Daniella waves with a friendly smile, hoping the normal cattiness that surrounds most women isn’t a current issue in this club. Several curious looks and scrutinizing once-overs are thrown her way, making Daniella realize that this whole stripper thing might be a little harder than she originally thought.
“Don’t worry about them, sweetie. They’re just jealous that you’re so god damn gorgeous and will probably steal half of their tips and regulars,” Kitty mutters under her breath.
She grins in amusement and finds herself thankful that Grant teamed her up with Kitty. It seems she’s the only nice female in the entire club. “So do you have a boyfriend or husband?”
“Sure do. We’ve been together for five years. I miss my Carlos like crazy though. Long-distance relationships are so hard.” Her scarlet lips turn down at the ends.
“Long distance? Is he in the military?”
Kitty shakes her head. “Oh no, sweetie, he’s in Huntsville.”
Her brow rises in confusion. “Huntsville? Huntsville, Texas? That’s not too far.”
“Huntsville Penitentiary. He’s got another twenty years until he’s up for parole,” Kitty offers as she applies mascara to her lashes.
She tries to hide her downright shock over that little revelation. “Oh my. That must’ve been hard for you when he was put in prison.”
“Oh I didn’t know him them. I met him through a prison pen pal site. He’s the light of my life, and I’m sure it goes without saying, but Carlos isn’t guilty. There’s no way he killed that man,” she says nonchalantly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be talking about her inmate husband.
Daniella starts coughing loudly and covers her mouth with her petite hand. Kitty’s prison pen pal story is so outrageous that it has her choking on her spit. What the hell?
“You okay?”
“Uh huh,” she mutters with a raspy voice. In that moment, Daniella makes a promise to herself that she will never ask any of the other strippers about their personal lives. No way in hell does she need to hear any more stories like Kitty’s.
“So are you all set for your big debut tonight, sweetie?”
Daniella’s hand freezes mid mascara application as her jaw drops slightly from the realization of what’s to come. For a few seconds, she forgot about the fact that she’d soon have to grace the main stage’s presence and provide the crowd of Wild Nights with a striptease routine. But now she’s remembering. Two-dimensional paper butterflies flutter around in her belly. Nausea waters her mouth. Can I really go through with this?
Do I even have an option? No, not really. This is pretty much her last resort unless she wants to unload her financial problems on her family’s shoulders. And that’s one thing stubborn, Type A Daniella Pruitt refuses to do. A tight breath is inhaled inside of her aching lungs as she gives herself a mental pep talk. You can do this. You can stride onto that stage and shake your tits, wiggle your ass, and encourage the patrons of Wild Nights to make it rain money all over the stage.
Not the best pep talk, but it somehow manages to work.
“Yeah, I’m ready. I should probably get dressed,” she replies with a surprisingly steady voice as she glances around the room, looking for a more discreet area to get ready.
“Don’t even bother,” Kitty whispers. “Everyone just changes out here in the open,” she informs her as she pointedly eyes the naked stripper, also known as Feather, standing near the communal baby wipes and body glitter table. She obviously wants to make sure every nook and cranny is cleaned, glittered, and oiled up for her audience.
Daniella closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths, trying her damndest not to show the pure shock that threatens to flash across her face. She never imagined seeing someone she doesn’t know so up close and personal.
“All of this is probably going to take some getting used to,” Daniella mumbles under her breath just loud enough for Kitty to hear.
The stripper responds with a sympathetic smile and pat on her petite shoulder. “Don’t worry, Roxie. You’ll do just fine.” And then she goes back to grooming and primping.
Daniella keeps her eyes tightly closed as she slips into a corset and black lace panties. She didn’t have that much time to prepare for tonight, and this is an outfit she had from a Halloween party a few years back when she first started at the University of Houston. It was one of very few times that she’d actually participated in a fraternity party. Eliza and Sarah had dragged her to it and forced her to dress up in the sluttiest apparel possible. Daniella has never been self-conscious of her body, but she never felt the need to dress like a skank to grab the attention of men. Obviously, that sentiment has been thrown out the window since she signed her soul away to the strip club devil.
She slides the corset and panties over her naked form and refuses to let her eyes become aware of the curious stares being thrown her way. Who would have thought strippers could be so god damn catty?
Daniella is more than aware that all of the women in the dressing room are sizing her up, outwardly critiquing her body and mentally calculating if she will make more money than they will. She’s not here to be the best stripper or the richest stripper. She’s just here to make enough money to pay off her tuition. That’s the goal. The only goal. But she knows it’s not worth openly talking about because these women couldn’t care less. They’ve already made it a competition in their shallow brains.
Could you imagine if they put all of that mental effort into something worthy?
Daniella internally shakes her head, refusing to let herself stoop to their catty level. She continues to get ready and ignores everyone else in the room except for Kitty. The two women continue to chat small talk and primp themselves for the night. And for a few moments, Daniella forgets about her concerns. She forgets about the nerves demanding her attention. She forgets that she is about to do something that she never ever imagined herself doing. And she forgets just whose club she’s currently at.
She forgets about everything…until he walks into the room.
Penn is dressed casually in black slacks and a black buttoned-up, collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearm. God, he looks good. Undeniably, still one of the most handsome men she’s ever laid eyes on.
His blue eyes are warm and his smile genuine as he greets a few of the women getting ready. He goes through the motions of a typical night at the club, completely comfortable and relaxed...until he sees her.
Frozen. Disbelief. Shock. Anger.
And then rage. Acute and boiling inside of his blood stream.
What in the hell is she doing here?
His hands clench into tight fists as his jaw ticks with absolute irritation.
Is this some kind of practical joke?
If it is, he isn’t finding it the least bit funny. He is beyond pissed—downright infuriated at the sight of her. She faces him, her brown eyes as wide as saucers and her mouth tight with uncertainty. Daniella Pruitt is in the dressing room of his club—his strip club. She stands before him, dressed scantily clad in a black corset accentuated with the tiniest black lace panties known to man. Her long legs are emphasized seductively by the stiletto heels that cover her feet. If he weren’t already overcome with anger, his jaw would have hit the floor. His cock might have even started to stand at attention, but his brain is occupying all of the blood flowing throughout his body. And his brain is fucking pissed.
She can tell he’s angry. Anger probably isn’t even a strong enough word for the emotions that are flashing across his face like a neon billboard. Penn is fuming. His jaw is clenching in tight movements as his brow furrows sharply over his ice-blue eyes. His eyes have turned cold, frigid even, in a matter of seconds. The moment he spotted her, his entire demeanor changed. No longer warm or cozy—Penn flipped to furious.
“Penn, this is our new girl, Roxie,” Grant offers. Daniella didn’t even notice that there was a man standing next to him. All she sees is Penn. He infiltrates her mind and
leaves her nervous and unsure.
Penn nods accordingly as he strides towards her, his eyes never leaving hers. Locked and intense, his blue orbs penetrate through every facet of her being. He holds out his hand and proceeds to act like this is their first meeting.
“Nice to meet you, Roxie.” Venom spews from his mouth as he pronounces the name with pure distain.
She takes his hand timidly, her eyes still wide, her pupils smaller than the needle of a pin. Anxiety and a slight edge of fear dominate her body’s reaction. Nervousness spurs a thin sheen of sweat to spread across her body. Ice-cold awareness. She is in so much trouble. Trouble with a capital T.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Wilder,” she replies quietly.
“Please follow me, Roxie. I’d like to have a quick chat with you before you start your night.” The tone of his voice has a strong edge and undeniable demanding tone.
Grant glances at him with a questioning look in his eyes but doesn’t pry. He can tell by his boss’s demeanor that something is off, but it is very apparent that Penn Wilder is in no mood to neither discuss nor elaborate.
“Follow me,” he commands with hardened eyes and clenched teeth. He advances out of the dressing room and down a long, dark hallway towards his office.
He can’t believe this is happening. Is this really fucking happening?! He has the urge to punch his fist through something. Anything. His brain fills with the irrational urge to kick the living shit out of Grant for hiring her.
Daniella follows his lead, her head down and slightly dejected. She has no idea what is about to be said, but she knows it is not going to be good.
He stands at the threshold of his office and gestures for her to walk inside. Her long legs step past him with unsure movements. The door slams behind her with a loud bang and her body startles immediately. She feels like she is about to crawl out of her skin. Silence impregnates the room as tension hovers over them in a thick fog.
“Sit down.”
Her ass unceremoniously hits the leather chair across from his desk at his insistent words. Her eyes stay downcast on the hands that are tangling in awkward movements over her bare thighs. His black boots come into her view and her eyes make a slow descent towards his face. She takes in every inch of him. His strong thighs, the slight bulge prominent underneath his zipper. Is he turned on right now? No, there’s no way. She pushes that irrational thought aside and finally finds the courage to meet his hard-edged stare. His thick muscular arms are crossed in front of his noticeable chest. If she wasn’t so god damn worried about his reaction to her being at his clubs, she’d probably be highly aroused at the sight of him.
She squirms in her seat from the persistent ache between her thighs and realizes that she actually is aroused. Undeniably turned on by him. The anger etched on his face only seems to make her magnetism towards him even stronger. She finds herself fantasizing about him throwing her down on his desk and ravaging every inch of her. The scruff on his face brushing across her thighs as his mouth licks and sucks at her pussy. His large hands wrapping around her wrists and holding them hostage above her head as he thrusts his thick, rigid cock inside of her…
Penn stares down at her and notices the faint blush rising across her cheeks. Her pupils dilate and her eyes appear…lustful? That can’t be what he’s seeing. He is obviously misinterpreting her expression. A deep, cavernous breath forces her chest to heave up and down, emphasizing the lush curve of her breasts. Her tight, immovable corset nearly reveals the edges of her perfect nipples to his greedy eyes. His cock twitches in anticipation beneath his dress slacks. He can’t seem to help himself whenever she’s around, his mind constantly heading towards thoughts…fantasies…memories. He still hasn’t forgotten what it felt like to be sheathed inside of her tight, perfect pussy. Nor has he forgotten how she tastes. His tongue compulsorily runs across his top lip as his taste buds strive to remember.
Fuck, get it together.
Penn clears his throat and regains his clarity, pushing all thoughts of Daniella and her perfect little body out of his mind. “I need an explanation,” he commands with purpose.
She bites her bottom lip in apprehension, her eyes moving back towards her nervous hands.
“Daniella,” he demands. “This isn’t a fucking game, darlin’. You need to tell me why you are here, at my club, and why my general manager is introducing you to me as our newest stripper named Roxie.” His eyebrow rises questioningly.
A heavy gust of air whooshes out of her lungs and she grasps that there is no getting out of this. “I need this job, Penn. I really need this job.”
“You really need a job as a stripper? I don’t understand. Explain your reasoning.”
She sighs heavily, her eyes hesitantly meeting his insistent stare. He gestures with an impatient hand for her to continue. He isn’t going to let her out of his office until she brings him up to speed on her reasoning for this ridiculous situation.
“Okay… Okay…” She holds both of her hands up in relinquishment. And with that, she explains everything to him. The tuition bill, her desperation, the refusal to place her responsibilities on her family, and the fact that she was ineligible for financial aid. She lays it all out in the open and he listens with careful consideration, his brain taking in every detail of her dilemma, his eyes turning empathetic.
“So that’s it? That’s why you sought out work as an exotic dancer?” he asks with a surprised tone laced over his Southern drawl.
She nods her head in two timid movements.
“Darlin’, you should have told me,” he says with a sympathetic tone. “I’ll pay for your tuition and then you can focus on your classes instead of dancing. See? Problem solved.” His lips crease into a confident smile.
Penn’s cocky smirk and idea of an easy solution push her over the edge. She doesn’t want him to feel sorry for her and she most definitely does not want him to lend her money. She just wants him to accept her reasons and let her make her own decisions, let her work at Wild Nights for as long as it takes her to save up enough money to pay the rest of the year’s tuition.
She points an irritated finger in his direction, her feisty personality shining through. “You’re not paying for my tuition! I’m not a fucking child! I don’t need your god damn sympathy or your money, Penn. I’m an adult! Stop treating me like I’m Bobby’s little sister!” She jumps to her feet, her emotions getting the best of her. She pushes an irate finger into his chest.
Penn begins to chuckle at her abrupt change in emotions. His laughter only making her madder, she pokes another petite finger into his hard chest.
“Stop,” he manages through laughter as he blocks her insistent, pushy fingers from violently touching his body.
“Stop laughing at me!” Her hands rest on her hips as she eyes him with scrutiny. “What is so fucking funny?”
“Such a dirty mouth,” he admonishes with a joking tone. He can’t believe she has the power to turn his emotions from pure rage to utter amusement in mere seconds. But nothing about Daniella has ever made sense to him.
“I think we’re done here,” she voices as she starts to turn on her stilettos and head for the door.
Penn reaches out and grabs her elbow with a strong hand, his fingers wrapping all the way around her arm without difficulty. His strong arm pulls her body back towards his, nearly bringing her back flush against his chest.
“We’re not done. If you think you’re going out there to strip in front of a crowd of men, you’ve obviously lost your mind. That ain’t happening, darlin’. No fucking way. This is my club. I make the rules. And you’re not dancing tonight.” His anger is beginning to make reappearance.
She turns towards him and removes his hand from her arm with a harsh jolt. Her eyes seething, she gazes into his piercing cerulean eyes. “So that’s it? You’re going to fire me because you can’t get over the fact that I’m your best friend’s little sister.”
He takes in every inch of her. Her sassy stance, her sharp russet
eyes, and the tempting little body donned in indiscreet attire. His refusal to allow her to dance has absolutely nothing to do with her being Bobby’s little sister. Yeah, that should be the reason, but it isn’t.
Daniella is the reason. She brings out some sort of cavemen response from within him. He doesn’t want her to dance because he refuses to allow any other man to see her naked. There is only one man who should see her naked—him. Maybe this thought process makes him an asshole, but he doesn’t care. He makes an in-the-moment decision. He won’t fire her; he will let her be a cocktailer under the pretense that she will eventually be able to strip at Wild Nights.
Little does she know, his decision is already made.
She will never strip. Ever.
He’d have to be dead and his body cold and buried in the ground for that to occur.
“I’m not firing you. I’m a businessman, Daniella. I think you’ll be a great addition to the club…” He pauses mid-sentence as he fights the urge to choke over his words. “But you’re not ready. I know you’ve danced before, but you’ve never danced like this. You need to practice before I allow you to step onto that stage. You can cocktail at the club until I determine when you’re ready.” He watches her face as she processes his words, his temporary job offer, and his little white lie of eventually allowing her to dance.
“Really?” she questions.
“Yeah, really,” he nods as relief fills his gut that she is actually buying the bullshit he just spouted off. “So I suggest you change out of your current outfit and put on something a little more appropriate to cocktail the main floor. I’ll have Grant get you a uniform.” he informs her as he grabs the phone on his desk and places a quick call to his general manager. “Grant, change of plans,” he speaks into the phone as his eyes stay locked on Daniella. “Roxie isn’t ready to dance. Get her a cocktailer uniform.”
Southern Seduction Page 9