Filth

by Dakota Gray

  My spine goes ramrod straight. “If you want to keep your mouth, you'll swallow that.”

  Lance remembers his manners and offers his hand to Robyn. She's laughing at the whole exchange.

  My old boss says, “Nice to meet you.”

  I karate chop Lance's hand before he gets any ideas. “I need your stage for a bit.”

  “Shit, any time. You're the reason I can afford this place.” Lance pushes the door open for us to come inside.

  I pull Robyn in front of me. I don't want to have to kill him if he leers at her ass. “I'll be sure to turn everything off once I'm done.”

  He sighs, knowing that's the signal to get gone. Robyn's chuckling as I push her deeper into the darkness. One long hallway, a shorter one, and finally we're in the main barroom.

  Nothing's changed. A row of lights are set low but they highlight a long stage. The hardwood floors gleam, but that's only because Lance's wife, Sherri, takes pride in keeping the place clean. They used to have a shithole they inherited from a friend. Then I came along and changed everything for them.

  The chairs are propped upside down on the tables. In a few hours, the place will be loud and brimming with women hoping to see a fantasy.

  I glance at Robyn. She's been watching me the entire time. She asks, “Do you miss it?”

  I shake my head without having to think hard about the answer. “Too many over-inflated egos, too many woman copping feels, fucked up sleep schedules. Even while I did it, I preferred the army. Shit pay, though, so I sucked it up and stripped. My mama needed the money after my dad died.”

  I don't wait to see her reaction to that last tidbit. I weave our way to the front near the stage. I grab a chair from a table and set it at the end of the stage. “Sit.”

  “I didn't bring my purse—no singles.”

  I wag my finger at her. “I won't do it if you plan to mock me and my art.”

  I know I'm testing her willpower with that last word, but she behaves by settling into the leather cushion. I make my way over to the DJ booth and scan through the list of songs. They have the top current hits. I scroll to the old standbys, make a face, and finally choose D'Angelo's Untitled. It's a slow, sexy ballad one can play on repeat while having sex. That song is how I own my condo.

  I check under the mixing table and find the extra sets of clean pants left there in case of emergencies. If I’m doing this for Robyn, I’m going to do it right. Once I’m ready I hit play on the song.

  She’s sitting with her hands up at her mouth, clasped together as though in prayer. From the crinkle around her eyes, I know she’s fighting a laugh. I strike the first pose with my legs spread in a fighter stance. I do a hip roll and slowly unbutton my geek shirt. I’m rusty but it doesn’t take long to get the dress shirt undone.

  I look her right in the eye and I flip the back of my shirt like Michael Jackson. She leans forward and her shoulders are shaking. Her eyes are so bright. She’s laughed a lot since I’ve met her, but this is the first time I’ve seen joy on her face.

  I point to her, grinding the air and lip sync the lyrics of the song.

  The button-up shirt gets discarded and I play with my undershirt. It’s a tease. A flash of ab, a flex of my pecs one at a time. She drops her hands to the seat of the chair. Her expression is familiar—she’s enraptured by the dancing, but she’s not a faceless woman in a dark, packed club. She’s mine, for now, and I—if this is all I had to do to get her to open up for me and forget everything, I should have done this from day one.

  I sing to her, “Won’t you come closer.”

  Since this is her fantasy, I go to Robyn. I perch on her lap, my forearms and hands hanging over her shoulders. The key is always to make eye contact, look like you mean it. This is Robyn. It’s easy to hold her stare as I grind into her until lust replaces the joy, and since this isn’t a gig, I can lick into her mouth when she parts her lips. But the song is still playing, and I’m not done yet. I drag my mouth over her chin, neck and then her ear.

  I whisper, “Help me with my shirt.”

  Her hands ride up my back, leaving a trail of heat. Halfway done, I move out of reaching distance to do my moves. Every motion of my hips are to remind her what it's like when I'm deep inside her. I glance down, let my hand follow my gaze. I slide my fingers into the pants and my underwear. I look up with a cocky smile and give my dick a stroke.

  Her hands fly up to her mouth, the shock clear on her face. For the first time I can laugh at her. Her reaction tells me everything I need to know. “You wanted the show, Robyn. I'm more surprised you've never seen a stripper dance before.”

  “No,” she sounds scandalized. Robyn. “I don't think I could hate you more than I do in this moment.”

  The dance isn't over yet. This is the start of the good part. I drop to my knees, let my head fall back as though the way I'm touching myself is too much. Too good. I lean forward to brace myself with one hand and pretend like she's beneath me. I free up my other hand, get really into it. She cusses at me.

  We're at the bridge of the song. D'Angelo is groaning on the track. It's the beginning of a climax set to music. I crawl to her, doing my best to embody a predator who has caught her scent. And I have.

  I'm kneeling at her feet now. The bass and his voice strum through the speakers. I throw her skirt back. What I find breaks me out of character and I laugh. She's wearing panties. Not a thong, but that-time-of month-granny panties.

  I shake my head and she laughs too before saying, “You told me to wear some.”

  “I'll make do.” I rest my hands on her knees and spread her legs. Damp in the middle. D'Angelo is screaming “yeah,” over and over again. I know the feeling. I press my mouth to the wet warmth and suck her through the material.

  Her fingers spear through the strands of my hair. Lance is nothing but a creature of habit. The cameras won't be on this early. I could make her come before we head back to my house or I drop her off.

  I won't. Lance is a nosy bastard. Someone could come in early for prep. And I want Robyn to myself. I slide my tongue up, then down, teasing us both, and then I drop her skirt back down.

  Her gaze is hazy as I go back into my moves. I'm on my feet. I motion for her to give me her hand. She laughs when I stick it down my pants and dry hump the back of her hand. The song is almost over and I give her what she wants. I rip off the pants.

  She's reduced to giggles. I fucking love it. Sweat has broken out on my brow as the song loops.

  “I can see the appeal.” Her nipples are pressing against her dress. “But did you do all the stuff with everyone?”

  “Not the licking or the kissing.”

  Tongue. Lip. My cock is going to crawl out of my boxers.

  “Well, then,” she purrs, “I think you've earned a reward.”

  She shifts in the chair, her gaze on mine. Breath. Gone. I know that gleam in her eye. Her hands go under her skirt. She slides out of her panties. I don't know why I'm standing there like a jackass. Robyn is adventurous, the bigger tease of us two, and I'm sixty percent sure she's been sent from the pits of hell to torment me.

  She rises from the chair while I'm still dumbstruck at her brazenness. Why that side of her keeps knocking me off guard, I don't know. She holds her panties up with one finger and I fixate on the slight swing as she struts to me.

  She waves them under my nose. “Since you won't accept money from me.”

  Her scent assails me, and I want to drop to my fucking knees. I snatch them before she changes her mind about giving them to me. “You're going home with me.”

  She shakes her head. “Work tomorrow.”

  Fuck.

  I bring her panties up to my nose. Her scent is potent, intoxicating. I don't care what they look like because that's not what matters. “Then when will I see you?”

  “I'm off Saturday.”

  Four days. Four, long fuckless days. I can push the issue or pretend like that's not a problem.

  Her brows are up, and there's a
promise of a smile. She knows, and knowledge is power.

  Then think, Nate.

  There's more than one way to skin a cat. Or to tease a pussy in this case. I smile. “You have my phone number. Call me when you're free. But let's go. This place smells like baby oil.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You're wearing that look.”

  I know, but I'm playing innocent, non-perverted fucker. “Which one?”

  She scoffs at me. “The one that says 'I'm more of a sexual deviant than you.'”

  Well, fuck. I can't even pretend to be innocent. “Because I am.”

  She inhales, exhales. “What does that mean?”

  I kiss her forehead as all the ideas wash over me. “Let's get you home.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ROBYN

  “I can't find—”

  Without looking up, I hand my boss my copy of the California Style Manual. I'll have to find where he lost his later. “I also need you to go over the Staton counterclaim. That has to be out the door by the end of tomorrow or we'll miss the filing date.”

  “God, I've missed my work wife.”

  I glance up and grin at him. “Are you giving the girls a hard time when I'm not here?”

  Steve glances away, guilt clear in the way he refuses to meet my eyes. I shake my head and focus on the work on my desk. “You should be happy to know, starting next week, I'll be here Tuesday mornings instead of the afternoon.”

  “Don't.”

  I sigh and meet his gaze. “I promise I'm fine. I wouldn't take it on if I didn't think I was up to it.”

  “And if you find you can't, I won't bitch about it.”

  “At first.”

  He laughs, tapping the book against my desk. “We've been doing this for years and I want at least a decade more. So don't push yourself too hard.”

  This exchange is why I would stay for another decade at least. Steve started out with his own firm, small and struggling. I was just out of school with zero experience. We took a chance on each other. Fast forward, years later, he went with a big firm, and I went with him. His implicit trust not just in me, but my skills is why I oversee the two paralegals that work for him. On occasion, I do the same for any other paralegals he borrows. By rights, I shouldn’t. I’m much too young, but it was part of his deal to fold his business into the firm.

  I knew how good I had it. Most bosses would have started looking for another employee when I asked for a reduction of hours, pay and responsibilities. Definitely would have hit Kelly Services when he agreed without question and I sobbed uncontrollably.

  But my head and heart had been in a different space for seven months after Loraine’s death. He’d noticed. He’d cared. And more importantly, I wasn’t asking for a break for forever.

  “I promise I’m not pushing myself too hard. Now get on Staton’s counterclaim. I’ll round up Angela and Peggy to organize the checks by receipt and month on the Murdock case.”

  He holds up the manual. “I’ll bring this back when I’m done.”

  I smile, nod, and wait for him to close his office door before I pull out another manual from my desk. He'd lose his head if it wasn't attached, but that's probably what makes him a good attorney. Or the theory I'm willing to believe.

  My phone buzzes. I absently check the screen to see if a reply can wait, since I have to calendar interrogatories for several cases.

  Wondering if u wear panties to wrk

  Nate. Of course.

  R: I have 2 b respectable sometimes

  N: When do u get off?

  R: How many ways I can answer

  N: lol Wrk

  R: Y?

  I take in my desk.

  R: 8ish

  N: K

  R: Y?

  I receive a picture of him with his head tilted back and I can almost hear the evil laugh.

  N: Home address?

  Too intrigued to deny him, I send off the info and let him know I now have to work.

  I can't wait to see what's at home waiting for me.

  *****

  A box sits in front of my door. I can see the Amazon logo from my car. The exhaustion that's been tugging at me since six, two hours ago, lifts slightly. I pick up the package and let myself into my apartment.

  My stomach twists when my gaze skates over the living room. Like Nate, pictures are the true staple. My mermaid couch matches the loveseat in the same turquoise shade with the forest green throw pillows. The smoke gray area rug, the sleek flat screen, the twin mahogany end tables...It's home. But my home has pictures of my parents, Samantha, my work friends and Loraine.

  Her smiling face condemns me. She shadows the light mood I had at seeing the package that Nate must have left.

  What the hell am I doing?

  That's a question that pools dread in my stomach.

  So small step—get off my feet after the day I've had.

  The box seems to weigh a ton as I slug my tired limbs to my room. My queen-sized bed is a haven of mauve satin pillowcases and a mauve and gold comforter. I fall down face first into the mattress. Some days working half days just means I cram a full-time work schedule into a shorter amount of time.

  My phone buzzes. I roll over to open the box first since I can guess who is texting me. The box is expensive-looking and so is...whatever the hell it is. The oblong shape and the sender gives me the only clue that it's a sex toy. What kind, I have no idea. I bypass the text and call him.

  He says before I can speak, “How was work?”

  “Fine and good and wonderful, but you don’t care.”

  He laughs. “As you like to say, curious question.”

  “Yeah?” I’m so very cautious.

  “What is your mother like?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “I ask about your job and you say in no uncertain terms I really don’t give a fuck. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

  “But what does my mother have to do with that?”

  “To know a woman, one must know her mother.”

  And if a man is his father...my stomach flutters. “Since you watch Scandal, I’m sure you’ve seen Grey’s.”

  “Huh?”

  I snort at his bullshit answer. “My mother is like Bailey.”

  “The Nazi?” He laughs. “You make so much sense right now.”

  “Shut up.” I glance at the contraption he sent me. “Okay. What am I holding? I know it’s a sex toy, but what kind?” I ask.

  “A poor substitute.”

  “The last time I checked your dick wasn't shaped like this.”

  He chuckles. “Wrong substitute.”

  My face flushes. He's probably the first man in years who has made me blush. “Oh.” I smile. “Still not shaped the same.”

  “Let me know how you feel about it.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That's it? You just want a review? After the fact?”

  “I didn't buy it so you can put a show on for me.”

  I tilt my head back as his words settle in. “But you would like one?”

  “Do I have a working dick?”

  And this is the problem with having sex with fuckboys. You know they are wrong on every level. You go into the situation with your eyes wide open. The more you learn about them, the more you like them, less as a fuckboy and more as a person. My stomach shouldn't be gooey and fluttery from a sex toy. My reaction has very little to do with the kinky gift. It's that he thought of me and expects nothing in return.

  I settle deeper into the bed. I have to get my mind back on track. “So it simulates oral sex?”

  “Supposedly.”

  I brush aside his twisted thoughtfulness. “Send me something of you that I can use as an aide.”

  His laugh is low and deep. “Are you asking for a dick pic, Robyn?”

  “I'm sure you can be a little more creative than that. I can test out your gift to whatever you send me. If you behave...” I let the promise linger in the air.

  His next laugh is sharper. “Do
you really want to play this game?”

  My toes curl at his voice. I know I'm in over my head with him, but I can't seem to back down. I refuse. “You sound hesitant. Are you scared again?”

  “I'm starting to think you like me depraved.”

  I can understand his baser instincts. He's easier to explain, and he’s fun, safe when he’s thinking with his mouth. I need Safe Nate, and that so happens to be when he's at his dirtiest. “I guess that answers my question. You are scared.”

  “Sometimes you do scare me.”

  I close my eyes at the statement, yet my mouth opens. “Why?”

  “You're unpredictable in the best way, and I sometimes don't know how to respond. And I always do.”

  The compliment leaves me too warm. “Given all the women you've slept with, I would think you'd like a change of pace.”

  The line goes quiet for so long I think he's hung up on me.

  “I sometimes can forget that you hate me.”

  And I don't. Not anymore. That's a different can of worms I refuse to look at. “Nate—”

  “Let me go, so I can send you something depraved.”

  My mouth forms an apology but the line goes quiet with finality. He's ended the call. I recline on my bed with my phone clutched in my hand, reminding myself I'm not the one in the wrong. Nate's the bad guy. I've used him to exact revenge. I've used him to work through my own shit. When we're done, he'll go on to the next woman unchanged.

  The reassurances feel like lies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NATE

  Work hijacked our plans, so it's Monday by the time we can meet. The redhead isn't there but Robyn is. Should be the best thing ever, right? I likely don't have to sit for a few hours as the redhead tries to melt Robyn's brain with gossip. I know way too much about that woman's sex life, and all their respective friends' relationships.

  But back to why my stomach is somewhere near my feet and I want to jump in front of a bus. Robyn's hand is propped under her chin. Her shoulders are hunched. Every shadow she usually hides is right there in her gaze when she flicks her attention to me for half a second.