by Radclyffe
“Yes, she is.”
Parker leaned over and kissed Bren gently. “But ya know, so are you.”
Laughing, Bren pressed her palms to Parker’s chest and held her at arm’s length. “And you, my friend, are a sweet talker. Go sit down now.”
“Oh, right. Right. That’s where I’m going.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The lights suddenly dimmed again, and for a few seconds, Bren couldn’t see anything. Then the music started and the spotlights lit up center stage. This time, the dancer was a tall, curvaceous redhead wearing white cowboy boots with tassels, a brown suede vest, a two-gun and holster set, and a white thong so narrow that from where Bren was standing it looked as if her sex was bare. She twirled her guns and bent over with her very shapely ass to the crowd. Then she dropped her head low enough to smile between her spread legs at the anonymous faces. Her red hair streaked down toward the floor like flames. Licking her lips, she dragged one of the gun barrels up her thigh and rubbed it back and forth over her labia. The light glinted off the barrel as if it were wet.
For just an instant as the woman smiled up at her, Bren had an image of sliding that gleaming rod ever so slowly inside the redhead. The sudden tingling between her legs was both exciting and disturbing. She turned her back on the dancer and found the bartender a few feet away, regarding her contemplatively. She glanced the length of the bar and realized she was the only one not watching the show.
“Get you something?” he said in a deep rumble.
“I was wondering if you might have a message for me.”
He regarded her impassively.
“A note…” Bren almost didn’t finish the sentence, because the absurdity of the whole situation was almost more than she could discount. But he seemed to be waiting, so she went on, “for Melanie.”
“Would you be Melanie?”
Bren didn’t even hesitate, because it felt completely natural to say, “Yes. I am.”
Wordlessly, he turned his back and walked away.
The disappointment was greater than she had anticipated. Rationally, of course, she knew any other outcome was impossible. For a stranger to recognize just from reading her books the needs she had successfully hidden from everyone, even herself, was highly unlikely. And for someone to actually find her and lead her here? Impossible. She peered into the dark recesses of the room, hoping to discover someone watching her, waiting for her. But no one was. She was alone with her fantasies just as she always was.
Shaking off the familiar melancholy, she started back to her seat.
“Don’t forget this,” the bartender said.
Slowly, she turned around. He held out a small envelope, the kind usually attached to floral deliveries. Bren tried to see something in his face, but it was smooth as stone and just as unreadable. She took the envelope and sat down on the bar stool, swiveling so her back was to the bar and the bartender.
On the stage, the redhead had taken off her vest and was snapping the hammers of her revolvers on her nipples. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Bren examined the sealed envelope. There was nothing written on it. Sliding a fingernail underneath the flap, she carefully opened it, trying hard not to tear the flap or the paper. The small card held a single embossed black rose in one corner and words written in bold, black script. She couldn’t tell in the murky light, but it looked as if it had been written with a real pen. A fountain pen.
I want to dance for you. Jae.
Bren felt her sex pulse like a fist clenching, then springing open, and just as quickly, she was wet and fully aroused. She slipped the card back into the envelope and surveyed the room again. No one was paying any attention to her.
Who had written the note? Was it the redhead up on stage now? The blonde who’d masturbated on the pole? Or perhaps the brunette who had teased the female customer with her breasts. Bren tried to imagine one of them as her secret stranger, and she couldn’t. But then, she’d never seen a woman who came close to fulfilling her fantasy, which is why she’d started writing to begin with. She had acquired not only success, she’d found the satisfaction she couldn’t find anywhere else.
Why risk a perfect dream with imperfect reality?
“Is there any message?” the bartender asked from behind her.
Bren realized the music was climbing to a crescendo and the act would be over soon. Then the lights would come up and she would need to rejoin her friends. The friends she loved, and who loved her. Safety. Anonymity.
She spun around on the stool. “Tell her yes.”
Chapter Seventeen
“There’s Bren,” Liz said to Candace as the lights came up, pointing across the room.
“Well, at least one of us looks like she’s having a good time,” Candace muttered.
Liz, sandwiched between Candace on one side and Reilly on the other, watched Candace drum her fingers on the one small patch of table that wasn’t covered with glasses and beer bottles. Candace had been agitated ever since Parker sat down next to Reilly, on the end of the semicircle of chairs farthest from Candace. Liz hadn’t had much time to decipher Candace’s reaction because during the entire previous act, all she’d been able to think about was Reilly’s thigh pressed along the length of hers. She didn’t find the stripper onstage attractive, but she had to admit that sitting in the dark watching a woman fondle herself was unexpectedly exciting. It was far more distracting, however, to know that Reilly was watching the same thing. Liz couldn’t help but wonder if the striptease excited Reilly. Then, as soon as she thought it, she tried to discount the possibility. As ridiculous as it was, she didn’t want to think about Reilly being aroused by anyone. Though she supposed she should be more concerned about Parker, who had her head on Reilly’s shoulder at the moment, than about an anonymous stripper.
“Where did you disappear to?” Candace snapped, interrupting Liz’s internal debate, when Bren dropped into the remaining empty chair.
“I got caught at the bar when the lights went down. Some act,” Bren said.
“She had some nice moves.”
“I guess you told Parker we’d be here, huh?” Bren said.
“I might have mentioned it. I didn’t invite her.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I really like her.”
“She’s a sweetheart,” Candace muttered.
Before Bren had a chance to reply, Parker leaned across Reilly’s lap and said loudly, “Hey Liz, can we switch seats? I’ve been talking to Reilly all night. I want to talk to Candace.”
“Sure,” Liz said, standing. As she squeezed between the table and Reilly, Reilly put both hands on Liz’s hips to guide her. Her touch was gentle, and Liz found the simple contact both reassuring and exciting. Reilly had a way of noticing her—where she was, what she was doing, what she needed—that made her feel cared for, and special.
Parker jumped up unsteadily and tried to pass Liz before Liz had cleared the table.
“Wait a minute,” Liz protested, laughing, “there’s not room enough for both of us in this space.”
“Oops, sorry.” Parker’s shoulder struck Liz’s chest, throwing Liz off-balance.
“Oh,” Liz exclaimed as she felt herself falling.
Reilly caught Liz around the waist and pulled her down into her lap, holding her firmly against her chest. “Okay?”
Automatically, Liz wrapped her arms around Reilly’s neck. With her mouth against Reilly’s cheek, she murmured, “Fine.”
Reilly tilted her head back, squinting in the dim light to study Liz’s face. “You sure?”
Their mouths were an inch apart and Liz wanted to kiss her. Instead, she danced her fingers through the shaggy hair at the back of Reilly’s neck. “You need a haircut.”
“Do I?” Reilly’s voice was husky as she ran her hands up and down Liz’s back, her fingers tracing the muscles on either side of her spine.
“Where’d my seat go?” Parker said, searching behind her with one hand.
“Hold on,” Reilly whisp
ered to Liz.
“What?” Liz asked.
Reilly slipped one arm under Liz’s hips, tightened her hold around her middle, and shifted to the far outside seat. Settling Liz securely back down in her lap, she said, “Go ahead, Parker. The coast is clear.”
Parker sat heavily, taking up most of the two seats Reilly and Liz had just vacated. Liz had nowhere to go, and she really didn’t want to move, not when sitting crosswise in Reilly’s lap with Reilly’s arms around her waist felt so damn good. Nothing about Reilly’s embrace suggested anything other than a friendly closeness, but her body was hard and hot, except where the soft swell of her breasts fit against Liz’s. She felt so good, so right, Liz had to struggle not to burrow her hips tighter into Reilly’s lap and bury her face in the inviting curve of Reilly’s neck. Her physical response to Reilly always took her by surprise, because she wasn’t used to being so easily aroused. Maybe her susceptibility was partly hormones, but she didn’t care. She liked the feeling, and as long as she remembered nothing was going to come of it, she might as well enjoy the guilty pleasure.
“I guess I’m here for a while,” Liz said.
“That’s okay.”
“Am I blocking your view?” Liz asked.
Reilly laughed. “No, but even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. I’ll take you in my lap over one of them any day.”
A rush of heat made every inch of Liz’s skin tingle. “I wasn’t planning to lap dance.”
“Too bad. I bet you’d be good at it.”
“Maybe one of these days I’ll give it a try,” Liz said, enjoying the little flirtation.
“Just say the word.”
The lights dimmed, and Liz relaxed in Reilly’s arms, anticipating the next act. It was nice not to think about anything for a few minutes, but just to enjoy what was happening. Being around Reilly always made her feel lighthearted. She recognized the feeling as happiness, and recognized, too, how unusual it was.
*
Parker swayed toward Candace and muttered, “Miss me?”
“Not in the least.” Candace got up and pushed past Bren. “Excuse me.”
“Where’s she going?” Parker asked.
Bren reached across the empty chair and patted Parker’s thigh. “Probably to the bathroom.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll wait.”
Bren half smiled, wishing she could orchestrate her friends’ lives as easily as she did the characters in her books. But she should probably start with her own life first, and so far, she hadn’t done so well with that. She slipped her hand into the front pocket of her leather pants and felt the small stiff card. I want to dance for you.
As the room dropped into darkness, Bren wondered if the message was metaphorical or real, or if there was any difference at all.
Settling back, she watched the now familiar sharp cone of light focus on the far right-hand corner of the stage. Jae might not even be here. Just because the note was here and the email message had said she would be here, didn’t mean it was true. In fact, Bren was more than half certain the entire thing was an elaborate hoax. A woman strode into the light and Bren sat up straight. She’d been wrong again. Jae was here.
“Looks like she wandered into the wrong joint,” Parker said in what Bren supposed was intended to be a whisper. She couldn’t answer because she was trying to take in every single detail, and she didn’t know where to look first.
Her gaze danced from the thick mane of black hair to the deep set dark eyes to the square jaw softened by a wide sensuous mouth. Bren registered beauty, pride, sensuousness in the instant before she became captivated by the sight of bare breasts crisscrossed with leather straps. The inch-wide leather bands met in the center of a long flat abdomen where they attached to a wide silver ring. A matching pair of straps shot out from the lower portion of the ring and disappeared into skintight leather pants. Another band circled her waist. Her small, high breasts were distinctly different than the augmented ones of most of the other dancers, round and firm with small dark nipples. An elaborate tribal tattoo scrolled from her muscular right deltoid down her upper arm, wrapped around her biceps, and ended on the inside of her forearm just above her wrist. The leather pants covered the tops of black boots.
She was the woman in Bren’s books. She was the woman from the softball field. She was the woman in Bren’s every fantasy. She was Jae.
Jae looked out over the audience, her expression almost arrogant, before her gaze settled on Bren and she lowered her thick-lashed lids once in slow acknowledgment. Then she turned and strode to the center pole, the light following her. When she reached it, she faced the audience, stretched her arms above her head and grasped the pole behind her, thrusting her pelvis toward the onlookers. The music pounded steadily, echoing the roar of Bren’s heart thudding inside her head.
From out of the inky darkness behind Jae, a woman’s arms encircled Jae’s torso and long fingered hands with blood red nails resembling talons cupped her breasts. A figure pressed against Jae from behind, the pole between them, the light from the spot angled sharply so that all Bren could see were glimpses of pale naked limbs. Bren watched Jae’s face as the disembodied hands twisted her nipples and tormented her breasts before slithering lower over her chest and abdomen, stroking, clawing, threatening to slash her skin open with their razor-sharp tips. Pleasure and pain fused into need as Jae’s skin broke out into a shining sweat and her hips writhed.
“Jesus,” Parker muttered from beside her. “That is so fucking hot.”
The words floated past Bren as if uttered in another dimension. Nothing penetrated her awareness except Jae. The woman behind Jae gripped the waistband of Jae’s pants in both hands and wrenched the leather sharply back and forth. The tearing sound ripped through Bren and made her jerk in her seat. The leather came away in the invisible woman’s hands, and she threw it aside. The black leather straps stretched down from the silver ring in the center of Jae’s abdomen to circle the insides of her thighs. Her shaved sex was framed by the leather, and nothing else.
Naked except for the leather straps slashing across her body, Jae kept a grip on the pole above her head. Her thighs trembled as one blood-tipped finger circled in the top of the cleft between her legs. Her back arched, her hips thrust, and she swallowed convulsively. Bren wondered at the control it took for her to keep her hands on the pole, to hold herself up, to offer her body to be used.
“I think she’s gonna come right there,” Parker exclaimed, sliding closer to Bren.
“No she’s not,” Bren said, watching Jae’s lids flicker and her lips part on a moan that was lost in the pounding beat. The arousal was real, she could see it in the way Jae’s body jerked as the hand stroked harder and faster between her legs. “She’ll save her pleasure for someone who deserves it.”
The music climbed wildly, Jae’s pelvis thrust under the invading hand, and when the crescendo peaked, she finally released her grip on the pole and collapsed to her knees, her chest heaving. The room plunged into darkness and utter silence fell. In the blackness, Bren heard Jae sob for breath, and then there was nothing.
“I’m gonna go find Candace,” Parker announced, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet.
“She’ll be back in a minute when the lights come up,” Bren said, reaching for Parker’s arm. Her mind was still filled with images of Jae, but she had enough awareness not to let Parker wander around by herself. Plus, she had a feeling that Candace had gone off alone for a reason. When Candace was upset, her remedy was always the same. Find a woman to take her mind off her troubles.
The lights came up and Parker blinked, searching the room uncertainly. Then her expression darkened and Bren followed her gaze. Candace was at the bar in a clinch with a woman who had one hand on Candace’s breast and the other on her ass. Apparently they were too far into their deep-throat kiss to notice that the act was over and they were visible to whoever cared to look. Or, typically for Candace, she just didn’t care.
“Son of a bitch,” Parker grow
led.
She tried to climb over Bren and almost fell. Bren jumped up and grabbed her. Parker was taller and heavier than Bren, and rapidly becoming dead weight.
“Reilly,” Bren called. “Can you give me a hand here?”
“Go ahead,” Liz said, sliding off Reilly’s lap. “Why don’t you walk her around a little bit. Maybe get her some air.”
“I better. Sorry,” Reilly said as she rose.
“No, that’s okay. She needs you right now.”
Liz moved across the empty seats and joined Bren as Reilly put her arm around Parker and led her away. “What happened?”
Bren pointed to Candace.
“Oh, what is she doing,” Liz exclaimed.
“She’s upset.”
“Good, now so am I,” Liz said angrily. “When is she going to grow up?”
“Well, not toni—” Bren stared at the woman coming toward her. Jae now wore a black leather vest, low cut black leather briefs, and calf-high black boots.
“Oh my,” Liz said. “Isn’t that—”
“Yes,” Bren said quietly, shifting on her chair until her legs stretched into the narrow aisle between their table and the next.
Jae stopped next to Bren, leaned down, and whispered, “You wanted a dance.”
“No,” Bren corrected, “you wanted to dance for me.”
“May I?”
“Yes.”
Jae nodded toward the bar, and the lights went down and the music came up. Then she straddled Bren’s lap, flexing her thighs and holding herself just a little bit above Bren so that her ass barely brushed Bren’s legs. “You’re not supposed to touch me, but you can.”
“I’m not going to touch you,” Bren said, aware that Liz had shifted away, leaving them alone. The room was dim enough to give them privacy but not so dark that she couldn’t see Jae’s face, and her body. “Not tonight, and not here.”
“When?”
Bren wondered how long Jae could support herself without touching Bren for balance. With the same iron control Jae had shown on stage, she slowly circled her hips over Bren’s lap.