by Alexis Angel
To be absolutely honest with you, doll, I don’t think I ever remember the last time I ever wanted to be this close to a woman. And when I say close, I’m not talking about being physically close. It’s more than that.
Alright, let me fucking stop right here or next thing you know I’m writing poetry.
And you’ll just fucking snort, wondering what happened to make an alpha male bad boy into a mewling kitten.
Fuck that.
I’m over her.
I push all these rosy fucking thoughts out of my head and finish showering. Like a fucking man.
I put on a black suit and, by the time I’m finished getting ready, Destiny gets out of the bathroom looking completely stunning, even though she’s wearing her clothes from when I met her at 230 Fifth this afternoon.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I see her, and she raises one eyebrow at me.
“What?” she asks, and I don’t know what to tell her. I settle for the truth.
“You look amazing,” I say, and she arches her eyebrows even more.
“I’m not wearing any make-up, my hair is shit, and I’m wearing a creased dress,” she purses her lips, probably thinking that I’m messing with her, but I just grin.
“And you look fucking stunning,” I admit, no longer caring about what she thinks. “I guess that there’s actually a pretty woman under all that make-up.”
“Asshole,” she laughs, and then closes the distance between the two of us and punches me playfully in the arms.
“That’s me.” Without even thinking, I place my hands on her waist and pull her in, pressing my mouth on her. It’s just a short kiss, but the simplicity of it makes me wary.
I never bought all that romantic shit about magical kisses and unicorns, but there’s something about this woman that’s clouding my fucking mind. She’s dangerous like that, I can tell. I guess this is the way most women feel when they are with me. Yeah, I’m Mr. Cocky asshole, nice to meet you too.
“Shall we?” she asks me, and I nod.
We get out of the apartment in silence. We’re standing side by side when I press the button to summon the elevator and, as we’re waiting, my hands brush accidently against hers.
I feel her fingers twitch, and mine do so as well. The elevator opens with a quiet ding, and we step inside without even looking at each other. But then, as we face forward, our hands brush against one another again. This time I don’t fucking hesitate, I just turn my hand around and hold hers. She wraps her fingers around mine and, just like a fucking 16-year-old high-school couple discovering what sex and love really are, we hold hands as the elevator makes its way down.
Yeah, I can’t believe this is fucking happening.
I’ve had the sweetest women over in my apartment before Destiny, and some of them were even virgins, and now here I end up holding hands with a reformed porn star.
Maybe destiny is playing a trick on me… Which is kinda ironic, don’t you think? Destiny is using destiny to mess with my head. How’s that for the universe making a joke at your expense?
But, just between you and me, I don’t give a fuck if she used to be a porn star. I’ve never been a saint myself.
And she’s so fucking beautiful and confident, standing tall while most women are afraid of revealing their true selves…
No doubt about it.
This woman is a catch.
I’m just afraid that she might catch me as well.
9
Destiny
“And now,” the voice on the speakers shouts out, “Destiny and Luxury!” The spotlight falls on me and on Luxury and the whole place goes crazy. Men are whistling, clapping, and yelling, cheering as if they've just won the lottery. As for me, well, just another day of work.
We’re both wearing nothing more than a skimpy bra and a matching thong, and that’s because we don’t want to waste any time; our show involves much more that just stripping, if you know what I mean.
The music starts, a deep bass and a steady beat, and our bodies are like two matching pieces, linked by something more than just the physical side of things. I’ve known Lux, her real name is Anna, but she goes by Luxury in here, for a few years now, and it’s always special whenever the two of us put on a show for customers.
And since every man with too much money for their own good always seems eager to spend top dollar to see us together, I can’t help but ‘work’ with her even though I own the place.
You don’t say no to easy money and, besides, it’s always fun with Lux. Today we’re hosting a bachelor party, and the group has booked the side room and its stage just for them.
I’m standing in front of Lux, our bodies swaying to the steady beat of the music, and she walks up to me and places her hands on my hips. The men cheer louder as she starts running her hands up and down the side of my body, and I throw the guys a teasing smile.
Then, I throw my head back and let my hair cascade down my back and shoulders as her hands go for my breasts; she squeezes them softly, and then pulls the front clasp of my bra. The cups droop over my breasts, and I watch the men sitting under the stage trying to get a glimpse of my hard nipples.
Oh, don’t judge them; I’m worth every stolen glimpse... and they’re paying more than enough for it.
I push the straps of my bra down my arms, moving slowly, and I can feel the tension rise in the air. When I finally pull it off of my body, my sixth sense tells me that the few cocks in the room that weren’t fucking hard are now as solid as concrete.
Smiling at Lux, I lean in to her and brush my lips against hers while, at the same time, I open the clasp on her own bra. Except, instead of taking it slow, I simply rip it off of her body and throw it to the men under us. I can hear the commotion as two of them jump from their seats to catch the bra, but I don’t bother looking.
My hands run down the side of Lux’s body, and I go down to my knees as I hook my fingers on her thong. I look at the men, that mischievous smile once more on my face, and bite on my lower lip, teasing them as I try to look like I’m wondering about what I should do next
“Take it off,” one of them urges me, and I slide the tip of my index finger over Lux’s thong, gently pressing against her pussy.
She grabs her own tits as I do it, squeezing them and moaning, and I finally start pushing the thong down. Her pussy is starting to show, and no one’s talking any more; if it weren’t for the music, you could hear a pin drop in the room.
“No, you take it off,” one of the men shouts, and I can’t help but smile at that. Even though most men would kill and die for a chance to be with a woman like Lux, I guess some things can’t really be helped.
I’m in high demand, after all, especially since a lot of these men know me from my days as a porn star.
It isn’t easy being famous, you know?
Sigh. Alright then. Here we go.
I go up to my feet, my fingers still on Lux’s thong, and she takes her hands to my waist. We start to pull down on each other’s thongs at the same time and, when I feel the string being pulled down from between my ass cheeks…
What the fuck?
Did you hear that?
What the fuck was that noise?
I jerk, hearing that loud bang.
You heard that too, right?
It’s from the end of the room.
I turn my head there just in time to see someone barging in.
What the fuck is going on?
I narrow my eyes into slits, trying to see the person walking toward the stage in a straight hurried line, and then I feel my heart sink inside my chest.
Fucking Christ.
It’s Lester Vicks, and he looks fucking pissed.
“Show’s over, gentlemen,” he shouts, pulling his badge from a pocket in his overcoat and flashing it to the men sitting at the tables. It’s almost as if he said there’s a bomb inside the building; they scurry out like mice, heading out of the room as if they were running for their lives.
Oh. My. God.
This time he’s gone too fucking far. Skinny dick loser corrupt fucking cop.
“What the fuck, Lester?” I hiss at him, grabbing my bra from the floor and putting it on.
I pull my thong up, walk down the stage, and head toward him, feeling as pissed as he looks. I don’t know what bug crawled up his ass today, but he can’t barge in here like this and ruin my business.
“You can’t do this!” I protest, but he shoots me down with one hard look.
“I can do whatever I want, Destiny,” he says, and this time he doesn’t call me babe. Even though I hate when he calls me that, I would've preferred it to the way he’s talking to me right now. He means business, and when Lester means business… It’s usually bad business. At least for me.
“I’m running out of time here,” he tells me sharply. “That girl I told you about, you need to find her, and you need to do it quickly.”
“Jesus, and you had to storm in here just to tell me that?” I ask him, folding my arms and tapping my foot against the floor. He might be the commissioner, but that doesn’t give him the right to come in here and do whatever the hell he wants. I mean, it does, but you know what I’m trying to say.
“I’m not playing around anymore, Destiny,” he says to me. “There’s something very bad going on, and I need you to go to Python and find that girl. Not fucking play porn star for a bunch of fucking perverts.”
Seriously. That statement coming from him has like eighteen different kinds of irony.
“There’s some shady shit going on at Python, and that girl is right in the middle of it. That girl and your friend, Austin,” he says, pronouncing the word friend as if he knows more than he’s telling. I wonder how much he really knows.
“I told you, if she’s there, I’m going to --” I start, but he waves me down and cuts me short. He smacks his lips in that irritating expression of his, and then points one long finger at me.
“You have 24 hours. Not a minute more,” he tells me, and I understand the threat under his words. Even though he has the hots for me, this woman he's looking for seems to be more important than all of that for him to threaten me like this.
“The clock is ticking,” he finishes, turning on his heels and storming out of the room. “And when it finishes, you better have a fucking chair to sit on, darlin’.”
I frown as I watch him leave the room, thinking that if hate could kill he’d drop dead right now. I used to tolerate him, but lately he’s been overstepping.
I’m not his errand girl; if he wants to investigate Python, why doesn’t he do it himself?
I stand there in silence, mulling over his words as Lux walks toward me, a coat draped over her naked shoulders.
“What the fuck was all that about?” she asks me. “Did Lester go off the deep end?” She folds her arms like me, tapping her foot at the same rhythm I was doing before.
I shake my head.
“I mean, just walking in here and flashing his badge and shutting shit down, it's…” Lux tries to find the words but can’t. “Jesus.”
“I don’t think Jesus has anything to do with this, Lux,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. “Can you do me a favor? Get me an Uber; I need to get to Queens fast. Lester isn’t fucking around this time, and I don’t want to take any risks.”
“Sure, boss,” she tells me playfully, trying to brighten my mood but failing miserably. Seeing the worried look on my face, she finally turns on her heels and starts walking toward the backstage. “I’m on it.”
As I stand here, completely by myself under the dimmed lights of the room, I can’t help but worry. There’s something going on, and I have no idea what it is.
But I need to get to the bottom of this.
Because it seems like I’m caught up in it now whether I like it or not.
10
Austin
This is probably a fucking first for me, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of Destiny.
I’ve always lived by the two Fs philosophy, Fuck and Forget, but that’s proving to be an impossible mission.
This woman’s cast some sort of fucking spell on me, and I just can’t shake it off.
It’s a good thing that Strokes has called me to warn me that she’s coming in today. I need to think of something else, and I know that when Strokes comes in we have to take care of business.
And, no, doll, I mean real fucking business, not the daily operations of a sex club.
I’m sitting at my office, looking through the financials of this month (profits have been climbing up for the fourth month in a row) when there’s a knock at my door.
“Yeah?” I don’t even look from my laptop as the door swings open; my security staff always leads before anyone comes inside.
“Mistress Strokes is here, boss.”
“Send her in,” I tell the head of my security detail and, a few seconds after, Strokes strolls through the doorway.
“These guys are really uptight, Jesus,” she starts with by way of hello. “They know who I am, so why don’t they just let me in?”
She knows me long enough to fucking complain so I let it fly and watch her as she sits down right in front of me and stretches. She yawns then, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You know why,” I tell her with a smile, and then get up and head to the coffee machine in the corner. I take a double espresso out of it, and then push the cup into her hands.
“Been getting some sleep?” I ask. “You look terrible.”
Okay, don’t fucking kill me, okay?
You think I’m a fucking idiot. I know you don’t tell a girl that she looks terrible. It’s a lie, she doesn’t look terrible at all; in fact, she looks as stunning as she always does.
Sure, she has a thing for painting her hair in the weirdest bright colors, but she has that cute innocent face that just disarms any man.
And when she smiles, it seems like the whole room lights up.
And let’s not even talk about her body; sure, she’s a petite one, but her tits seem to prove a different point.
So why did I tell her she looks terrible?
Because she always pushes herself to exhaustion; when it comes to business, she’s fucking tireless, and I don’t want her to burn out.
No, I need her thinking straight.
We can’t afford any mishaps, not in this line of business.
“Don’t you worry about me,” she yawns again, but then starts drinking her coffee. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“That’s funny,” I say, but I’m not laughing. I care about her. And don’t go putting words in my mouth, alright? I’m not fucking her, and never have. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to fuck her—I sure as hell wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want to ruin what we have going on because I can’t control my monster cock. We’re doing important stuff, and it’s important enough for me to forgo sex for a few minutes.
Besides, even if I fucked her, there’s only one girl I have in my head and would have in my fucking brain.
That’s right.
Destiny Renee.
“We need to consider our options, Austin,” she finally gets down to business, setting the cup on my desk and looking me in the eyes with a serious expression. “Lester isn’t going to stand down for long, and you know that.”
I sigh as she continues. “If he somehow manages to get a warrant so that he can raid Python, that’s what he’s going to do.”
“I know that,” I sigh, sitting back down on my chair and folding my hands in front of my face, pondering what our next move should be. “But we can’t move all the women out of here without him noticing. We need to be careful.”
“We do,” she lowers her voice and then leans into me. She caresses her right earlobe with her thumb, and that gives away the fact that what she’s going to tell me isn’t really up for discussion. I’ve seen her do that too many times to start arguing; she argues back, and she doesn’t budge. And that’s exactly why I trusted her with this job in the first
place.
“And being careful means that we have a safe place to move the girls in case there’s a raid,” she says. “We can’t let Lester catch us with our pants down.”
“Okay, okay. Fuck. I’ll think of something,” I tell her, my throat suddenly growing dry. It would be so much easier to run a regular strip club, but I guess that’s not who I am.
Our choices define who we are, and the choices I’ve made in the past, especially since I’ve started working with Strokes, force me to stay true to who I am. There’s no backing down from this; I’m in for the long haul.
“Let’s grab a drink, I’m buying,” I tell her, and then step out of the office. She follows after me quietly, knowing not to argue. I got a lot on my mind, with all the logistics of our operation and funneling money out of the club so that we can stick to our plans.
I can’t believe at one point I actually thought that this was going to be easier than it is, but at least the payoff is good enough for me to keep investing both my time and money into this whole scheme.
“Whisky, straight up,” I tell Mike, the shirtless bartender, and he sets a full glass down in front of me in fifteen seconds. Keep up the good work and you might see a raise, Mike.
“Orange juice, natural,” Strokes asks, and Mike doesn’t even argue with her. She’s’ quirky like that; she loves her ice cream and her orange juice, and she’s not ashamed to order them when every single woman around her is getting loaded with martinis and tequilas.
Even though she’s heading my operation, dealing with the day-to-day nasty reality of business, sometimes she seems just like a little girl fresh out of college and without any real world experience. But anyone who believes first appearances is a fool; there’s much more about her than what meets the eye.
“Really, you and your orange juice. Can’t you just drink a whisky like a regular fucking human being? It’s 11 PM, for God’s sake.”