by Dark Angel
“Don’t let me bring you down, tonight. Let’s have fun tonight,” Margot says. I can hear the crack in her voice, no doubt thinking about her daughter and the ordeal of losing her. Now it seems so silly to think about doing an amateur hour at a high-class strip club, but I owe the shedding of my fear to Margot for her bravery. I’m steeling myself for doing it.
When we get to the backstage area of the club where the other girls are going to dance, I find that I’m not as afraid as I thought I was going to be. Margot and I are laughing and enjoying a little bit of champagne, and I feel plenty loosened up enough that I’m actually looking forward to getting up on the stage.
“Let’s do a song together,” I say to Margot. “If you want,” I say quickly, because I really don’t know what normal friends do together but I want to be able to have a good time with her and I like the idea of us both going up there together.
“Yeah, sure thing!” Margot says, obviously delighted by the idea, and I’m so relieved.
When the fast-paced eighties song starts up, we both turn to each other, smile, and slink out onto that stage.
The lights are really bright at first and I can’t see anyone, and I don’t actually want to see anyone in the audience right now. I know they are there, but it isn’t about that.
We take opposite sides of the stage and dance toward each other.
And I’m really enjoying the rush of moving my body with a freedom I didn’t know I could. I feel light as air, and everything seems almost natural to me. I had no idea that I could move the way I am. I can see in Margot’s eyes as we dance closer together, she’s surprised too.
When we dance across the stage to each other we both go back to back, dancing up and down in surprising synchronicity for two people making this up on the fly. “We are so doing this again!” she says where only I can hear.
“Totally!” I agree with her. I’m on top of the world with the level of exhilaration, and we both turn back and tear off our flimsy tops.
That’s when I get a good look at the audience, and I can’t believe how far my excitement drops.
The instant I see Gian, my heart plummets to my stomach and I yelp a little. But I keep dancing.
The man he’s with is dressed in leather and dark jeans. He looks strange next to Gian, who's always wearing an immaculate expensive suit. I can tell by Gian’s face that he’s not thrilled with what he’s seeing, which now that I’ve already thrown off my top, is actually quite a bit. I’m spilling out of this bra in a way that I thought I’d be nervous about. Now, the only thing making me nervous is that I’m so bare in front of so many people while Gian’s eyes are blazing with what I know is not happiness.
The man with him smacks him against the arm but Gian looks like if he was holding a glass, it would break in his hands. When the song ends, I go backstage and I’m not surprised when Gian is back there in a few seconds.
“What the hell are you doing? What are you wearing? Or not wearing,” he says, throwing my shirt at me.
I felt timid and upset before, my stomach uneasy, but when he tosses the shirt, I feel something else entirely.
“I was having a good time with a friend, wearing things that you actually bought me or had Margot buy me. I thought I was a free woman and you didn’t own me? I didn’t even leave your palace, your highness, so what’s the problem?” I'm shocked by my own words, but I mean them.
I mean them because I realize that I felt so much better about myself to look so good and have others think I did. It's stupid, perhaps, but the whole reason I went to Margot and wanted the makeover I got was because I wanted to look hot enough to be on Gian’s arm. “I can’t believe you’re mad that I’m actually looking the part of someone that you’d sleep with. You’ve probably slept with everyone who dances here,” I say, and I know that Gian has hinted that he doesn’t actually sleep around like his reputation says, but how do I really know that? I mean, I don’t know whatever it was that Margot doesn’t want to tell me.
“What?” Gian is stunned. I can tell he wasn’t expecting what I just said.
“You told me yourself that I wasn’t dressed the part for seducing you. Maybe I didn’t want my looks to come down to luck anymore,” I say, looking away.
“Come to the penthouse now, let’s not do this here,” Gian says. I’m shocked because I thought he was angry, but there’s something in his voice that seems more hurt than angry.
Because of that, my own response is quieter than I expected. All my anger gets buried when I think Gian is hurt. I want this situation diffused. “I’ll say goodbye to Margot, then we’ll go,” I say.
Gian nods and we walk out together. I put my shirt back on and I see the man that Gian was with is grinning wide at me when he sees me.
“Damn good upgrade, Sandoval,” the man says.
Gian bristles at the words and I’m suddenly so ready to be up and out of here.
“Mr. Sandoval, we were just having fun-“ Margot says, talking so quickly.
I don’t want Gian to be mad at her, and to his credit, he smiles and shakes his head. “No worries, Margot,” he says, but the words are dismissive. I know Gian wants to get up to the penthouse and be alone more than anything.
I can’t say I disagree, though I’m still frustrated. I don’t want to argue more but I know that I can’t just ignore Gian’s reaction to what is honestly not that big of a deal. I just want this whole night to be over with.
Tonight was supposed to end without him because he’d be working late … but I get the feeling he won’t be leaving the penthouse tonight after we get up there.
10
Gian
“I only did any of this,” Lucy waves her hand down her body to indicate the clothes she’s wearing, the hair, the makeup, “because you basically had Margot load up a whole new me in those bags the night after. I'm trying new things because my life is so completely different than it was all of five minutes ago. You say I’m not a prisoner, so then when I try to figure out my life, you get mad at me. How am I supposed to know what to do?”
Shit. Well I stepped in it. “Okay, so I don’t like the idea of you looking so damn hot when other people are going to see you, but I don’t want to keep you from whatever it is that you want to do, no matter what it be. And I never needed you to change. I love everything about you no matter what you’re wearing or if you’re made up, dressed down…” Fuck I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here, and I just want her to know that I’m sorry. That I’m crazy about her.
I know that Lucy is just trying to find her footing, but I can’t pretend like her words didn’t hurt me a little. The idea that I found her somehow not attractive enough isn’t just false, but it just reflects the god-awful parts about me that she has all wrong.
Not as if I can reach across and grab her face and tell her, hey, princess, there are plenty of bad things about me but those in particular aren’t right.
Well, I could, but that doesn’t exactly help either of our situations.
I know that the best thing that I can do is play the part of the consummate charmer. I have to make my every move one to make her fall deeper into my madness, to buy into the notion that she's starting to have that I might be some decent kind of man.
Of course, I manipulate people all the time. I could manipulate women into bed, or keep them in bed, if I wanted to. This plan should not turn my stomach. It isn’t an out of line action, or me. Yet, I find myself wishing I were doing anything but lying to Lucy. I think I almost want to be the person I plan to lie about being.
Well, that might have been an option a long time ago, but now I’m not capable of being that man anymore. I killed the good man inside me and let the monster live instead. The monster is wealthy. The monster only cares about himself.
So if the good parts of me are dead, am I simply remembering them to manipulate Lucy, or am I haunted by the man that I thought I left in the past?
I don’t know what to think about any of this.
But I need to stop dwelling on me. Lucy is on the menu here, and I’ve got to serve up the charming bad boy she thinks she can save. I’m too far gone … but she doesn’t have to know that. I can’t believe I’m grappling with what I know I need to do. I have to seduce her. What I want is Lucy, and being myself couldn’t possibly keep her around. No, I’m going to play the cards I’m dealt. I know that my body is attractive. My mind is smart enough to pull her in. Let the games begin, right?
Wrong. I’m thinking about Lucy, but I’m thinking about how she feels … and not just to manipulate those facts. I have to let myself mentally clear my throat, perhaps, and that’s all this is? That’s all I hope this is, because I can’t lose my edge the one time I’ve needed it more than anything.
Lucy is nervous. Despite the fact that she offered her virginity to me, despite the fact that when the time came, she enjoyed every second of what we shared … she’s nervous about the prospect of us fucking again, and I can see that the instant our eyes meet and I approach her. That’s okay, because I know how to make a woman want me. I’m not starting a zero. Tentative desire is what’s before me. Tentative desire is just desire that needs convincing. I know how her body responds to mine. More importantly, I know that she wants to want me. I’ll have Lucy in my grasp, yet. Or should I say she’ll be grasping me soon. Feeling her holding onto me when I fuck is the sort of thing my every fantasy is made of now. Every free moment has me dreaming up her body like some kind of silly teenager or something, which is quite the sharp shift in the wind considering just how much I’ve sworn off women after what happened with my wife. Yeah … everything about Lucy and what she does to me is different from anything I’ve known, and Lucy’s just too damn good in too many ways for me to do anything but remove the fear that might cause her to flee. Because I gave her the option to go, and I won’t take that away. But I sure as fuck don’t want her to leave so I’ve got to put forth my best, shady fucking effort.
I have absolutely no intention of letting her get scared off because I’m not sliding into a pussy that doesn’t want me. No, when I fuck Lucy’s tight pussy again, I’ll be doing so when it's so slippery it glistens for me.
So, to get there, I can tell I need to take a tender touch. I’m a disgusting asshole, I know, because that means I’m going to be sweet and charming and say every little thing and do every little thing that'll make Lucy trust me. When I have that, I can have anything. Her trust doesn’t have to come in miles, only inches. A taste of trust here, there, until her shivers disappear and it feels like her idea and her acceptance that leads to me buried inside her again. I’m not taking or overtly coercing. I’m planting the idea in her mind because I’m not just telling her the truth that her body already knows.
She wants me. She needs me. Lucy has already had one taste of me, and she’s not going to just let that go.
“Lucy,” I say when I reach her. She turns, her flowing brown hair cascading down her shoulders and her back in such an enchanting way that I don’t have to fake for a second how mesmerized by her I am. “I wanted to take you back up to the penthouse and let you know how good you look today,” I say, which is a bit of a risk. I need to be smooth and I’m being sleazy instead? Am I trying to fail over here?
Lucy blushes, and I know the way her body inclines toward mine a little that I haven’t totally struck out. No, Lucy likes that I said that to her because she likes what my body does to hers.
“Gian, I thought you’d never ask,” Lucy says, and there’s something in her voice that keeps me from thinking that she is putting on some kind of front. There’s a real arousal in her voice there, even around all these people. It frightens her, but it feels good to her. I’m kind of fucking touched by the idea, but I can’t be getting sappy now. Not when I'm just trying to fuck Lucy and make her feel like I’m a total fucking monster. You know, like a manipulative monster would?
How can this girl be so new to my life and be tearing it apart. I’m trying to breathe over here, walking toward the elevator with her. My hand is at the small of her back as we walk, and Lucy slips her other hand into mine. My fingers close over hers and my heart skips a damn beat like I’m some kind of school girl. The effect that Lucy has on me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before and I want to be able to get my head clear and get my cock buried deep inside of her. I thought those two things were connected, but now I’m not so sure. Because the way that I need to be inside Lucy, that’s the same intensity with which my feelings toward her confuse me. I’m baffled by how I can feel so much for this girl. I’m confused more than anything by how I don’t take advantage of the perfect situation to twist and turn any way I want. This girl is utterly reliant on me, and instead of taking advantage like I would in any business deal, I find myself thinking about her feelings. About the feelings that she creates in me. I need her more than I’d like to admit.
The elevator becomes a challenge. The idea of making out in an elevator shouldn’t be as hot to me as it is now, but I want to press her against the wall of this elevator the instant the doors close.
When the doors actually do close, it's Lucy’s hand that squeezes mine. I look at her, an ounce of shock ready to convert into a full gallon of surprise when her lips close over mine. Well, Lucy was so inexperienced. A virgin. Making out in an elevator is exciting for her because she’s not some tired out girl that’s done everything.
And it's exciting for me, the man everyone thinks is tiring out plenty of women in this city. I gave up that life a long time ago when I thought I was marrying someone who cared about me, and when that turned out to be a business move on her part, well, I just gave up women entirely.
How can I be going through my own soft little moment with Lucy now? Her lips on mine aren’t tentative. They're soft. Lucy is kissing me softly, almost as if she’s asking for permission. I aimed to charm her pants off, but right now she’s the one charming me. In a way that does mean that I succeeded, and I don’t think I want to keep dwelling on this. Not when her body presses firmer into mine… and then I hear the elevator ask for my card and code. Nothing like an interruption to make you appreciate what’s before you.
Reluctantly, I tear just part of my body away from her, but my hand is still in hers. My side is still pressed to her side. I don’t feel foolish wanting to touch her like this.
That’s truly the worst part, I realize as we both fade away into our kisses.
I don’t want Lucy to want me the way that she wants me. I already knew that I wasn’t good enough for her, but I’m ruining this poor girl. She’s sweet. She should be with a man who can love her. A man who can marry her. I’m just the rich asshole helping her with her brother. Her affection for me is wholly undeserved.
Still, I can’t deny the sparks that fly between us. I never understood that expression, sparks flying, until I met Lucy and a fireworks show could be going off every time her hazel eyes met mine. I want to kiss her until we both wake up in a new life and there’s nothing to be worried about. But that’s not how life works, and I know this because I'm able to buy just about anything else. But I can’t buy my way out of how wrong for Lucy I am.
Worst of all, I can’t buy myself out of the parts of me that want her no matter what. That don’t want me to let me save her.
When we’re about to walk into the penthouse door, she turns and faces me, holding my hand, smiling. Lucy’s too goddamn good for me and I just can’t take this. Well, I can. That’s what’s so rough. I’m going to take every drop of everything Lucy has to give.
What will be left when she realizes who I really am?
I smile back at her. It isn’t hard to fake being the guy who wants her so much right now. To be charming. Because I do want her more than anything. It's a hazard to us both.
The soft way her eyes crinkle when she smiles makes me need to breathe her in. As soon as we’re inside, I close the door and press her against it. Softly, gently. I’m being charming, remember?
I cradle her face, and kiss her face where her
smile gives her soft little lines, trailing down her cheek to kiss next to her lips, and then to kiss her there. My other arm wraps around behind her and holds her against me. I want to hold her like this forever.
I’m fooling myself into thinking I’m just doing all of this because I’m trying to charm her. Lucy is the one who is charming me and making me into the shell of someone that I don’t even know. Where do I fit in if I want her, and not the existence that seems so empty to me now? What good is all the power to control a city of sin when all I want is heaven in Lucy’s arms?
Her soft little body is pressing against me. Everywhere she’s soft, I’m hard, and the contrasting sensations mixes up everything in my mind and I can’t think about all this melancholia drenching my throats. Lucy presses her soft lips to mine, parting them so slightly and sliding her tongue into my mouth. So gentle. So sweet. She tastes like a freedom I never knew that I wanted. This is what happens to a man who has everything. You want something more. Lucy makes me want a lot of things.
Now, my hand gripping her collarbone, I want to rip every inch of her clothes off her body and put my mouth on every soft and trembling part of her. Not exactly gentle, but I can show a modicum of restraint and get what I want. Breaking our kiss, I pull back and look into her hazel eyes. They look back at me through sooty lashes, a wide smile spread over her cherry lips. I reach out and suck in her lower lip, releasing it and dropping down to my knees. For a moment, all I want is to wrap my arms around her legs and squeeze her. So I do, holding her so tightly that she shakes in my hold. I say those words to her that I find myself saying like a prayer. “I’ve got you,” and that’s the truth for her as much as for me. I want to have her. I need to have her. And she has me so wrapped up in her that I don’t know what to do to keep control of myself. I don’t want to be in control when I’m with Lucy. I don’t want to pretend to be anything. I don’t want to manipulate her.