Explicitly Yours Series

by Jessica Hawkins

  “I’m sorry?” The woman’s hand twitched, as if resisting reaching for the credit card. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Lola held her hands on both sides of her head and pointed upward. She wiggled her fingers. “You know, like the ones you wear on Halloween?”

  “Oh. No. Of course we don’t.”

  “Hmm.” Lola tapped the card against her bottom lip, thinking. “That could really pose a problem for my outfit.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” The saleswoman watched the card, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic back and forth. She held her hand out. “I’ll find some and have them delivered wherever you like along with your purchase.”

  Lola smiled and handed over the credit card. “That would be fantastic. They don’t need to be anything fancy. I’ll take the lingerie with me, but I’d like those sent somewhere else.”

  “That won’t be a problem, Miss…” She checked the card. “Olivier.”

  Lola paid for everything and returned to the Range Rover, which she’d parked at a meter. She slipped into the front seat and rested her hands on the steering wheel, but she didn’t turn the engine on. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. What a funny thing money was—it bought not only things, but people’s time. Lola had discovered how true that was since she’d been by Beau’s side. Just now, in the store, she’d used her newfound wealth as leverage to get what she wanted. Was it too much time around Beau that had Lola acting like someone she didn’t recognize? Or was that just how money worked, no matter who you were? It was addicting to have it that easy, and part of her understood, for the first time, how complicated Beau’s relationship with his fortune must be.

  Lola shook her head quickly. She couldn’t think too hard about Beau this late in the game. It was as simple as this—Beau wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, and for that he deserved whatever was coming to him. Three weeks had seemed like a lifetime to fake all the things she had—forgiveness, affection, submission. Now that it was ending, she worried she wasn’t prepared. Beau was used to getting his way, which meant a number of things could go wrong. Lola needed to keep her head in the game and a sway in her hips. It was a delicate operation, pulling the string that unraveled him without yanking it. He’d been salivating over Lola for long enough now that he was right where she needed him. That was what she had to distract him with—his own crippling need. It was the art of misdirection, and the key to pulling off her magic trick.

  * * *

  Cat Shoppe’s music thumped so loudly, Lola felt it in her bones before she even reached the entrance. The bouncer took one look at her plum-colored vinyl miniskirt and opened the red velvet rope for her. Even in the middle of the day, several men and a couple women sat around the stages, drinks and dollar bills in their hands. The place stunk, as if the furniture was soaked nightly in vats of beer, and the men bathed in cheap cologne.

  She’d changed in the Range Rover, sinking down in the backseat to swap her Alexander McQueen dress for a vintage concert tee. She’d smeared her perfectly-applied lipstick onto a tissue before caking on glitter eye shadow.

  At the bar, she ordered a shot of tequila as reinforcement from a girl in a platinum-blonde wig. At least, Lola thought it was a wig, the way it poofed around her chipmunk cheeks and met under her chin like a heart. This time, the tequila didn’t make Lola wince the way it had in Beau’s car up on Mulholland Drive. It was courage. She’d never grimace after a shot again if she could help it.

  The bartender took the glass back. “Another?”

  “No, thanks.” Lola dug a twenty out of her pocket and put it on the bar. “I’m here to see Kincaid.”

  “You looking for a job?”

  “Not really.”

  “Good, because there’s not enough to go around as it is. As you can see, I’ve got to work the bar just to make some extra cash.” She took Lola’s bill off the bar and went to the register.

  “Keep the change,” Lola said.

  She turned back. “Really? It was three dollars.”

  Lola waved a hand. “It’s fine.”

  “Cool.” She stuffed the money in her white bikini top, not even cashing out the shot. She fixed the string of her bottoms, then looked up and caught Lola watching her. “Marilyn,” she said, pointing at the drawn-in birthmark on her upper lip. “Monroe?”

  “Oh.” Lola nodded.

  “Also known as Susan, but that’s not really my gig.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Marilyn-Susan refilled Lola’s glass with tequila and set it in front of her. “On the house. You dance?”

  Lola picked up the shot. “Not anymore. I worked here a while back, though.”

  The girl’s breasts bounced when she clapped her hands together. “Really? So you know Glinda the Good Bitch?”

  Lola smiled hearing her old friend’s name. Glinda’d been stripping as long as she’d had something to show. She’d taken Lola under her wing just like she always did with the new girls, kind of like a mentor. They’d grown apart when Johnny’d come along, though. He’d forbidden her from going on a girls’ trip to Vegas, and after that, she’d begun to lose touch with the group. “I used to, yeah. Best dancer this side of Hollywood.”

  “Not lately. Been hitting the blow too hard. She’s in a bad state.”

  Lola glanced down at the bar. The news didn’t surprise her, considering how easy it was to get sucked into that life. She almost had. A lot of girls, some she knew, many she didn’t, had gone too far down the path Johnny had pulled Lola back from. She was indebted to him in a way she could never repay, and no matter their history, she’d never forget that.

  “I’ll go grab Kincaid,” Marilyn said, walking away.

  While Lola waited, she looked over her shoulder at the girl writhing on stage. Her hard nipples grazed the floor as she danced for the dollar bills fanned around her.

  “She’s got nothing on you,” said a man behind her.

  Lola turned to see Cat Shoppe’s owner. “Kincaid.”

  “Lola.” He put his hand on the back of her stool and kissed her cheek. “Or do you go by Melody now?”

  “Still Lola.”

  Marilyn was back behind the bar. “Was Melody your stage name?”

  “No. It’s my full name, but I don’t use it.”

  “Melody,” Marilyn repeated. “Like a song. That’s sweet.”

  Sometimes, she thought her given name was the only thing her mom liked about her since she’d picked it out. Lola had once cried as a kid about not having a middle name, though, so her dad had told her it could be Lola, short for Melody. The nickname’d stuck, and Lola had a theory Dina had taken it personally.

  Back in the day, Lola was the only one at the club who’d danced under her real name, the rest of the girls making up something sugary and anonymous.

  Lola turned to face Kincaid completely as he pulled up a seat next to her. “So, how are you, Kincaid?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Not as long as you think,” she said.

  “Aha. So that was you I saw on the security camera a few weeks ago.”

  Lola hadn’t seen Kincaid when she’d come to Cat Shoppe with Beau, but she remembered his diligence when it came to security. He almost always had someone on the cameras, making sure his customers stayed in line. “Yep. Kind of an unexpected trip down memory lane.”

  “With someone who’s got money to burn.” Kincaid gave her a once over. “That guy you were with? You wouldn’t believe what he paid for a room, two of our girls and some privacy.”

  “Actually, I would believe it.” When she swallowed, she tasted tequila. Tequila and Beau, that first night she’d put her lips on him. “I hope you didn’t watch the whole show.”

  He smiled cautiously. “Seen enough couples come through here to know when to look away. What I did see, though, was good. Can’t fake that kind of love for the dance.”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Lola cleared her throat. The backs of her thighs had be
gun to sweat, turning the stool’s leather tacky against her skin. She needed Kincaid tonight, or her entire plan could go to shit. “The man I came with last time loved the show so much, I want to give him another.”

  Kincaid shrugged. “Not a problem. Same girls, or—?”

  “Just me,” Lola said. “He has a kind of fascination with watching me dance.”

  “Right. Angel and Golden said it was the easiest money they ever made. The guy barely looked at them the whole time they were in VIP.”

  Lola nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. She’d definitely had his attention that night. “I want him to have a real, true-life, gritty experience, though. As if I worked here, and he wandered in off the street.”

  “You want a room for a few hours, you got it. I have to charge you, but—”

  “Money isn’t the issue. What I’m asking for is—I want to be…one of your girls again. Just for tonight.”

  Kincaid narrowed his eyes, searching her face. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Can’t be good, though. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”

  “It’s good,” Lola said, reassuring, nodding. “There’s a lot of money in it for you if you play along.”

  Kincaid made an inviting gesture with his hand. “I’m listening.”

  “This is how it’ll go. Tonight, I work for you. I belong to you—no one else. I want him to have the full experience.”

  “You said that already.”

  She leaned forward, conspiring with him, looking into his eyes. “I want your protection.”

  “My protection?” He absentmindedly picked at some peeling plastic on the countertop. “Sounds serious. What about your bartender a few blocks down? As I recall, you two were pretty tight.”

  “We’re not together anymore.”

  “That so? Completely done? Because he was the reason you left all this behind.”

  Lola ran her tongue along her upper teeth. “Yeah, well. Things change.”

  “What things?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Do we have a deal?”

  “You know how I am about my girls and my business. It’s all I got. I don’t need any jealous boyfriends coming through that door.”

  “He won’t. Trust me—Johnny and I are through. So, can you do this for me? I told you, there’s good money in it for you.”

  “I’ll do anything for you, Lola, soon’s I understand what you’re asking me.”

  Lola shifted in her seat. Some people were not as easily bought as others, and that would’ve given her some comfort if she didn’t need this last piece of the puzzle. “Customers don’t come here expecting to take one of us home,” she said. “It’s like a fantasy, right? They watch us. They let us tease them. I could sit Beau in a kitchen chair and dance in his lap, but it wouldn’t be the same. There, I’m his girlfriend who he gets to fuck after. But here? It’s a game, and I’m a prize he can’t have.”

  Kincaid nodded. He was no idiot—he understood her. He’d made a living off keeping women just outside of men’s reach. “What do you need me to do?”

  Lola opened her purse. “I’ll pay you now. Cash. I’ll explain the rules to Beau over dinner. But as soon as we walk in the door, he’s a customer, and I’m an employee. I’ll take him to the VIP room. Just watch him, and make sure he behaves.”

  “You know we got the big rules here. For the employees, bottoms stay on, no sexual activity. For customers, it’s no touching unless the dancer initiates it, and even then, it’s all over the clothing.”

  “Exactly. I’m not agreeing to allow any of that.”

  “All right. So what if he doesn’t behave?”

  “Same as if any customer were to touch one of your girls.” Lola handed over enough cash to rent the VIP room for an entire night, though she didn’t think she’d need even an hour. “You don’t let him get away with it.”

  10

  Beau stared at the buildings just outside his office window, a whiskey in his hand. All day, he’d been wondering about tonight, what this secret was Lola had planned, how long she’d make him wait for the main course. He was eager to get his last meeting over with so he could go home to her.

  He was becoming someone he didn’t recognize. Work had always been his constant, but the only thing that calmed him now was her—specifically, the security of having her in his arms where he could see and feel her. He’d thought paying for her had been the way to own her, but he’d been so off base, it almost made him laugh. Knowing she loved him enough to let him earn her trust again—that was how he owned her, how she owned him.

  Except that today, just knowing that wasn’t enough. He was restless, and he needed more. He’d always been able to read Lola, but that morning in the foyer, it was as if he’d been looking into someone else’s eyes. Since their reunion, she hadn’t kissed him with that much enthusiasm. Something was off.

  Beau sipped his drink. She was nervous about tonight. As she should be. Beau wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He hadn’t had to wait this long for something he wanted in a decade. Almost three impossible weeks of watching Lola, touching her, kissing her, sleeping next to her—all of it with restraint. He was ravenous, and only she would satisfy him. The thought of another woman did nothing for him, not that it really ever had. Until Lola, he hadn’t known what it’d meant to truly bury himself inside someone and be willing trade the world just to have her come. Giving her that kind of pleasure was as addicting as having any part of her around his cock.

  It was a sweet kind of torture, coming home from work and watching her get ready for his events. That was why he took her so many places. He loved to sit on their bed as she picked out a dress, hiding in the closet while she changed.

  She would come over to the bed and turn her head over her shoulder. “Zip me?”

  He would stand and obey. Fabric would swallow the lacey edges of her undergarments as he zipped her dress, the only morsels she’d throw him. He wasn’t even sure she knew how those small slices tempted him. He’d let his knuckle brush along her spine, thinking, “Soon, I will get to touch all of you again. Soon.”

  Lola wore perfume on those nights, and it would stick to his suits, linger in her hair. Before it could fade completely, there’d be some other occasion to dress up for. He wondered if she’d always applied her makeup so carefully, coating mascara on her lashes with long strokes and gliding eyeliner on with the kind of concentration she didn’t even give him. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember the exact details of the night he’d met her at Hey Joe, like whether or not she’d been wearing that much makeup. He would never forget how blue her eyes were or the noisy leather of her pants, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to remember everything.

  He’d been skeptical that anything could give him as much satisfaction as his work, but Lola did, even without the sex. That was why he devoted his days to making sure she’d never want for anything—to be able to give her anything upon request. He’d worked hard before, but now, he labored for her. Late nights would always belong to them, though. After events and long hours at the office, that was when he’d get as close to her as she’d let him, and then he’d always try for a little closer.

  * * *

  Beau walked through the quiet house to the bedroom, his fingers pulling impatiently at his bowtie. Lola had been living there four days, and everything had changed. Just having her on his arm at tonight’s gala had turned a chore into a chance to show her off to anyone who’d look. And even though it’d been a form of torture to stand by her all night and keep his hands to himself, it’d been worth it to see her at her most exquisite. The only other times he’d been this high were his first two nights with her, undressing her, touching her skin as slowly and as quickly as he could. He wasn’t ready to let that feeling go.

  He entered his bedroom. Through a sliver of doorway, Lola moved around the bathroom in her robe, removing makeup from her face, jewelry from her body. He pushed open the d
oor and went to where she stood at the sink. He’d promised to behave, but after tonight, he wasn’t sure he could. God knew he didn’t want to. He slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the sweet scent of her hair. “You already changed?” he whispered. “I wanted to watch.”

  Since she’d come back a few days earlier, he’d been careful about touching her. When he did, she’d tense up. This time, though, she remained calm. Maybe it was the wine from the gala or maybe, he hoped, she was feeling the same thing he was tonight.

  “I never let you watch,” she said.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t.”

  There it was—the delicate but noticeable stiffening of her body. But at the same time, her breathing sped. He’d missed that—the way she would fight her arousal with him.

  “You watched me?” she asked huskily.

  “Mmm.” He moved her hair aside and kissed a spot under her ear. To watch her undress would most certainly mean losing control. She’d been fluid in the long gown she’d worn tonight, and he wanted to see what was underneath. Desperately. To reach his hand into the tight neckline and take one of her perfect tits. “No,” he said. “But it’s been very tempting.”

  * * *

  Beau started at a knock on his office door. He rubbed the corners of his eyes, trying to dissipate the haze brought on by thoughts of fucking Lola. Just a few more hours until he’d get back there again, and he could barely see straight from anticipation.

  “What is it?” he called out.

  “Your four o’clock is here.”

  He was hard. Fuck. Still staring out the window at downtown Los Angeles, he wondered who out there had worked for him at some point or another. That was a game he played to calm himself sometimes—how many people depended on him to stay afloat?

  God, he was a sick bastard.

  “Five minutes,” he told his assistant, swigging the last of his drink. He willed his cock to relax as he tried to think of anything but Lola’s soft, naked body, warm everywhere from weeks of wanting him.