “You're his boss?”
“I hope the shock is because-”
“You're fucking gorgeous.”
What! She is! The whole badass mobster vibe she radiates is kinda hot too.
She tries not to smile. “I like you, Victoria.”
“Rory,” I correct again. “Please.”
“Rory, I'm here to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity. You are being allowed in to watch one performance and only one. You will not inquire further information on how to become a member of the club. You will not ask questions about the other clients you may or may recognize at the club. You will sign a non-disclosure agreement adhering to what I have just mentioned and assuring you will not mention what you were privileged to witness or any other information. If you break your end of the contract, the skeletons in your closet will become the skeletons in your front seat. And before you question what I may or may not actually know, I can assure you, you do not want to test me.”
She did know my full name, something very select people do. I buried it when we buried my grandfather.
“Am I making myself clear?”
In a meek voice I reply, “Yes.”
“Good. Tap twice on the window and Wood will retrieve your things.” Once I do as instructed she offers me the tablet. “Read it if you deem necessary. It says everything I said to you in iron clad legal terms.”
Believing her and every word she has mentioned, I use the pen to sign my name.
“Very good.” She takes it back and nods her head back to the window where Wood is waiting with my things. “Feel free to give Mr. Rose a wave to let him know you're safe.”
I wave to Brian whose terrified face is pressed against the glass door. After taking my belongings I turn back to French who has replaced the tablet with her phone.
Moments later the vehicle starts to move forward and she states, “You will be spending the next several hours having your body pampered with a mani, a pedi, hair, makeup and a selected wardrobe. I suggest you pick something short and easily accessible. You will be offered food and beverages to consume at your leisure. Afterwards you will be picked up and escorted back to the club where you will witness Prince H's performance.”
“Will you-”
“No.” She tosses her phone to the side. “I have a business to run. However your escort will be able to answer any questions within reason that you may have.” The car comes to an unexpected halt. “Enjoy your time.”
My jaw drops to reply when the door opens and a hand is extended to help me out.
Unsure of what else to say, I whisper, “Thank you.”
She tries to hide her smile once more.
Strolling towards the building that looks abandoned with Wood at my side, I let the glee bubbling under the surface break free.
This night is going to be one I never forget. I just know it....
**
After being pampered like a princess for hours, including a two hour massage, I walk outside of the studio you would never know was there, something else I love, to see the limo waiting for me. A different man than the one who was accompanying French before opens the door for me to slip inside.
“Hello!” A cheerful, voluptuous woman with glasses greets me. “You must be Rory.”
The door shuts behind me. “I am.”
“I'm Samantha Potts.” She extends her hand for me to shake. “I will be your escort this evening.”
Once we do, not another word is said. Soft jazz music fills the limo and I can feel the enthusiasm humming through my blood. To my surprise it doesn't take long before the vehicle stops again and we're being helped out.
Samantha wraps her arm around mine and compliments, “You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
“Carrie help you pick this out?”
“She did.”
“She does fantastic work,” Samantha brags. “You should've seen the wedding dress she designed for me.”
“Oh you're married? May I ask if you're married to one of this princes?”
The scoff out of her takes me off guard. “Absolutely not. Aside from dating them being against policy, they have parts on them I don't care for.” She lifts her eyebrows to seal the implication.
I like to see all the different types of people French has working for her. It's good to know she's nothing like some of the members here. You can only choose to be classy. Can't force others to follow suit.
Samantha swipes a key card granting us access into a building that appears to be luxury apartments. Swiftly she guides us to the front desk where a sharply dressed red headed man is sitting.
“Evening,” he greets me. “You must be Miss Rory Charles.”
Relieved my name was mentioned and not my birth name, I reply, “I am.”
“Please enjoy your night.”
After a curt nod, he pushes a button and the wall behind him to the left seems to creek open. The two of us head that direction. As soon as we're on the other side, the door seals shut appearing to be a solid wall all over again.
She wasn't kidding about an elusive club.
At the end of the dimly lit hall, which slopes down, is another security guard holding tightly onto some sort of device.
Before he has a chance to question anything, Samantha says, “She's a guest of Miss French. Should be in your messages.”
The man, who resembles a younger Dolph Lundgren, checks.
He's also really hot in a very intimidating way. You think maybe he's French's lover? Maybe they have sex backstage? What! I'm really wound up just knowing that in a few minutes, I'm going to be watching my very sexy boyfriend rip off his clothes in a crowd full of people. It's exciting! And new. You know how much I love to try different things.
He gives me a long look before questioning Samantha, “And you'll be back to escort her out?”
She nods and he allows her to swipe her card once more.
On the other side of the door is a fairly large room with an unmistakable intimate vibe. To the left is an elegant bar with a man wearing a slightly unbuttoned white shirt and loose tie, pouring drinks. In front of us is a dark stage waiting to be taken. There's a main base away from the crowd, closer to an area where I can only assume the dancers come out, in the shape of a large square. At the opposite end it branches out with runaway like paths on each side that all eventually connect, leaving an open pit, which is where a select section of women are seated. On the outskirts of the same path more women are eagerly congregated. At the corners of the runway are poles and ramps.
“This way,” Samantha guides me to an empty table a few feet away from one of the pillars in the audience. The moment I'm settled, she gently touches my shoulder, and whispers in my ear, “Enjoy.”
She strolls back the way we came and I try not to drink in too much of the other women, like French warned.
All of a sudden the lights in the room, except for the ones at the bar, shut off. A smooth voice announces, “The time has come ladies. Your final prince has arrived. Sit back and prepare to enjoy the ride...”
Ride huh?
A shortened version of the opening chorus line to 'Somethin' Like That' infused with a dance beat begins, the lights pulsating with it exposing a silhouette of a male. His back is leaned against a wall, leg propped up, cowboy hat tilted down, and fingers hanging through the loops of his jeans. The one line repeats again, the man's position slightly shifting, and the lights get a little brighter. It repeats once more this time finally exposing Hunter's delicious body waiting with a rope dangling over one shoulder.
Holy hell he looks hot!
The music continues, making it past the one line, and he rhythmically strolls towards the crowd, stopping at unexpected moments to grind his hips, which makes the crowd scream.
If only they knew what those hips were really capable of.
Hunter drops the rope and the chorus line begins to repeatedly skip as he tugs the end of his white t-shirt up. The tease of his abs alone grants him a shower of bills. Swiftly with the appropriate beat, he tears the white shirt straight down the middle, rolling his body right along with the breaking fabric. The moment his delicious chest is exposed he drops to his knees and buries a woman's face in his rocking crotch.
Damn, I forget how sexy he can be with his clothes on.
Shrieks and more cash fly while Hunter lets her go to drop into another woman's lap this time wrapping his rope around the chair as he grinds his body on hers. Intently, I watch her hands roam his hard body. She explores him like she's never seen anything so glorious. The excitement and arousal on her face ignites my own. There's a shift in the music to a song that sparks more squeals.
I think he picked this one just for me...
The famous line from “Save a Horse” is chanted while Hunter uses the pole in it's intended fashion. He mocks riding a horse. Spanking it with his rope. Rolling it around above his head. Every movement he makes grants him a tornado of cash.
I cross my legs, fold my hands in my lap, and anxiously nibble on my bottom lip as he maneuvers away from the stage towards the singing crowd. Hunter lassos another random woman, this one a red head. Braver than the others, she unbuttons his jeans and buries cash inside. Like the professional he is, he drops the rope, dances to another set of women and repeats the actions receiving similar praise. His belt and jeans are left somewhere in the wake of whimpering women. Every female whose presence he graces is left a panting, withering mess. Watching him successfully dominate them all in a single moment sends pleasure throughout my body.
Do you have any idea how sexy it is to know he can bring each and every one of them to their knees, but I'm the only one he wants? I'm the only one he needs. It's intoxicating. Who the hell would ever need liquor when they could have him?
Suddenly Hunter arrives back on the stage after sexually swaying his way through the audience. The chair now in his possession is being slightly tipped over with one foot while he uses the rope to keep it from completely falling over. He rocks his hips, grinds against the air, rolls his abs towards the object as if a woman was there waiting and willing. His sexual simulation burns between my thighs, my body starving for the touch I haven't had in a couple of days.
God I hope he has the energy when this is all over...
In a swift motion, he yanks a brunette woman on stage with him, grinding against her as he secures the rope around her waist. Once it's there he dances slightly away before tugging her sharply to him, spinning her around, and bending her over. The sight of him thrusting towards her in his favorite position snatches a whimper from my lips. Before I know it he's dropped down onto one hand, lifting his hips to grind against her ass. She swings her body to meet each one of his actions. Hunter flows his body upward, guides the two of them to the chair where he bends her over again. He pretends to spank her as he rides her similar to a horse. Between the music thrumming throughout the room, the lust dripping from every pair of lips in the crowd, and knowing the strings he pulled to allow me to see this show, I'm one extremely light touch away from falling apart.
Seriously. One touch. We're gonna have to screw in his car or right outside of this building. Just...immediately.
Hunter tosses his brown hat in the air, kicks the chair away from her, and falls backwards onto both of his hands just in time to catch her with his crotch. The crowd screams impressed while she tosses her head back in excitement. He bounces her in his lap a few more times as the lights begin to fade, ending the show of a lifetime.
Seeing him at the bachelorette party wasn't anything like this. I mean, yeah he worked the crowd and yeah he stripped, but this energy, this performance is not like anything I could've imagined. It was sexy and fun. Practiced and perfected. From every movement he made, it's obvious he not only enjoys what he does, but that it brings a certain light to his eyes I'd have to be blind not to fall in love with. Shit. I'm really in love with him, huh?
Hunter
Chance greets me at the locker room door singing the song from my set while poorly imitating riding a horse. “Yee-haw!”
I roll my eyes and head for my locker
Not once did I say yee-haw. Hell I've never said yee-haw. Some stereotypes are irritatin' as shit. That one is probably my personal least favorite.
“Bet that was better than your first rodeo....”
“You're a moron,” I mumble before barking loudly, “Fuck!” Ripping off the gold card taped to my locker, I repeat my annoyance. “Fuck!”
Just when I thought I had wriggled free of this shitty weekend this turned out to be. French never gave me a definite yes or no, jus' a bullshit 'We'll see'. She's been taking everything I've earned this weekend, but knowin' her she's jus' collected it all to give it back in one sittin' with some sort of she's the boss, she doesn't do favors speech. I haven't seen Rory since early Friday mornin', damn near twisted my ankle last night, and my lucky pair of jeans ripped where the sun don't typically shine. And hold all jokes about that bein' alright. It's not. I don't go out there with already ripped clothes. Defeats the point of a performance.
Chance leans against the locker beside mine. “You and Brock are the only two princes I've ever seen hate being called to V.I.P.”
I grab my spare jeans out of my locker to slip into. “I'm just ready for this weekend to be over.”
“So you can saddle up and start your week long journey by horseback home, Cowboy?”
“Don't call me that,” I snap at the same time I grab my extra hat.
“A man with an accent who likes rope and horses. What else would you call him?”
My locker door slams shut and I lean forward in his face. “Not. In. The. Mood.”
On a huff, I take the stairs up to the 3rd floor, matching my key card to the room on the far end.
Once I swipe, I force a polite smile, and enter. “And how may I please you this evenin', ma'am?”
“Is that what you say to all the clients or just me?” Rory's sweet voice coos.
My eyes immediately zoom in on her relaxed frame centered in the middle of the gold leather couch. “Sugar?”
Her beautiful lip falls between her teeth. “You here to give me a ride home?”
Completely baffled, I trip over my response, unsure of exactly what to say.
If that were true French would've just left her by the employee parking or something. Not this. What the hell is she up to?
Before anything coherent can come out of my mouth, the door opens, and French with Wood at her side, enters. “Evening, Prince H.”
“Queen...”
She tur
ns her attention to my girlfriend. “Miss Charles, I hope you enjoyed your evening here. You are booked for a private dance for the next twenty five minutes. I do hope it lives up to your expectations.” French turns back to me and nods, “This is your final dance. I'll see you after.”
As unexpectedly as she arrived she disappears.
Cryptic? Maybe....
Rory teases, “Well Cowboy...where's my show?”
I give her a long stare noticing the heated status of her entire body.
I know that look. I fuckin' love that look. I crave it....but only from her.