by Tara Sivec
“You should be the one changing your mind. You should be running as fast and as far away from me as possible before I hurt you. Every damn time I walk through that front door, I thank Christ you’re still here. I only agreed to help you out so you can be a good stripper because I wanted more of you. I need to tell you—”
I quickly bring one hand up and press it over his mouth.
“I don’t care,” I whisper. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Not right now.”
Vincent presses a kiss to my palm before pulling it away from his mouth. He grabs onto my hips and starts walking me backwards until I bump into the island behind me.
“You should run. I’m gonna end up hurting you,” he whispers.
“Never. Nothing you say or do could ever make me run away from you. I’m here to stay, so you’re just gonna have to get used to it,” I tell him with a smile.
A few quiet seconds pass where we just stand here close, staring into each other’s eyes. My heart starts beating faster in my chest, and a thrill of anticipation shoots through me.
“We’ve got about forty more minutes until the lasagna is done. Got any ideas on what we could do to pass the time?”
He finally gives me a smirk that I feel like I’ve been waiting all day to see.
In the blink of an eye, he slides his hands into the waistband of my pajama bottoms, yanking them down my legs. He quickly stands back up until he’s towering over me and grabs my hips. The way he looks down at me, with so much desire in his eyes, makes me rub my thighs together with need.
I let out a gasp when he quickly lifts me up, and I grab on to his shoulders as he deposits me on the counter that is the only clean spot in this entire kitchen. Sliding his hands down the top of my bare thighs, he gently pushes them open and moves between my legs.
“Lean back on your hands,” he orders gently.
I do as he says, resting my hands on the counter behind me, watching as he slides the palms of his hands up and down the tops of my thighs. My T-shirt has bunched up until the hem of it is resting right above the top of my hot pink, lacy boy shorts.
My eyes move away from his hands to his face, and I watch him as he stares down at his hands, which are slowly inching up my thighs, stopping right at the edge of my lacy underwear. He slides the very tips of his fingers just under the lace, barely touching me as his skims them down over the curves of my thighs and between my legs, then back up.
I swallow thickly and my tongue darts out to wet my lips while he continues torturing me until I want to scream at him to shove his fingers all the way in there and just touch me where I need it already. I can feel myself getting wet, and I should probably be embarrassed that he can see it, considering his eyes are still glued to what he’s doing and my legs are spread wide open. But I don’t care. I don’t care because of who’s doing it to me. This man is frustrating and confusing and he’s probably keeping secrets from me that I should be concerned about, but everything he’s shown me about the kind of person he is proves to me that regardless of what he said, he would never hurt me. He is a gentle giant who has turned this whole “experience” thing into so much more.
“Give me your hand,” he suddenly says, his eyes meeting mine.
I give him a confused look but do what he says, putting all of my weight onto my left hand and holding my right out towards him.
He wraps his hand around mine, pulling it down and pressing it against the lace between my thighs.
“What are you doing?” I whisper nervously.
“The first thing you need to learn is what turns you on. What you like that feels good. You need to be comfortable with your own body and your own sexuality and not just to use it to make money dancing. You need it for you. So you can be comfortable with it, and you can enjoy it,” he explains, adding pressure to the top of my hand until it’s resting flat against myself.
I lick my lips nervously again. Sure, I’ve touched myself before. But I was alone, under the covers, with all the lights turned off. I’ve never done something like this with someone watching me.
“Should I be taking notes?” I squeak, when he guides my hand up until it’s resting against my stomach.
He gently wraps his hand around my wrist, then pushes it back down until it slides under the lace, my fingers gliding through my wetness.
“Touch yourself. Do whatever feels good.”
Both of his hands come back to rest on my hips, and he dips his head down to the side of my neck. As soon as his lips touch my skin right under my ear, a jolt of electricity shoots right down between my legs, where my fingers are currently resting.
His teeth gently nip that sensitive skin of my neck, and my hips jerk forward. I can’t stand it anymore. I need some relief from the fire that has been blazing inside of me since he pulled my pants off. I tentatively start moving my fingers as he continues to gently lick and suck on the side of my neck.
I touch myself right where I need it, circling two of my fingers, just like I’ve done when I’m alone, but it’s so much better than any of those times. It’s more erotic because I can feel Vincent’s warm breath puffing against the side of my neck. It’s more sensual because I can feel the heat from his body and feel the tight grasp of his hands on my hips.
He kisses his way up my neck and over my jaw until his lips are hovering against my ear.
“Push them inside,” he whispers.
A shiver races down my spine and I immediately comply, letting out a soft moan when I do what he says.
He presses his forehead against mine and looks down between my legs, and instead of being embarrassed that he’s watching me touch myself, it turns me on even more. I start moving my fingers, pushing them in deeper, and using my thumb to bring me more pleasure.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re so goddamn sexy right now.”
His words make me whimper, and my fingers start moving faster, my hips rocking up to meet my hand. I stare at his face as he continues to watch me, the hunger in his eyes almost more stimulating than my own touch.
I’m so swollen and sensitive that each swipe of my thumb forces me to moan louder and louder, until I’m panting and gasping, muttering Vincent’s name and watching his jaw clench with each jerky movement of my hand between my legs.
One of his hands moves away from my hip, sliding up and under my T-shirt. Having just barely a B-cup, I usually don’t bother wearing a bra around here at night, and thank God for that. His palm glides up my stomach and cups my bare breast. As soon as his thumb grazes over my nipple, I feel it right between my legs.
“Oh, my God, oh, my—”
Vincent crashes his mouth to mine, swallowing my cries as my release washes through me. Every muscle in my body grows taught, my hips suspended off the counter as I swipe my thumb over myself, pulling every last ounce of pleasure out while Vincent continues kissing me and caressing my breast.
I moan into his mouth as he slows the kiss, sliding his hand back down until it’s holding my hip again. He slowly pulls his mouth away from mine as I remove my hand out from between my legs.
It’s not until he kisses the tip of my nose and smiles at me before helping me down from the counter that I realize the ringing sound in my ears a few seconds ago wasn’t from my orgasm, but was actually the loud buzz of the oven timer.
I quickly push Vincent out of the way, grab two oven mitts, and fling open the oven door. Black smoke billows out, and I fan it away with the mitts before reaching inside and pulling the pan out.
Setting the charred lasagna on top of the stove, I look back at him over my shoulder.
“So, takeout? I can’t believe all your hard work is ruined.”
Vincent laughs, moving up behind me and pushing my hair over one shoulder.
“Totally worth it,” he says, leaning down and kissing the side of my neck.
As he moves away to grab the takeout menus from the drawer, I realize I don’t want to just hang around and see where this thing goes between us. I want him to give
me more. I want him to give me everything.
Chapter 25: I Did Not Get a Boner
“If you keep frowning like that your face is going to freeze that way. You’re too young and pretty to be stuck with a frowny face for the rest of your life.”
Looking up from my computer screen, I give Mrs. Potter a sad smile. I shouldn’t have been surprised to come in to work this morning to find an email from the board waiting for me. It said that despite my “valiant effort” of coming up with new and exciting ways to bring more patrons into the library, they officially plan on closing in two weeks unless, by some miracle, they can get enough money to keep it open.
I feel like a ticking time bomb on the verge of exploding with everything going on in my life. The last week with Vincent, after we cooked lasagna and heated things up on the counter, has been nothing short of amazing, but I’m about ready to jump out of my skin with wanting him. I’ve given him a few more cooking lessons that did not result in disaster, and he’s given me so many orgasms I’ve lost count. But it’s never gone any further than dry humping and heavy petting on every available surface in his house. It’s been wonderful and exciting, but I want more. And he just keeps telling me I’m not ready.
Knowing my time is running out with the library, I’ve been calling Cindy and PJ nonstop, telling them to book me for a night to dance at Charming’s, and they keep telling me I’m not ready.
On top of that, my father still hasn’t returned any of my calls, which indicates that he’s still not ready to forgive me for Cindy sending PJ’s mom over to his house to give him a lap dance.
I am getting sick and tired of everyone making decisions for me about my life and what I’m ready for.
Grabbing my cell phone off the counter, I quickly dial Cindy’s number. As soon as she picks up the phone, I cut off her greeting, not giving a single crap about being rude.
“Tell PJ I’m dancing at Charming’s tonight, whether he likes it or not. Studies show that knowing and valuing yourself, setting goals, and planning help build important foundations, but action is required to make your dreams come true. I’m taking action, Cindy. Your dreams came true, and now it’s my turn.”
I smile to myself when my voice comes out confident and strong instead of weak and unsure, knowing there’s no way Cindy will say no to me.
“Oh, sweetie,” she sighs. “I just . . . PJ and I think you need a little more time. I know you’re anxious to get started, and believe me, I want nothing more than for you to fully join the Naughty Princess Club, but I just don’t think you’re ready.”
As she continues talking, I clench my jaw so hard that I’m surprised I don’t snap a few of my teeth in half.
“PJ thinks it’s great that you and Beast are getting closer and that you’re getting some experience with a man, but you told me yourself that you guys still haven’t done the deed. I know you were firmly against using him for sex to get that kind of experience, and I think it’s wonderful that you’re learning more about him and going about this the right way, but I just think you need to be able to understand how to really turn an audience on and make them want more. I know stripping isn’t about sex, but having that experience definitely helps when it comes to taking your clothes off and turning people on,” she explains softly.
“First of all, it’s not my fault I haven’t gotten the full experience of having him put his P in my V, he keeps turning me down!” I shout a little too loudly, watching Mrs. Potter’s eyes widen in shock and a few library patrons look over at me. “And second, did you seriously tell PJ everything I told you in confidence about what we’ve been doing these last few weeks?!”
“He’s my boyfriend, and we’re in love!” Cindy argues. “We tell each other everything.”
“You tell each other everything about your own lives! Leave my V out of it!”
“See? That right there tells me you still aren’t ready. You can’t even say the word vagina,” Cindy complains.
“I can say the word. I just don’t want to,” I tell her petulantly.
“Vagina, vagina, vagina!” Mrs. Potter chants in a whisper, clapping her hands together excitedly.
I ignore her, growing more and more irritated with my friend.
“I need this, Cindy. You of all people should know how important this is for me. And it’s not just about the fact that I need to start making more money. I need to take charge of my own life. I need to make my own decisions, and I can’t keep standing still, not moving forward anymore. It’s killing me,” I tell her, trying not to cry.
“Honey, I know, believe me. Just give it a little more time and you’ll get there. Do you really want to get up on that stage, in front of hundreds of people, and not dance to the absolute best of your ability? It will completely kill your confidence and the progress you’ve already made towards reaching your goal.”
I don’t say another word when she tells me she has to go and that we’ll get together tomorrow for some more dance practice and so she can give me some sexy tips about what I can do to push Vincent over the edge, so he has no choice but to finally give in.
As I hang up the phone with a sigh, Mrs. Potter looks at me expectantly.
“It was a no from her,” I complain, setting my phone down on the counter.
“So?”
“So that means I’m not stripping any time soon, which means I’ll never get the money I need in time to save this place—and I have to continue doing what everyone else wants me to do instead of what I want to do.”
“Well, what do you want to do?” Mrs. Potter asks.
“I want to get up on that damn stage and show everyone that I can do it!”
“Then what the hell are you waiting for? In the last few months, I have watched you go from a shy, quiet bookworm who never argued with a single soul, to a strong, confident young woman who doesn’t take crap from anyone. So, why are you taking crap from these people? You want to take charge of your own life? Then do it!”
My misery from moments ago at being shut down by yet another person in my life quickly changes to excitement at Mrs. Potter’s words. She’s right. If I want people to stop telling me how to live my life, I need to put my foot down. I need to stop letting them tell me what to do.
“Mrs. Potter, grab your keys. Since hardly anyone is here right now, we’re closing this place down and taking a long lunch.”
Faster than I’ve ever seen the older woman move, she ushers the small handful of patrons out the door. Once everyone is gone, we grab our things and hang a sign on the outside of the door that says we’ll be back in one hour, locking it behind us as we go.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, I throw open Cindy’s front door without bothering to ring the doorbell or announce my presence. I storm into the kitchen and find Cindy typing away on her laptop at the kitchen counter, and PJ standing by the kitchen table, looking at something on his phone.
“Is Anastasia home?” I ask as I stalk across the room. Both of their heads come up, wearing equal looks of surprise.
“Belle? What are you doing here?” Cindy asks as I walk right up to PJ, stopping in front of him as I look over my shoulder at her.
“Is. Anastasia. Home?” I ask again about her daughter.
“No. She’s went to a friend’s house after school. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
She closes her laptop and rounds the kitchen counter, pausing when I hold up my hand to stop her. Pulling up the music app on my phone, which is clutched in my hand, I quickly pick a random song and hit play, tossing the phone onto the table next to me.
“What are you—”
“Shut up and let me concentrate!” I cut her off, taking a fortifying breath as I smack my palms against PJ’s chest until he stumbles backwards into the chair behind him.
“Uh, Belle. I don’t think—”
“I said shut up!” I yell at him, cutting off whatever he was about to say as well.
As the song playing from my phone starts picking up speed, I
let the music drown out everything around me and let the sensual beat flow through me. I think about all the things Vincent has done to my body in recent weeks, and even though it’s frustrating that he hasn’t taken things further, I think about how sexy he’s made me feel. I channel the way my body moved during each and every intimate moment we’ve spent together. I forget about the fact that I’m about to give my friend’s boyfriend a lap dance and concentrate on the empowerment I feel because I’m finally making a decision for myself.
PJ’s eyes are wide and look petrified as I slowly strut around the chair, I run my hand across his chest and his shoulders as I make my way around, until I’m back to standing in front of him. Standing between his legs, I sensually run my hands all over my body and lower myself to the floor before coming right back up, yanking out my hair tie so my long, chestnut waves fall down and around my shoulders. I manage to shake them out without blinding myself or getting any pieces stuck in my mouth. Leaning forward, I rest my hands on his knees as I slowly lower to the ground again, jutting my chest out as I come back up, sliding myself against PJ as I go.
His mouth is now dropped open in shock, and he holds both of his hands above his head, like he’s being held at gunpoint. He’s looking back and forth between me and Cindy.
“Oh God . . . ,” PJ mutters in horror when I wrap my hands around the back of his head, climb onto his lap, and really go to town.
I grind myself on his thighs, I rub my body all over him, I get up and turn around, bending over leisurely and shaking my butt. I do everything Cindy taught me to do that night she brought the folding chair over, and I mimic every movement I’ve watched on hundreds and hundreds of YouTube videos over the last couple of months. I put on the best show of my life, and by the time the song comes to an end, my heart is racing and I’m panting with the exertion of giving my first official lap dance to someone I’m not physically attracted to.
I’m sitting on PJ’s lap, facing him, straddling his thighs with my hands resting on his shoulders while his arms are still high in the air and he looks like a deer in the headlights. Suddenly, loud clapping echoes around the room.