by Portia Moore
I stop the recording on my phone, and watch as Mark straps the saddlebags back onto the motorcycle, the wheels in my head spinning.
As I’d hoped, Blue is parked at the clubhouse. I quickly motion to Blue to stay in the car as Mark strides up to the clubhouse to talk to someone, and before Mark can look behind him or wonder why I’m not following, I swipe the bags off of the motorcycle and make a run for the car.
My heart is pounding as I yank open the door and slide inside. “Go!” I yell at Blue, looking over to see if Mark has noticed anything yet. He’s turning around; any second now he’ll see the empty bike and me gone.
“What the hell…” Blue stares at me and the bulging leather bags with astonishment.
“Just fucking go, unless you want to get us both killed!”
He sees Mark starting to come towards us and throws the car into gear, peeling out of the lot with a spray of grass and dirt and gravel as he speeds out towards the road. It isn’t until we’re on solid asphalt again that Blue looks over at me with complete astonishment. “Did you…what did you do?”
“I saw that what he put in the bag was three times what Jadon’s going to pay me, so I took the drug money instead, made a new plan.” I shrug carelessly.
“I can’t believe you had the balls to do that.” The expression on Blue’s face is half amazement, half admiration.
I glance at him. “Easy to make decisions like that when you’ve got nothing to lose.” I reach into one of the bags and count off five thousand dollars, shoving the stacks into Blue’s lap. “Here. That ought to make up for whatever favor you owed Jason.”
Blue laughs. “The favor is already taken care of. I did my part.” He digs in his pocket with one hand then, and pulls out the flash drive. “Here you go. As promised.” I’m in such a good mood I even send the video to Jadon as promised.
It’s like holding gold in my hand. There’s a key to my past here, I’m sure of it. I clench it in my fist, the saddlebags tucked securely beneath my legs as Blue speeds back towards Chicago.
I make it on time for my shift at the club by the skin of my teeth after putting the money I took safely away. Tonight is an “angel” night so I put on the white lingerie and wings, do my makeup in a light, ethereal way, and curl my hair.
I’m buzzing from everything that happened earlier, distracted by my thoughts as I step on the stage but then I see him.
He’s sitting not far from the edge, tied up with silk ties next to a man I don’t recognize—some friend of his, probably. What is he doing here? My heart starts to pound, my pulse fluttering in my throat, but I ignore him. I’ve got work to do and I don’t want to be distracted.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I croon, stepping up to my spot on the stage. “You’re in for a special treat tonight. I am going to sing a song…just for you…”
I start to sing “At Last,” the words of the song seeming so out of place here. But all of the men are hypnotized, less interested in the romance of the lyrics than the sound of my voice and the sight of my body, perfectly highlighted in white lace and silk. Halfway through the song I come down off of the stage, walking through the guests as they turn to look at me one by one as I pass by. As I slink past the booth where Ian is sitting, I hear him and his friend talking, and I pause, singing the last of the lyrics as I eavesdrop.
“So she’s a stripper?” the friend asks, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. I’m not a stripper, I’m an entertainer. I don’t really buy into the schtick that Club Black sells, but I don’t take off my clothes. I sing and I dance, but I don’t get naked. Not for these men.
“She’s not a stripper, she didn’t take off her clothes…” Ian says defensively, and I smother a grin. Well, a point for him, then. At least he’s sticking up for me.
“But she barely has any on, man…”
I roll my eyes as I see Ian look up at the stage as the last notes of my song drift off. I grin mischievously, slinking past their booth as I hear Ian ask his friend, “Tell me something, why does a girl who looks like her and has a voice like that work in a place like this?”
Oh, Christ. As if I don’t make more here in a month than he probably makes in a year. As if this isn’t an upscale place where I control my schedule and what I do, which is more control than I’d have in some boring office.
“She probably makes more than both of us do combined.”
One point for his friend.
“Then why the hell would she have to steal cars?” Ian asks confusedly, and I sneak up behind him, leaning close to his ear as I purr sexily: “The thrill of it gets me off.”
I see his grin and I know I’ve still got him, if I want him. The thing is, I’m not entirely sure that I do. Or rather, I know I do, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea. The way I react to him, the feelings I had on the beach…
He’s dangerous and I know it. But I do like danger.
“Are you stalking me?” I ask him, perching on the edge of the seat as I grin at him wryly. I see him squirm in the leather seat, trying to relax, and I like that I’ve got him on edge. I want him a little off-kilter.
I glance at the other man, Ian’s friend. “You’re the senator’s nephew?” We were told there was a special guest coming in, with special privileges, and it only makes sense that it’s this guy. Ian has some interesting friends. I lean closer to Simon and I can feel Ian tense. I can practically feel the jealousy radiating off of him. Good. He needs to know that no matter what happens between us, I’m not his. I never will be.
“How’d you know that?” Ian’s friend asks curiously, and I shrug. “It’s pretty obvious. Most people in here are on the ugly side of fifty, especially here, where you are. You guys stick out like a nun in a whorehouse.”
“Watch your keys,” I hear Ian say dryly, and I laugh, turning back to him. I drape my long, bare, smooth legs over his lap, and I see him swallow hard. I know exactly what he’s thinking as he looks down at my legs, and I’m thinking about it, too. About how his hands felt sliding up my thighs, higher…
I lean forward, my forehead brushing against his cheek, and whisper, “Are you mad at me?” I see him bite his lip and I giggle. “I might have overreacted…a little.”
He glares at me. His eyes drink me in, taking in all of me—my breasts, my smooth flat stomach, my long legs. He saw me mostly naked before, and soaking wet, but now I’m in expensive lingerie and draped over his lap in a place where he can’t touch me.
“I have a question,” he says, raising his glass to his lips. I smell tequila, and I watch him take a deep swig as I smile at him, wondering what he’s going to ask. What I’m doing after this, probably. If I’ll go back to his place.
“Are you a virgin?” he asks, as if the question is ridiculous. As if I’m going to laugh and say of course not.
But of course I am, although I don’t want him to know it. I stiffen in his lap, collecting myself and sliding off of him to stand in front of him. I pose in front of him, a beautiful, angelic statue, displaying everything he wants but I haven’t decided yet if he can have. “I can be whatever you want me to be,” I say in the sweet, seductive whisper that drips like honey from my lips, the sound that makes men melt.
He looks angry, though. He grabs my wrist suddenly, pulling me closer so that I’m nearly in his lap again. “Cut the shit,” he snaps, his face flushing. “I’m not some old john that you can play with. Tell me the truth.”
I can feel my face go pale even as the rest of me flushes hot with embarrassment. He’s going to do this to me all over again, except this time it’s going to be at work. I’m not putting up with this shit. No dick is worth this. “Screw you!” I snap back, storming away from him towards other customers, ones who won’t ask stupid invasive questions.
But I hear him behind me, calling after me. Calling my name. “Alana!” he shouts, and I spin on one heel, glaring at him.
“What do you want from me?” I ask angrily. I don’t want to cause a scene, not here, but he’s getti
ng me very close to not caring.
“I don’t know,” he says softly, and I pause, taken aback. My eyes narrow; what kind of new trick is this? Is he just trying to get me to tell him what he wants to know?
“But I can’t get you out of my head,” he continues, and I freeze in place again, looking at him carefully. If he’s feeling that way already, it’s better to stop this before it starts. Which fucking sucks, because after the way he touched me the other day, I want to know what the rest would feel like, too.
“Then you’re wasting both of our time,” I mumble, turning away from him to leave, this time for good.
“Are you?” he asks again, loudly, and I know exactly what he’s asking. I stop and turn around again, slowly.
“Do you think it’s possible to look like this and still be a virgin?” I laugh, tossing my hair and arching my back, making sure he notices every inch of me. He runs his hands through his hair, clearly at a loss.
“I think you could be anything you want, even what looks like the impossible,” he says, and I pause.
He wants me. I want him. It’s the oldest transaction in the world, an exchange of pleasure. So what if he’s getting feelings I can’t return? Maybe he’s just a good actor, if not I’ll ditch him before it can get out of hand. But first I want to know what happens if we let the ember between us turn into a flame.
“I get off in an hour,” I say, making a decision before I can change my mind. “I’ll meet you at the red Maserati out front.” And then I turn around, slipping into the dressing rooms before he can say anything else.
---
It’s five minutes past the hour that I promised him when I find him in the parking lot by the red Maserati, just as I told him. I pile my hair atop my head and stride towards him. I smile at him, letting it reach all the way to my eyes. “You ready?” I ask, and in answer he turns and walks to the passenger’s side door as I unlock the car, opening it and gesturing for me to get in.
Of course he’s going to insist on driving. This is going to be a thing, I guess. I let out a sigh, but there’s no point in arguing with him. I get in, and he slaps me on the ass as I climb into the car, which earns him a glare. I actually like it, but I can’t let him know that.
“Where are we going?” I ask sarcastically as he gets into the driver’s seat. I might be permanently relegated to this side of the car, but I’m never not going to give him shit about it.
“Live a little?” he suggests, winking at me, and I roll my eyes.
“I want to go to bed, and if you’re lucky, maybe it’ll be yours,” I tell him as I reach up and let my hair down, the thick curled waves falling around my face and shoulders. I can see him watching.
“Anyone ever told you, you have a smart-ass mouth? Is this even your car?”
I give him a knowing smile.
“One of the dicks back at the club?”
“Would it matter?” I snap back at him. I’m so over this goody-two-shoes routine. I like to borrow men’s cars, so what? It doesn’t hurt him any. If he thinks he can change who I am, he’s in for an unpleasant surprise.
“Why are you so fucking mean all of the time?” he asks, an edge to his voice. I can’t tell if he’s turned on by it or if he’s genuinely annoyed.
“I’m not mean,” I say flatly, and he looks at me as if I’m crazy. It annoys me, because I don’t think I’m mean. I just don’t take anyone’s shit. God knows in a world like this, the only way to survive as a woman, particularly one with my past, is to make sure everyone knows that they can’t take advantage of you.
“How long have you worked at that place?”
And here comes the judgement about my job. “Why?” I’m not going to justify myself to him.
“I can’t ask you a simple question?”
“Not long,” I say, and leave it at that.
“You have a really good voice.”
“I doubt you were listening much.” I don’t think anyone in the club really hears my voice, they just enjoy the package that it’s coming out of. I could sing Old McDonald Had a Farm, and they’d probably hardly even notice.
“Of course I was listening,” he insists. “Everyone in that place was.”
“Because I was wearing barely anything,” I say quietly. He’s not going to convince me that anyone in that place cares about what I have on.
“There were girls wearing a lot less than you were, there’s more to it than that. You’re good.” There’s sincerity in his voice, and I don’t like it. I don’t want him to care. I look skeptically at him, letting him see how little I believe him, and then look out the window at the passing lights.
Before I know it, I’m asleep. The smooth ride of the car coupled with the anxiety-inducing job with the mark named Mark, the drive about Dexter and my long night at the club all combine to make me drift off, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. It’s not until I hear Ian whisper my name that I stir slightly awake, but even that’s not enough to wake me up all the way.
I vaguely feel him pick me up, and hear someone else’s voice as Ian carries me to his room. When I do finally wake up, it’s the weight of him in bed next to me that does it. He’s put me down on his bed, and he’s lying next to me in his tank and boxers, his handsome face turned towards mine as I slowly open my eyes. They fly open as I realize entirely what’s going on, and then lock onto his. He looks calm, relaxed, and something in it calms me enough that I just smile softly at him, instead of flying off of the handle.
We’re here. In a bed…his bed. No sand, no uncomfortable positioning, just him and I alone. I want to kiss him, and I decide that for just a little while, it’s time to stop denying myself what I want. I can have tonight. Just tonight.
I reach out for him, trailing my fingers down his cheek before I grasp his chin and pull his mouth to mine, gently. I kiss him softly, more softly than I meant to, but I realize all at once that I like him. He’s a pain in the ass, and he asks too many questions, and he’s bad for me—but I like him. There’s something genuine about him that’s rare to find, and when he pulls away from the gentle kiss, looking almost surprised, I smile sadly at him. “I like you,” I whisper, my voice very quiet in the stillness of the room.
Shit I didn’t mean to say that!
“I like you too,” he says honestly, his eyes widening at my admission.
Fuck what the hell is happening! Is it her. Is she…I open my eyes and he’s looking at me confused.
“What?” I snap. That was weird but I’m her for a reason. I could get it over with, tonight. I could not be a virgin tomorrow, and have the memory of Ian’s body in bed with me and all of the pleasure that it will bring.
“Never mind,” he says, rolling his eyes and settling back into the mattress. I immediately turn towards him. He’s not getting away that easily. I slide my fingers up his chest, bending down to slide my tongue along the shell of his ear before I bite the lobe, a little sharply.
“You woke me up, now you have to put me back to sleep,” I purr at him, throwing one leg over him to straddle him, my hands on his chest. Before I can do anything else, he grabs my waist and rolls me onto my back, pinning my hands down by my sides. I lock my legs around his waist, pulling him down hard onto me, and he immediately pries them away, looking down at my seductive smile with an expression that says he plans to do all sorts of things to me.
Good.
I want all of them.
He kisses me hard, biting my lower lip, and I bite his right back, giving him as good as I get as I slide my tongue into his mouth, fighting for dominance. He wrestles it away, forcing his own tongue between my lips, and I suck on it, feeling his cock harden against me as we kiss like animals, fighting for who is going to be in charge tonight. I won’t give an inch and neither will he, and I grind my hips upwards, feeling the rigid length of his dick pressing against the thin material that separates us.
He pulls away from the kiss, sliding his mouth downwards as he strips off my shirt and bra, sto
pping just at the diamond piercing in my belly button and sliding his tongue in a circle around it. I know where he’s going and I want it, I crave it. I want him to do something to soothe the building ache between my thighs, and I grab his hair, pushing his head downwards.
He looks up at me, pausing, and I give him a cocky smile, letting him know that I’m aware of everything he’s going to do, and that I want it. But he just pushes himself up on his elbows and wags a finger at me like I’m a naughty girl, and then he grabs my legs, pulling me into his lap.
I gasp with surprise, and try to shove him away. He really thinks he’s going to be in charge tonight, but I’m not letting that happen. I made the decision to fuck him, and I’m going to make the decisions about what we do. I smile condescendingly at him, squirming out of his lap, but he just grabs me by the hips and growls, “Get over here,” pulling me on top of him again.
I run my fingers through his hair, dragging his face up to mine, and I kiss him again, hard. It’s a war for dominance as I bite at his lower lip and plunge my tongue into his mouth, tasting the bite of tequila before he grabs a fistful of my hair and holds me in place, kissing me roughly as he tangles his tongue with mine. I’m flushed all over, hot, my skin sensitive and my heart pounding, and I want him. I want him to fuck me, but on my terms. I shove at him, trying to push him onto his back, but he doesn’t budge an inch. I pout at him, trying to turn the tables that way, but it’s useless.
“Lie back,” I snap at him, trying for control, but he just slaps my ass, grabbing a handful of one cheek and squeezing it. I gasp again and I can’t help but grin. I’ve finally met my match and it’s arousing in a way that I never knew it could be. I’m dripping wet, aching for him, and when he snaps “Shut the fuck up,” before his hand finds its way into my panties, I moan helplessly.