“Maybe. Except I’m not rehearsing you doing this with…Steve.” He groaned again, fighting back the growing impulse to come. “You do this with me and me alone. Clear?”
“I think so. Maybe.” Another squirm, and then she lifted and slammed down onto him. No warning accompanied her actions. She was working on instinct alone.
His head went back and he yelled, shockwaves rippling through him. His hands tightened on her hips. He never wanted to let go.
He wasn’t even sure if he came or not, just that the reaction was extreme, as exquisite as an orgasm. She must come. She had to come. Desperation filled him, and he reluctantly released one hip to slide his hand over her smooth, flat stomach and to her clit. He worked his thumb between them, grazing the little nub until she bit her lower lip. But she didn’t stop moving, riding him hard, her calves gripping his thighs to give her purchase as she fucked him, and he responded.
Unbelievably the thrills continued, working to drive him out of his mind. Her eyes sparkled, and he felt the heat of her impending orgasm. By contacting that urge inside her and manipulating her clit, he could tell when she was close and what she liked. A small pinch worked well, and she enjoyed it when he held his thumb beneath her clit so that every time their bodies slammed together, he grazed the sensitive nerves, sending an extra shot of sensation through her.
When her expression grew wilder, he bucked harder, forcing her to ride at a gallop. They watched each other, something he’d have found uncomfortably intimate with another person. With Kristen, it had become a necessity.
Mindless, she cried his name, and he worked her, fucked her until her cunt clenched around him over and over. He counted. Six, then seven, one so tight she held him in a grip he wouldn’t have gotten out of had he tried. Not that he wanted to.
He laughed as she came, the sound abruptly cut off when his balls contracted, pumping semen up his cock and deep into her body.
Had he come twice? Or once with a break.
He was damned if he knew. He cared even less because it was the ride of his life.
Chapter Ten
Back at the club, on the day of Kristen’s debut, Nathan and Vella had a quiet moment while the bar staff settled into place and the bouncers came on duty. A well-oiled machine. Something in Vella’s eyes told her he wasn’t going to like what she was about to tell him.
“One of the staff wants to talk to you,” she said.
His mind immediately went to Kristen, but he’d seen her an hour before. He had only left her alone because she’d asked him to, to stretch and put her mind into a more tranquil place than she could ever achieve when he was around. Or so she informed him.
Taking it as a compliment, he’d chuckled, kissed her, and left, reminding her to keep hydrated because, when the club was open, they kept it hot. The dancers didn’t want to get chills.
As if he’d conjured them up, a trio of dancers strolled across the floor toward the gleaming silver rods by the side of the stage. He’d doubted having the things installed. Pole dancing had had its day, but these three, triplets no less, could work them as an act and coordinated with each other as they danced. They used the poles as accessories, not as essentials, and he had seen the merits and enjoyed them.
They wore miniscule white bikinis and above-the-knee, lace-up, open-toed boots, which was the only item that they wouldn’t remove. Nathan left it up to them how much they took off, only admonishing them to be as tasteful as they could. It had to be sexy and erotic, rather than obscene. The women who came here didn’t want vaginas in their faces; neither did they want their boyfriends licking another woman while they watched. Well, some of them, anyhow. The ones that did would have to go elsewhere.
Nathan took his time removing his attention from the floor below to where Vella waited, and only when she tapped her foot against the hard floor. He sighed. “What does the girl want? More money, or has she hurt herself?”
“Neither,” Vella said. Her expression made him pause and pay her more attention. This was more important than a wage raise. “But this afternoon she finally came to see me. She’d heard you’d gone to the club down the street. She’s concerned that they’re chasing her.”
Now she had his full attention. Turning his back on the view, he leaned against the thick glass window. “Talk to me.”
“I was.” She stared at him until he folded his arms. “What is wrong with you?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been dreaming ever since Wednesday. Since that visit. Are you listening now?”
He nodded.
“It’s Diana. She’s a vampire.”
Shocked, he tried to recall what he knew about the girl. Precious little, except she was from Wisconsin and she was working behind the bar until he opened auditions again. She’d taken ballet classes and ballroom, so she was versatile, but she didn’t have Kristen’s spark, the edge that would make his lover a star. “I never realized.”
“She’s young, not used to opening up. She came to Chicago to get some experience. Well, that was what she told me until yesterday.”
“If you knew she was a Talent, you should have told me.”
Vella shrugged, her crisp blouse hardly moving it was so well starched. “I thought you knew. It didn’t affect her work, not until recently.”
He made a beckoning motion with three fingers. “Tell her to come and tell me herself.”
Diana Garfield was a petite, curvy blonde, the kind of woman Nathan might have found attractive until he met Kristen. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth, and her skin was pale, her blue eyes stark in her face.
So Nathan’s first question was, “Have you fed?”
She nodded, her tightly bound ponytail bouncing with the jerky movement. “Last night.”
“Then do it again tonight.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“Take a mouthful from a customer. Plenty of those like the dancers to get up close and personal. As long as you stick to house rules, you’re fine. Now tell me what your problem is.” Vampires didn’t kill when they took the sustenance they needed. They only needed a little blood, although that amount was absolutely necessary to their well-being.
She clasped her hands, the shiny red lacquer gleaming in the lights. Twisting her fingers together, she began to speak in a breathless tone. “I came from Wisconsin, not because I wanted to broaden my horizons but because they were chasing me.”
“Who were?” he prompted when she stopped abruptly and started to bite her lip again.
“The PHR. At least, I think so. Two of them, and probably more. My parents moved too, but they said they’d be in touch in six months. I know where they are, and I spoke to them last night. They’ve not been followed. The PHR men were teachers at my school.”
“How old are you?” he interrupted. “For real.”
“Twenty-one.”
Nathan sucked in a breath sharply. A real twenty-one-year-old was vulnerable and precious to the community. Her parents wouldn’t have sent her alone. “Who’s looking after you?”
She frowned. “Nobody.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Who’s keeping an eye on you?”
“I don’t know. Truly I don’t. My parents said they’d send somebody, but so far I haven’t seen anyone. I’m on my own. But they told me about this place and said Talents ran it, so I came here. I don’t strip; I serve drinks.”
She wasn’t wearing the satin corset outfit he gave his female bar staff, but maybe Vella had told her not to dress tonight. Vaguely, he recalled Diana from Kristen’s audition. Not quite there, but interesting, had potential.
He glanced at his admin manager, and she nodded. “I didn’t know she was a Talent until she came to me.”
It wasn’t necessary for anyone to know, and she’d probably feel safer hiding her Talent from everyone. Not all Talents were on the same side, sadly.
Diana was pretty and willing, and she’d do well for tips. “How do you know they’re after you?”
&nbs
p; “Last night somebody saw me. I felt it, the way he tried to slice into my head. It was clumsy, but I’ve hidden my mental sigil, so it’s not obvious I’m a Talent. But he noticed something.”
Nathan’s mouth tightened. Shielding wasn’t as easy as some people made out. “Did he see you in the club?”
“Yes, but he didn’t stay long. I followed him, but only as far as the club entrance. Smokey asked me if something was wrong, but I said no. Is he…?”
She couldn’t even pick out a Talent or make herself known. Nathan shuddered. To his kind, Diana was little more than a girl. What were her parents thinking? He shot another glance at Vella, who nodded. They’d act as guardians until her minder showed up. If they showed up. A nasty suspicion crept over him. “He went into Vampire Heaven, this man, didn’t he?”
Diana nodded and folded her arms, clasping her forearms, as if she was cold.
“A friend of mine suspects a PHR cell is based there,” he said. “After some recent events, I’m certain of it. What happened to you?” He didn’t have to enter her mind to see her turmoil.
She wet her lips and gave Vella a nervous glance.
Vella took up the story. “Someone called earlier today and said he was Diana’s boyfriend. I put out a page for her because I didn’t know any better, but when she arrived, she burst into tears. I got her to take the call, and I listened in. It was someone from Vampire Heaven, and he warned her they knew who she was and they were coming after her.
“What will you do?” Vella asked. She stood protectively a step in front of the girl in an unconsciously sheltering gesture.
He decided on discretion. “I’m taking her out of here to another stage on the Thorndyke network. But not tonight.” Tonight belonged to Kristen.
* * * *
In the tiny dressing room she shared with two other featured dancers, Kristen tried to quell her nerves and failed. She couldn’t remember being this nervous before. Not ever, not even when she’d appeared with prestigious companies. It had only happened once. But she’d never been a star before.
Fuck that. Tonight she was the star.
She lifted her eyeliner brush, then lowered her hand to change her position. Resting her elbow on the cluttered space before her, she leaned forward and steadied the brush. Only then could she stop the shaking long enough to get the line straight.
She’d gone for simple and understated but emphasized her lips with poppy red. That took some applying too. Her hair was down, set on big rollers to tumble over her shoulders in waves. Her dress was red too… What there was of it. Cunning fastenings made it easy for Steve to rip it off when the time came, leaving her in her underwear.
They were doing two dances—the waltz and a steamy Argentinian tango, the dance that was so daring Kristen didn’t know if she could go through with it. If she chickened out of revealing her breasts, she could tell Steve and he’d leave her in her bra. Steve was baring all but his genitalia. He had good glutes and should attract some attention from the women who came tonight.
But she was drawing the crowds. The woman sitting next to her, Betty, had told her that. Betty was the blackest woman Kristen had ever met. Her skin gleamed with ebony beauty. She usually performed a ballet parody, losing the frilly skirt and the top, ending in thong and pointe shoes.
“You’ll be a star if you don’t fuck it up,” Betty said complacently. “When I come on, I’m going to use the pose in the first poster, the Dying Swan one. Then the lights will go up, and they’ll see me for what I am.”
She laughed raucously, the sound at odds with her delicately refined appearance. Betty was already a star, and Nathan rotated her between his clubs. Another failed ballet dancer, as she’d told Kristen. “Too many pretty white girls, although that’s changing now, thank the Lord. About fucking time.” She flicked the mascara wand at her abundant false eyelashes, bushy and outrageously curled. Kristen used smaller ones, but that wasn’t saying much. It had taken her four tries to get them in place, when she could usually apply them in seconds.
“I’m not sure I can do this. I can’t go on.”
“Sure you can. Go to your special place and dance your heart out. They are going to love you, baby. Just be yourself.”
The woman on the other side of Betty was Sharon, but she’d hardly spoken, just shot Kristen a series of venomous glances. Kristen had taken what Sharon considered her spot, but as far as Kristen could see, Sharon was filling a space on the show and she should be grateful for the chance. She’d seen Sharon dance. She wasn’t overly impressed. Oh, Sharon was good; everybody dancing in the club was good, but not everyone was exceptional.
Sharon had already done one dance this evening with her regular partner. Other performers had come and gone backstage, and since it was little bigger than the bathroom in Nathan’s apartment, it was hard to miss their giggles and stares. Most were friendly enough, but Kristen sensed an undercurrent of resentment. Probably because Kristen was sleeping with the boss. Unexceptional. She’d heard herself described that way a few times.
Maybe that described Kristen best. She had an unexceptional style, an unexceptional body. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, although Nathan hadn’t complained. She had to showcase them for anyone to take notice. No way did she have the abundance of Betty or the voluptuous curves Sharon could display. Those women could stand on a stage and jiggle, and they’d make a living. Not here, though. Here they had to demonstrate skill and expertise, enough to maintain the club’s status as a dance and burlesque nightclub.
Betty got to her feet and dropped a friendly kiss on top of Kristen’s head. “You go, girl.”
Her costume and makeup done, Kristen got to her feet and left the ladies’ dressing room, following Betty.
The stage was small. To one side was an area where people danced when there were no featured acts onstage. The dancers gave teasing parodies of pole dancing, a demo of disco dancing or old burlesque numbers, taking gloves off with the teeth and everything. Nathan even had one of those huge champagne glasses in storage, although he had decided not to use it this season. “Old hat,” he’d told her when she’d teased him about it once.
Nathan Beaumont, her lover.
She tried the sentence out in her head. Maybe it would give her some reassurance. No such luck. It just made her more nervous, knowing he was watching her. Would he sit at a table nearest the stage and stare at her or prop up to the bar and watch her from there? She wouldn’t look for him. Seeing disapproval or criticism in his eyes, she could take that, but not the heat they were allowing to grow between them. That was too much to take in public, especially when she’d be all but naked.
Shit. She moaned low in her throat and settled by the side of the stage, out of sight, where she could watch Betty.
Betty was a great artist. She started in the Dying Swan pose of the poster, holding her stance with only a slight wobble, the bright light behind her throwing her figure into silhouette. The groan and the claps when the lights went up and revealed her were soon dispelled when she started to dance.
She danced well. Only well, but here when she started to strip, it was enough. She easily revealed the earthy sexuality that took her out of the ordinary—a skill not approved of in classical dance. Some choreographers were beginning to allow it, an acknowledgment that sex was important in the seemingly fantasy world of ballet, but not all. And Betty was too old to be in the new avant-garde.
Here, she fit. She belonged in this place, telling the story of the swan but with a sexual twist. She evoked the emotions effortlessly, her movements graceful enough to please all but the fussiest ballet critics. After their first disappointment at not seeing the star of the show, the audience settled down.
Betty removed her satin top with unselfconscious abandon, her breasts bouncing as she went into a ballonné. She followed it with a plié, both movements requiring her to open her legs and flash the tiny strip of white satin between her legs.
The audience murmured as the dance became mo
re daring, the men trying not to lean over to get a better view of her pussy.
At the end, Betty ripped the thong from her body just as the lights came down. Was she wearing anything underneath? Was that a glimpse of ripe bare flesh or another undergarment?
She left them guessing. She also left the stage.
Kristen felt Steve come up behind her and murmur in her ear. “Ready, darling?”
She nodded as Steve took her hand and led her out. They took their positions in the darkness. Bile rose in Kristen’s throat, and she swallowed it down. Steve had his hands positioned in the classic waltz pose.
As the music started, the waltz from Der Rosenkavalier, she recalled her steps and pretended she was in the big room at Nathan’s apartment with the furniture pushed back. Anywhere but here, with people watching, expecting so much.
She got through it, turned when she needed to, smiled when she needed. The strip part wasn’t as bad as she expected, except a spike of something that felt like anger peaked in her mind. He was watching her, and he didn’t like it. Strange, because he hadn’t objected in rehearsals, and didn’t he tell her he enjoyed watching?
When Steve ripped her bra away for the final flourish and smoothed his hands up from her waist to draw her close and kiss her for the blackout, she felt no anger from Nathan. Nothing. Perhaps he’d been called away on business. After all, what did it matter if he wasn’t watching?
The audience clapped. They didn’t cheer, but she got some applause that lasted a reasonable amount of time.
Bitterly disappointed at her reception, Kristen went offstage to change for the Argentine tango. She’d wanted more, and she knew she deserved more than polite applause.
Steve threw her robe over her shoulders and gave her a hug. “You were brilliant.”
“Thanks.”
No, she wasn’t. She was good, competent, adequate, and she’d let herself and Nathan down.
He didn’t appear, which she was glad of. She just wanted to get through this and then try again, although opening night was her chance, her one chance to make it work. To make a splash. Otherwise she’d have to find a critic to come another night, if she could improve her performance.
The Thorndyke Trilogy 2: Dancing at Midnight Page 16