Dirk breathed in and out. It was happening again. Blind rage had washed over him when he’d caught Harlan riding Warren, but what right did he have to lose his cool over a stranger? Ken wasn’t his, simply a guy he’d just met. One slip and this entire thing could go to hell. Dirk wondered if he should call this off. Severely underestimating Ken’s hold on him would lead to nowhere good. Still, he stubbornly refused to take one step backward.
“Diesel, who’s that with you?” another called.
Dirk didn’t expect Ken to be this popular. Instead of slinking away and hurrying on, Ken looped his arm around Dirk’s and proudly declared, “This is my cutie pie boyfriend. But don’t worry, I love my fans, too.”
Chapter Four
For a second, the world came to a sudden halt. What the fuck? Never mind the dance Ken had promised. Dirk was tempted to strangle the very life out of him. How would Ken’s clients react to a statement like that? It turned out Dirk didn’t need to worry.
“Diesel, we love you!” someone screeched, the sentiment echoed by a couple of others.
Once again, Dirk culled the instinct to tear that one to tiny pieces, bake him into a pie and feed the pie to the next asshole who would dare say those three little words to his Ken. This was insane. Maybe holing himself up in his apartment had made Dirk mad, illogical. He really ought to go out more.
Either way, why did these adults act like they were in the midst of some kind of celebrity? After repeating his breathing exercises, Dirk made a mental note to Google Ken, Diesel, and whatever other crazy nickname the man possessed once he got home. If he ever got home, that is.
The word Ken had used though …“boyfriend.” It had taken ages for Warren to add labels to their relationship, yet Ken had tossed that word around like it meant nothing.
Glad of the dim lighting in the alley, heat rose to Dirk’s cheeks and neck, no doubt adding color. Should he deny the label? Did Ken want him to play along? Fuck, everything felt so confusing, dizzying.
“I—” he began, faltering, glad for Ken’s intervention.
“Come on now, honey bear.” Ken tugged him into another alley and into a side door.
Honey bear? They were calling each other pet names now?
The bouncer gave Dirk a suspicious look.
“Dan, this guy’s with me. Let us through,” Ken said.
Like the two bouncers at the club entrance, Dan looked too buffed, appeared professional with his clipped hair and rigid stance, reminding Dirk of former military or Navy. Heck, did he imagine it, or were there hints of a SEAL tattoo peering from underneath the sleeve of Dan’s massive arm? Just what kind of club was this?
“You’re taking responsibility for him, Diesel?” Dan asked, his tone gruff. “Remember club rules? No bringing lovers and boyfriends to work.”
“I’m—” Dirk began, but Ken seemed to be enjoying cutting him off this evening.
“He’s safe, harmless,” Ken explained.
Dan gave Dirk another searing look, eying him top to bottom. Whatever Dan saw, he didn’t seem to like it. Pursing his lips, the bouncer shook his head. “This guy looks like he can easily cause trouble.” Dan frowned.
“Okay, he might look like a brick wall, but think of him as a harmless teddy bear. Please, Dan? Tonight, we’re celebrating our anniversary. I promised him one private dance. That’s all.”
Ken leaned a little too close to the bouncer for Dirk’s liking. With a growl, he tugged the hem of Ken’s leather jacket as that strange, overprotective feeling swept over him again. Was Dirk’s possessiveness some kind of by-product of Ken being the first guy who genuinely seemed to care about him? He should ring up his therapist later.
Oh, hell. Breathe in and out. The exercises seemed to lose their effectiveness.
“Looks like he’d kill someone for you,” Dan grumbled.
Dirk stared him down. This was irrational. True love from one encounter didn’t happen in real life. Genuine love hit you in the gut, over and over, and made sure you never got up again. Getting possessive over a man he’d just met defied reason.
Ken was getting to him, bit-by-bit, like a wild storm Dirk couldn’t and didn’t want to get away from. Nothing good could come out of this, or would it be the exact opposite? If Ken held this much sway over him already and wanted to help Dirk forget about Warren, would it hurt?
And if Dirk was indeed dreaming—he had to be—he sure as hell wanted to see this whole thing through.
Besides, who would refuse a private dance from a sexy, confident, wild thing like Ken?
“Oh, my Dirk will behave, won’t he?” Ken wrapped his arm around his again, rubbing his tempting body against Dirk’s. “Won’t you, honey bear?”
Again with the “honey bear.” Couldn’t Ken have found a less tacky pet name to call him?
Dirk could still leave, come up with an excuse, but that would make Ken brand him as a coward. What was he really terrified of?
Despite their clothes, Dirk could sense the heat between them, Ken’s hard-on, sticking out with need. It would be so easy to take over, push Ken against the wall and finally get that taste. By now, Dirk could literally shoot from all the teasing he’d endured from Ken.
Keep it together.
“Fine, but make sure not to cause trouble,” Dan muttered, relenting, moving to the side so Ken and Dirk could pass.
The bouncer grabbed Dirk’s shoulder, but Dirk caught his wrist, breathing hard, the motion a reflex reaction. For some reason, Dan nodded in approval. “Follow the rules, or never come here again. I’m only warning you once.”
That galled him, but Dirk couldn’t lose his temper again. Besides, something told him it would be him lying in the dirt, not Dan.
“I will. I’m here only for Ken,” he said.
Satisfied, Dan didn’t interrupt a second time.
“Oh, so manly, Dirk,” Ken said. “God, I’ve always wanted to find out what it’s like being with a fierce bear.”
“I’m afraid to ask why you’d call me a bear,” Dirk muttered. He really was afraid. Any answer Ken gave would spark something irreversible, he knew it.
“Bears are so cuddly, so nice to hug. They grumble so cutely, too.”
Ken rubbed his silky head against Dirk’s neck. His cock tightened. Shit. Why did he react like this around Ken, like some immature kid who couldn’t control himself? Amusement in his eyes, Ken gave the bulge in his trousers a glance, worsening Dirk’s hold on his control.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Don’t? Rule number one, baby,” Ken stated, pulling away, far from Dirk’s reach and taking several steps forward. “No one tells Diesel to do anything. Well, rules can change, though, if you manage to pass the test. Under the right circumstances, I like giving up control to powerful men worthy of me.” Ken winked.
Those words sent a tide of desire surging through Dirk’s blood. “You like referring to yourself in third person, huh?” He cleared his throat, hoping Ken hadn’t noticed his reaction.
They were in a corridor now. Two guys wearing matching leather G-strings stuffed with bills gave them looks, and appreciative glances toward Dirk, but that was probably his imagination. Ken only grinned back at them, providing no explanations. Dirk wished he had a fraction of Ken’s confidence.
“There’s no reason to be shy or embarrassed, honey bear. You’re with me now.” Ken gave him another wink.
“What part of that sentence is supposed to be reassuring?”
Not bothering to provide an answer, Ken tugged at Dirk’s hand and started running at full speed. Soon huffing and trying to catch his breath, Dirk followed, barely, though. The shape of Ken’s ass in those tight jeans distracted the hell out of him. After several twists and turns through the corridors, Ken halted in front of a door painted entirely in red. The gold plaque in front simply stated, “The Red Room.”
“This is a private room reserved for special guests,” Ken explained.
Before tonight, Dirk had never been to a strip
club. Not because he was a prude, but establishments like these overwhelmed and daunted him. What would Luther—heck, even Warren and Harlan—say, if they saw him now?
“Ready?” Ken asked. His eyes looked more gold than brown under the dim light in the corridor, alit with amusement and promising wicked intentions. Ken was a fucking gorgeous devil underneath the guise of an angel.
Dirk swallowed the lump in his throat. It was too late to turn back now anyway. Without realizing it, he’d tumbled right into the heart of the rabbit hole, willingly. Unable to formulate a reply, he managed only a nod.
Ken turned the knob, and opened the door, revealing darkness beyond. A flick of the switch illuminated what looked like an elegant lounge, complete with comfortable leather couches, and a bar at one side with all matter of drinks. Only the small stage with the stripper pole altered the image. With a tug of his hand, Ken led him to a couch.
Dirk didn’t know where to place his hands, so he nervously rubbed them, uncertain what would happen next.
Ken let out a sexy little laugh that seeped past Dirk’s skin and went right to his chest and dick. “Relax, baby. You’re here to have a good time, remember? Let me fix you a drink.”
When Dirk began to follow him to the bar, Ken held out a finger and said, “Sit.”
Nodding, Dirk tried to lean against this seat. “Once an awkward kid, always one,” he muttered under his breath.
“Did you say something?” Ken asked. Strutting back to Dirk with a feline grace, he offered him a drink.
Dirk eyed the suspicious pink cocktail and the two cherries on top. “There’s no poison in this, right?”
Ken feigned hurt. “You wound me, honey bear. Anyway, stay right here. I’m going to head over to management and tell them I have this room reserved.”
Nearly spilling his drink, Dirk righted the glass. “Are you going to get in trouble for this?”
Ken placed a hand on Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk set his drink on the table next to the couch. Drinking to soothe his nerves wouldn’t help now, especially with Ken’s recent revelation.
Instinct made Dirk rub his unshaven cheek against the smooth skin of Ken’s hand. Wait. Why did he do that? Ken didn’t protest, simply wore that smile that cut to the bone, as if they shared a dirty little secret.
Dirk shook his head. Every time Ken took away the distance between them, he rendered Dirk unable to think. Ken was dangerous, but Dirk had no intentions of backing away any longer.
“Learn to relax, honey bear. I’ll be back.” Ken swished his hips on the way out, leaving Dirk to the dimly lit room.
Doing what Ken suggested, he slumped into the couch, took a sip of his drink, and closed his eyes. Something vibrated inside the pocket of his jeans—his phone. With a heavy sigh, he pulled it out, narrowing his eyes at Warren’s number.
If Dirk had been the same man yesterday or even hours ago, he’d answer on the first ring. He’d scramble and do whatever Warren requested, no questions asked.
But now, turning off the phone, he left it on the small table, not wanting any distractions. Despite Ken’s reassurance, would they be really okay? Ken might be a popular male entertainer here, but it didn’t mean he could do as he pleased, right?
Having done nothing wild or reckless in his entire life right up to this point, Dirk felt excitement in unfamiliar ways. Adrenaline surged in his veins, like the time Ken grabbed his arm and broke into a run, helping Dirk momentarily forget about throwing away the reminder of his fucked-up marriage to a heartless car salesman.
The doorknob turned again and Dirk sat up straight, steadying himself for the worst.
Chapter Five
After reassuring Nate, the night manager, that he’d pay for the room rental, Ken practically skipped all the way back to The Red Room. Remembering how worried Dirk looked got a chuckle out of him.
Now, pausing by the doorway, Ken turned the knob, the motion slow. He peeked inside the room and devoured every inch of the grumpy man with his eyes. Today hadn’t been the first time he’d caught sight of Dirk. Each time Ken came by that office building, he’d catch a glimpse of his sad bear, and Dirk always wore such a serious expression on his face. He looked like he’d taken a couple of punches in the ring. But beaten down, Dirk seemed the kind who stood back up. It didn’t matter whether a losing battle waited for him.
For Ken, corporate gigs weren’t really his thing. He earned well enough, and got generous tips stripping in Pleasureland. The warm décor, the hardwood creaking in some places, and the dimmed voices of the crowd whenever he came on stage—this place had been home to him for a long time.
Born in a crack house and thrust into the foster system, Ken had eventually started stripping to pay for his school fees. He stopped going to school and taking graphic design courses, however, after realizing that stripping paid a lot more than he’d ever make in that other career. Forced to work in a cubicle for the rest of his life hadn’t sounded all that appealing to Ken anyway.
The first time he’d caught sight of Dirk, he’d been intrigued. He wondered what made this cute guy tick, and what sort of weight Dirk carried on his broad shoulders. Well, now Ken knew the answer after coming across Dirk in the park. Ken never had a problem approaching men. Easy on the eyes and sociable by nature, he wielded those two traits like a weapon. How else could he survive this long? Now that Ken knew Dirk’s story, he intended to free the man from the invisible shackles holding him down.
“No security. Good,” Dirk said with obvious relief.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of it, honey bear?”
Ken locked the door behind him. A bad move, considering most sensible folk wouldn’t voluntarily lock themselves in with a stranger. Then again, Ken had never been normal. Danger called to him, bad boys attracted him, and so did damaged ones.
Despite how insanely padded with muscle Dirk looked, Ken knew the man wouldn’t hurt him. Any mark Dirk left on him would be consensual. Ken liked some bite to his pleasure, and after weeks of observing, watching, and taking shitty gigs at that office building, Ken had finally gotten Dirk here.
Physically, Ken knew he’d be fine. Wounds of the heart took longer to heal. Once Dirk dug his claws into him, Ken doubted he’d get away easy. Such a fine specimen of a man wasted on a jerk like Warren. Maybe without Ken knowing it, he’d fallen for Dirk from afar. Insane thought, but how else to explain why Ken dragged the man all the way here for a free dance?
“Huh.”
Ken raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“So you can be quiet, too,” Dirk observed.
Ken stuck out his tongue, not caring whether he’d look childish. After stalking to the small stage, Ken checked the music player.
“Are you going to change into something?” Dirk asked.
Ken glanced over his shoulder, not missing the fact that Dirk’s gaze lingered on the curve of his ass. “Why, honey bear? You want me to wear something special for you? What’s your fetish?” Ken rubbed his chin, pretending to look thoughtful, thoroughly enjoying the way Dirk’s face turned crimson. “You strike me as a kinky kind of guy, so a bit of leather perhaps? I have a cat suit, or if you want, I can wrap myself entirely in sexy bits of leather for you.”
“I’m not into anything,” Dirk blurted. “You’re fine the way you are.”
Not expecting that answer, Ken blinked. “Aren’t you the sweetest?”
Frustrated the CD player didn’t work, Ken gave it a jab. Still no reaction. He snarled impatiently under his breath, decided nothing could ruin this.
“Is everything okay there?” Dirk asked tentatively.
“Music doesn’t matter.” Ken shook off the last of his anxiety. Diesel, the most-asked-for entertainer in the house nervous? In what universe? “I hope you’re ready to forget about your pain, honey bear.”
Ken met Dirk’s gaze, slightly taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. In the park, Dirk had looked faraway, distant, as if not really seeing reality. Now, the guy silently devouring him w
ith his eyes looked like a different man altogether.
For the first time that day, a wicked smile found its way to Dirk’s generous lips, lips Ken imagined kissing again. “Didn’t you promise me a dance?”
Every night, when the music soared though the surround sound speakers of the club and the lighting changed, Ken went away and Diesel came on stage. A hundred eyes watched his every moment, hungry for the illusion he cast. They reveled in the fact that Diesel was unattainable, close enough to touch, but far beyond their reach.
Ken always danced for himself, loving his job and the freedom it gave him. He didn’t see the crowd or hear the roar and occasional lewd suggestions flung his way. Tonight, though, he danced for Dirk.
Grabbing the pole, Ken did a slow swirl. He became aware of Dirk’s stare, the way Dirk’s gaze seemed to consume every little movement, each flash of skin, the motion of his gyrating hips, not missing a beat.
Since no music played in the background, dancing to his favorite tunes didn’t help, not with Dirk seated there, riveted, fascinated, as if he’d never laid his eyes on Ken before.
Ken’s skin turned feverishly hot. Before their set, some strippers took enhancement pills, but it didn’t look like he’d need those tonight. Dirk watching him had been enough to thicken his dick.
When was the last time he was this aroused, or for that matter, reacted to a random stranger like this? Ken wondered.
Damn it, Ken. Keep it together. You’re supposed to be a professional.
Tossing aside his jacket, Ken danced to the sound of his galloping heartbeats, his coordinated movements slipping from his mind. His shoes came next, followed by his jeans. Undressing had been part of the package.
Training, hours of practice, lent Ken feline grace. Taking off his clothes became an action borne of reflex, necessity, but in front of Dirk, Ken peeled off each piece like an intimate lover would.
Ken left on his tiny white briefs, knowing Dirk had a good view of his hard-on.
Dirk’s nostrils flared. He clutched at the arm of the couch so hard, his nails dug into the fabric.
Strip Me Page 3