“Yes, but…I mean—” She broke off, not wanting to appear either stupid or arrogant. Or too keen, except she was. Shit, she was supposed to be investigating this man, not fucking him. Yes, said the inner voice that had always tried to get her into trouble, you can get to know him real well this way.
No denying that. If her boss found out, he’d have an aneurysm, but oh, she was tempted. Even after her near miss earlier, she wanted him. Investigating him meant she knew more about him than he thought; otherwise he would never have gotten this far, hot or not.
“I want to see you again. May I call you?”
She wasn’t expecting that. She’d been ready to go, and he was pulling back. “But…”
“You need a hot drink and bed—on your own. You had quite a shock tonight, and I don’t want anything we might or might not have tainted by that.”
Well shit, consideration. If she’d had any doubts about him before, they dissipated now. He had her, and he could have taken her, with her compliance, but he chose not to. “Sure.” She eased out of his hold and opened her purse. Shit, of course she’d left her business cards at home. Since they all said USCIS, an undercover job didn’t seem the right place for them. She had no other paper.
He thrust a couple of cards under her nose. “Write your number on one and keep the other.”
She scrawled her number and under it the single word Gen.
He took it with a smile. “I’m not about to forget. Are you up for an adventure?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of adventure?”
“Thursday night there’s a special show at Bared. No thongs. In the private rooms upstairs.”
She caught her breath. Did she dare?
He smiled, his face just visible in the near darkness. Her eyes had accustomed themselves to the gloom, and she could see the outline of his features, closer now. “Would you like to go? Or we can go to dinner, if you’d prefer.”
“I could go without you. I have that pass, remember?”
“Let me pick you up. Let’s go together.” His breath, brandy scented, whispered hotly over her cheek.
It sounded like a good date to her. But live sex? From what she’d seen tonight, it wouldn’t be tacky, but she wanted to process how she felt, what she wanted. She already knew she enjoyed watching strip shows, but nothing this daring, or as…well, artistic.
He moved closer, so they were mouth to mouth, but he didn’t kiss her. “I want to know if you’re into watching—or doing. Or both.”
Her arousal rose tenfold. The dampness between her legs soaked her panties in renewed arousal, and she gasped. “I don’t know. I’ve never—” She hadn’t. But she’d promised herself she’d take a few chances in her private life. Not stupid ones, but following her instincts rather than her upbringing. All that repressive behavior instilled into her from childhood—she wanted it gone. “Yes,” she said.
“I’ll pick you up at ten. The show should start around eleven.” Then he did kiss her, and made it another good one, taking her fully into his arms.
After he released her, before she could draw breath to ask him inside, he stepped back. “Now go inside. Will you be okay?”
Beyond words, she nodded.
After watching her for a moment, he jerked a nod, turned around, and left. She didn’t hear the front door close until she’d opened her own door and let herself in.
Chapter Three
Sitting at her desk in the shabby office downtown, Gen had difficulty recalling the night before. Not because she had any intoxication problems, but because of the sheer power and presence of the man she’d met last night. When he’d wanted to attract her attention, he’d turned on a switch inside. He’d flaunted his erection, sure, but it wasn’t that, even though the thought of it made her mouth water. He had true charisma, but he could control it. That alone fascinated her, and she wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was an instinctive thing.
Dreaming wouldn’t get her very far. She never, ever dreamed. Looking at the bland photo on the British passport and the straightforward account of his life, she couldn’t understand why it had raised a red flag with her boss. Nick’s credentials looked fine to her. Without his intervention, she’d have stamped the application, signed her approval, and moved on to the next one. The Englishman wanted a green card, a step toward citizenship, and it was her job to check the applicants, maybe do a little undercover work to investigate their claims. She wondered if her boss was testing her prior to promotion. He’d chosen her for this job, and boring though it was, it would lead to higher things if she did it right.
The job had got her into a government agency, and it had got her tuition assistance at the university to pursue her studies. That was why Nolan Bennick had chosen her for this assignment. She had a ready-made connection with Nick Taylor; they attended the same university but different departments.
The man who’d taken her home last night looked like no poetry lecturer she’d ever met. Poetry? She checked the form. Yep, that was what it said.
If she saw Nick again and went to bed with him, she’d be violating ethical guidelines unless she signed off on him. Before she got involved, she had to think rationally, consider if she should consider taking the case any further.
After a few minutes concentrated thought, she couldn’t see any reason not to do so. So he went to a sex club. The place was legal. Nothing rang alarm bells in her mind. He’d come over to the States nearly five years ago, done his studies at the university where he now did some part-time teaching while waiting for the results of his PhD. He had money, but a good reason for having it. A legacy, a substantial one. Since he was older than the average student, that probably accounted for the delay in his studies. His parents died, or a relative, and he used the money to fulfill his life’s dream. His employment history before he came over here seemed fine, schoolteacher for the most part. The only thing she found astonishing was the sheer power and charisma he had in person, but she couldn’t reject his application because of that.
The phone on her desk rang. “Yes?” she said into the receiver.
“Come into my office and bring the Taylor files. I want to know how it went last night.” Nolan’s deep and resonant voice boomed at her.
After gathering up her files on Nick, she crossed the large open-plan office and entered the smaller one occupied by Nolan Bennick, a handsome African American man with a smile as broad as James Earl Jones playing a genial uncle. Nevertheless, she had her doubts where he was concerned. Somehow he was too friendly, too accommodating. “Did it go well?”
“Fine.” She took the seat in front of his desk and dropped the files on it, pushing aside a couple of empty cardboard coffee cups. “It was like you said. Simulated sex, a bit close but no penetration. Useful for my paper, but not really helpful for the report. And Taylor was there.”
Nolan leaned forward. “So walk me through it.”
Her first decision. Tell him? She’d better get it out in the open. “Nothing unusual for a place like that. Someone tried to drop a roofie in my drink. Taylor stopped him, and the owner of the club apologized.”
Nolan frowned and steepled his fingers, studying her carefully. “Any reason to suspect them?”
She’d already considered that possibility. She shook her head. “They took me to the office until the taxi arrived. They could have done anything to me then, offered me a bribe if they’d wanted to, tried to attack me, but they didn’t. The manager was upset, and promised me it wouldn’t happen again, if I went back. No hint that they knew why I was really there.”
He pursed his lips, leaning back. “So you’re sure your cover is intact. You watched Taylor carefully? Observed his body language?”
“Yes.” She had no doubts about that, but just the mention of body language had made her heat and her pussy dampen. That cock had filled out Nick’s pants beautifully. She could see it now, as clear as if he stood in front of her. Oh shit, she couldn’t think about that here.
�
��Okay.” Nolan made the word long. “I think we’re done with this one. Thanks for your good work.”
She was off the case and off the hook. Maybe she should tell Nolan about her date with Nick, but it looked like he was out of the department too, and his application would go through. No need to tell her boss why she was there last night. After all, it was only one date, wasn’t it?
Even while she told herself that, she knew it was bull.
* * * *
Nick turned up on her doorstep promptly at ten on Thursday, as promised in the text he’d sent her. He’d asked her to dinner beforehand, but, not knowing how much of Nick she could take all at once, she’d declined. Gen was ready, wearing her best. Not the red dress from Monday night, but a midnight-blue, bias-cut dress that consequently clung to her body like a loving friend. Not tacky. She’d bought it the day before, after finding something wrong with everything hanging in her closet.
When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat. He gave her a slow up and down, something she wouldn’t have accepted from any other man. When Nick did it, she urged to preen for him like some mindless bimbo.
He didn’t seem to notice. Probably a good thing. But he did smile, slow and sultry. “Ready?” He still didn’t look like a poetry lecturer. He’d matched the same leather jacket with a dark blue shirt and black pants. Mouthwatering, especially the way the pants molded the shape of his powerful thighs.
She stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind her before securing the double lock. He had a taxi waiting by the curb, its engine idling. When he put his hand to the small of her back to guide her into the cab, she shivered. He shouldn’t have felt it through her dress and jacket, but he stopped and turned her to face him. “Something wrong?”
She swallowed. “Just nerves. I’ve never seen something that—well, you know.” She really was nervous but not because of watching people fuck. The nervousness came from his proximity.
He gazed at her, his eyes grave. “Do you want to go somewhere else? Go to a regular club, go dancing?”
“You dance?”
“Sure I dance.” He waited for her as if they had all night.
She shook her head. “No, I want to see this.” She did; she truly did.
“You do, don’t you?” Leaning closer, he snatched a quick kiss, and just like that she melted. Putting her hands on his arms, she moved closer until the warmth of his body seeped into hers. Closeness, intimacy, she felt all that with him. Gently, he finished the kiss and guided her away. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
In ten minutes they were walking into Bared. Like most clubs, its entrance was narrow, presumably to throttle the flow of guests if there was trouble, but she’d seen no locks on the fire exits, which as far as she could tell were plentiful, and the back of the club had its own doors. No regulations broken. She’d even seen the barman check someone’s ID the last time she’d been here. Odell worked hard to keep everything legal—except for the activities upstairs in the private part of the club.
Girls danced around their poles, some naked, some wearing thongs. She stopped and watched. She’d tried sex with a woman, and while it wasn’t for her, she enjoyed the sight of a female body working hard. It just didn’t turn her on; that was all. A wicked murmur brushed her ear with heat. “Would you like to do that? Dance naked?”
Immediately her arousal ratcheted, and she had to fight to hide the visual evidence. “I don’t know. Would you like me to?”
She glanced at the stage, imagined herself dressed in something scanty, busting moves for the clientele. They’d watch her every sway, waiting for her to get naked. Thong on or off? Not all the girls got completely naked. The audience would wait, watch, and she’d tease them, do some crotch thrusting before she decided whether to flash them some pussy, make them slaver for her. Then she’d walk off, exaggerating her hip sway, giving them glimpses, but not a blatant look.
Wow. She always knew she had a bit of a thing for exhibitionism, but not something that turned her on this powerfully. What racked the fantasy up to stellar stood next to her, the big, powerful male. Unable to stop her, but watching her, desperate for her to look at him, to pay him extra attention.
Every cell in her body perked up and came to attention. The familiar urge to rub her thighs together to ease the tension in her pussy came on her, but she forced her mind away.
Fuck, she’d have to save that fantasy for when she needed it. When this man wasn’t here to fuel her dreams. She turned back to him, trying for nonchalant teasing, nothing deep and heavy. Not yet.
“It’d turn me on to see it, yeah.” She liked his easy assurance. “Let’s get a drink. Or would you like to go straight up?”
She considered. “I think I’d like to go up. I’ve seen this part.”
He chuckled. “As the lady wishes.”
Fuck, she loved that accent and the way he said it as if she were a countess or something. Instead of guiding her, he took her hand and led her. Already she felt—not comfortable, never that—safe with him. Ah no, she couldn’t let down her guard that way. While the club might be safe, Nick Taylor was far from it. About as much as a hunting leopard was safe. No proof, but up close and personal, he just felt dangerous, sent out an aura of menace.
Upstairs proved to be through two more doors, each guarded by a suited bouncer. Neither door seemed to be anything special, but once up the narrow staircase the hallway widened, doors opening off either side. Nick led her to the one at the end, guarded by yet another big guy, who opened it with a smile and ushered them in.
She stood in a room about half the size of the club downstairs, filled with comfortably upholstered, high-backed sofas, set facing each other like booths in a diner. Small tables were dotted around, presumably to hold drinks since there was a bar on one side of the room. The small raised area at the end was currently empty and dark. Mood lighting enhanced the atmosphere of restless anticipation.
Nick took her to the only unoccupied booth in the room before going to the bar and coming back with a couple of drinks. She’d asked for a tall vodka and cranberry, and it came served in a tall glass with black straws and ice. Good quality spirit too, she decided after her first sip. He sat next to her. “It’s very remiss of me, but I should have told you the minute I saw you that you look beautiful tonight.”
“Thanks.” Again, that instinct to preen surprised her.
“Here’s the deal. There’s a camera outside recording everyone who comes and goes from this room. Normally, it’s the only way in and out. There are cameras trained onto the stage, to record what happens there. People can buy copies if they want. No private photos can be taken in here, not even of each other. That’s because some people who come here want their privacy.”
“Wow.” That meant important people could come here. The place certainly hadn’t stinted on the decor. Downstairs was comfortable, but this was positively luxurious. She couldn’t make out anyone in the gloom, only shadowy figures, sometimes more than two in a booth. “Do they…you know?” A wave of shy embarrassment swept over her, sending heat through her body. Why, she didn’t know. Except—the thought of what they might be doing before the evening ended had an effect on her mood.
“Yes, sometimes they fuck.” He grinned. “Maybe we will. What do you think?”
She swallowed; although he’d said it lightly, he meant it. His eyes burned into hers, searing his desire deep into her. “I-I don’t know.”
“We’ll take it slow.” He covered her hand with his where it lay on the table. “I want you, Gen.”
She didn’t withdraw her hand, didn’t look away. “I want you too.” That simple statement had taken all her courage. Investigation, posing as someone else; that was one thing, but here she was opening herself and investigating a part of her she hadn’t explored before. And he knew it. She didn’t have to tell him, because he knew. She could see it. “But not here,” she added. “Not tonight.”
“Which part of that do you mean?” he said. “Not
here or not tonight?”
“Both, neither. One of the above.” She laughed when he smiled. “Not here tonight.”
“Okay.” He leaned back, lifting his arm to rest it over her shoulders. Pausing only to shrug her jacket off, she took his invitation and nestled close against his hard body. Muscles shifted as he moved to make them both comfortable.
The lights went down.
Tonight’s show wasn’t Freda and Alberto. Instead, lights above the stage spelled out ONCE UPON A TIME WITH PRINCESS LILY and the show began.
A woman stepped onto the stage, followed by a man who placed a throne-like chair down. She deigned to use it. She was dressed like a princess, with a crown and an enveloping mantle, creating curiosity. What did she have on under it? Nothing?
In a dramatic gesture, she swept the robe aside, revealing a gown very much like a prom dress—except it was transparent. The folds nestled against her body, the bright spotlight emphasizing the gauziness of the fabric. Her long blonde hair curled around her, much too abundant and golden to be entirely natural. Her breasts were full, round, and—to Gen’s eyes—obviously artificially. Her pussy was bare, the cleft easily visible, perhaps even enhanced by makeup.
Princess Lily swept her gaze around as if studying her court, then put up her chin and beckoned.
The man who’d carried the chair dropped to his knees before her. Since all he wore was an Egyptian-style skirt, he gave them a great view of his ass when he bent. His balls swung below, bare like her pussy. “Shit, that must hurt,” she murmured.
“What must?”
“Waxing balls.”
“Oh yeah. Makes them sore.”
She turned her head to regard him with shock. “You’ve done it?”
He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t say it’s an experience I want to repeat. Some women don’t like hair on their men.” She shared his smile, and he drew her close for a soft kiss before releasing her so she could settle in the shelter of his arm once more. He took her hand, put it on his leg. She didn’t move it away. His thigh, hard and muscled, pulsed heat. If she moved her hand up a little, she’d have his cock. The thought heated her, and she chose not to do it because she was enjoying the anticipation too much.
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