by Jordan Marie
“Go?”
“Yeah, pet, we have somewhere we need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know you. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call Big Joe in here to deal with you,” she huffs, and those eyes grab my attention. Her file said violet, and maybe they are, but right now I’d swear I could see sparks of silver. I’ve never seen anything like them before, and I’ve always been the kind of man who likes to collect rare finds.
“Go ahead, call Joe,” I dare her.
That seems to take her back for a moment. “Joe!” she calls, her voice thick with panic.
“Yeah, Ana?” Joe says, coming back through the small area that leads to the dressing room. “Oh! Hey, Mr. Anthes. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” he adds.
My eyes never leave Ana’s. I see the moment that recognition flares in Ana’s eyes.
“You’re Mr. Anthes?” she asks in a whisper.
The words reach me, but barely. I’m enjoying the way her throat muscles move as she swallows. I feel my cock stretch against my slacks, demanding release. In my head, I’m picturing holding onto Ana’s blonde mane and force-feeding her my cock, making her take me all the way back, stretching that pretty little throat just before she swallows down my cum.
“I am,” I confirm, knowing that even if she doesn’t know me personally, she will recognize the name that signs her paychecks. I grab the coat folded over her small dressing table when she stands. “Put this on. We have business to discuss.”
“Business?” Her hand goes up to her throat. I don’t bother answering her; instead, I hold the coat for her to slide into. “What kind of business, Mr. Anthes?” she asks.
She looks like a small, frightened doe who’s just been discovered by the hunter, who has her in his sights and his gun loaded. My mouth twists in a wry smile. It’s an accurate analogy because she is my prey and I’m definitely loaded and ready to fire into her—or maybe on her.
“Now, Ana,” I order, and it could be my imagination, but I see a shiver of awareness run through her body.
“I can’t leave,” she protests, standing. “I have another set.”
“No, I don’t believe you do. Joe? Get one of the other girls to fill in for Ana.”
“Sure thing, boss. Libby can do it.”
“I can’t afford to take off.” I ignore her answer. “I need to put my clothes on,” she says, holding on tightly to the belt of her robe.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” I tell her because I just plan on ripping them off of her soon. “Now put on your coat and let’s go. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”
“Listen, Mr. Anthes, boss or not, I’m not leaving until I get dressed. Further, I don’t think I’m stepping foot outside of this club until you tell me where we’re going.”
I look at her then. She’s completely serious. It’s a glitch in my plan that I didn’t foresee. Usually, women know who I am and are only too thrilled to do what I order. The fact that Ana doesn’t, irritates and intrigues me all at once. It is… unexpected.
“Everyone out.” I order, and the room goes still. Within just a matter of moments, everyone that had been viewing my conversation with Ana is gone. The last to leave is Joe, and as the door shuts behind him, I can see reality sink in on Ana.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to get dressed so we can leave. You have two minutes.”
“I can’t get dressed with you in here!” I ignore her and lean against the closed door with my arms folded and wait. “You need to leave,” she insists again, the nerves coming through her voice loud and clear. It’s clear she’s not going to fall into my hands easily. I could use her brother as leverage, but I find myself reluctant to do that, even now. Interesting.
I don’t know what it is about Ana. Normally I wouldn’t touch one of the dancers, or hell, any of the women that work for me. I’m careful about the women I choose. I have no explanation other than I want her and I always get what I want. Time to make that clear.
“Take off the robe, Ana.”
She looks around the room helplessly.
“I—”
“Take. It. Off.”
“I will not. Why on earth would I?”
“Because I ordered you to,” I tell her, taking a step closer. This might be more fun than I anticipated.
Chapter Four
Ana
“Then I quit. I’ll get my things and leave,” I tell him, completely bluffing. I hear something in my voice. Something I don’t want to put a name to. He walks towards me … slowly, stealthily. He reminds me of a mountain lion on the prowl for its prey. The problem is, I’m the prey in the scenario and my legs seem to have become deadweights refusing to move. He stops when he gets right in front of me. He towers over me and I’m having trouble catching my breath.
“Take it off, Ana,” he orders again, but this order isn’t like the other. This order is soft and seductive. His voice is hoarse and needy like a lover’s, and when he says my name, small shivers of awareness run through my body.
“Why?”
“I want to see,” he says, which seems absurd because I was just naked onstage.
“What’s going on?” I ask, confused about why my body feels… excited. There are so many undercurrents between us, it seems surreal. Attracting Roman Anthes’s attention should be the last thing in the world I want, so why am I enjoying it?
“You caught my eye,” he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does.
It doesn’t explain my reaction to him, however.
He’s standing right in front of me. His large body overshadows me, making my five-foot-five frame feel small. His shoulders are so broad that even under his expensive suit you can tell he’s solid muscle. His dark hair is so black, the light in the room seems to absorb it so that it casts a glow around him. He’s that commanding. I instantly know he could color everything around him, take any room or situation over. Take me over. I should fear that, and on some level I do. It also excites me. The blood runs through my body and my pulse thrums as if I just ran fifty miles nonstop. His eyes are deep pools of blue, but not just any color of blue; these shine like the sky on a hot cloudless summer day. They warm you, and I do mean that literally. I feel the heat from him. My body feels hot and he’s most definitely the source. So hot that, without thinking, I come close to pulling the collar of my robe away from my body. At the last moment, I stop myself and lamely rub the side of my neck instead, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
“Mr. Anthes,” I start, but my voice is quiet. I can barely hear it over the way my heart is pounding against my chest. Can he hear? I try to concentrate to make my words clearer, louder. “I don’t know what that means,” I tell him, not sure I’m succeeding with the whole “louder” thing. In fact, I’m almost positive I’m hyperventilating. Can you faint from too much … everything? Roman is too much, period, dot, and end of sentence.
His fingers move to my hand and glide slowly up my neck, his thumb brushing the side of my face. The touch isn’t gentle, but it has that quality. I get the feeling Roman doesn’t do gentle. His fingers curve into my hair and, for a split second, I forget to breathe. He studies my face and I’m afraid I’m giving away more than I mean to. I feel his fingers at the pulse point on my neck and I know he can feel how it’s beating out of control. His eyes move over my flushed face, then lower to my breasts. I want to bring my arms up to cover them because my robe is thin, but I can’t because he’s so close. I’m painfully aware of how my nipples are erect against the fabric. I’d like to say it’s because of the coolness of the room, but I can’t. I bite my lip to keep from begging him to do something. I hope it would be demanding he leaves, but in all honesty, that’s doubtful. What is going on with me?
“Are you a virgin, Ana?” he asks, and the bluntness of the question jars me so much that my head jerks back in reaction.
“I can’t believe…”
“Answer the question, Ana.” Aga
in, that commanding tone drips from his tongue and pours over me, and I react in a way that surprises me: I obey him. I’m submissive in the bedroom by nature, but Roman is the first man to ever have the power to make me follow his lead outside of the bedroom, and without effort. It’s madness, and I do my best to pull myself away from the hypnotic effect he has on me.
“No.” I tell him, and I see his eyes flash. It’s like an emotion skitters through them and causes the color to deepen. What would they do when he’s touching a woman? Or when he’s making love to her? It might be best if I don’t think of that. Ever.
“Then why are you so opposed to me seeing you when the entire room outside just saw the same thing?”
“They were strangers,” I whisper inanely. It’s hard to explain how I differentiate myself from the room when I dance and how I can zone everything out except the music and the steps.
“But then, so am I Ana.”
“It’s different,” I defend.
“How?”
“They don’t matter,” I tell him, immediately wanting to kick myself. What happened to the woman who is self-controlled and can handle any situation? She’s gone right now for sure, because that didn’t come out how I meant it to. “I mean, it’s not that you matter either. When I dance, there is distance. I don’t focus on anyone. One-on-one is different. It’s why I don’t do private dances. Taking my clothes off for a man is reserved for someone I’m dating, someone I care about.”
I’m blathering on and the embarrassment infuses deeper into my face, the heat from it coming off of me in waves so that I know it’s there.
I try to pull away because I’ve made a big enough fool out of myself. He doesn’t let me. Instead, his hold increases in strength and he pulls me into him. I fall awkwardly against him. His hand locks against my neck. I look into his eyes, which are just a breath away from mine. “Mr. Anth—”
That’s all I get out before his lips crash against mine. His are firm, but soft at the same time. His tongue slips through my lips and instantly finds mine. For a moment I don’t respond, too shocked to move, but then slowly it all hits me: the feel of his rough hand against my neck and face, the way he towers over me and makes me feel small, the sweet taste of his mouth, the way his tongue is searching mine out, and most importantly, the way his body crushes up against me—solid, determined, warm. I give in with a moan, pushing into him and wanting more. My tongue finds his and they dance, wrapping around each other in their fight for supremacy. I feel one of his hands move to my ass, pushing under the robe and cupping it as if we weren’t in the middle of a club. I should stop him, but his fingers flex into my ass cheek and the feel of that is so good that combined with his kiss, I’m too lost in all that is him to even think of calling a halt.
“You’re a hell of a kisser, Ana Stevens,” he whispers once he pulls away. He moves away slightly and places a gentle peck against my forehead before retreating. My body leans towards his at first, not wanting him to go, but I manage to stop before I make too big of a fool of myself.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” I tell him.
He looks at me for a minute as if searching for something. I have no idea if he finds it. I figure he doesn’t because he turns away from me. I just stand there stupidly as he walks away.
“I don’t date,” he mutters, his back still to me as he opens the door.
I’m sure he doesn’t need to. Women probably throw themselves at his feet. He has that god-like persona. He’s beautiful and commanding. He has more money than I will see in my lifetime. He’s definitely dark and dangerous, and he has that forbidden vibe—especially to me. Women must flock to him. All of that, added into the way he kisses? I fight back the urge to tell him I’ll go with him. For just one more taste of him, I think I’d agree to almost anything. He’s that addicting. I shake my head out of the fog he’s woven around it. This is stupid. I do not fit into Roman’s world; even trying would destroy me. Of that, I’m sure.
“I’ll be out in an hour, Mr. Anthes,” I bluff. I can’t leave because I have to find Allen. My voice is raw but solid, bringing the conversation back to the business at hand.
“There’s no need, Ana. You may remain dancing, at least until I decide what I’m going to do with you.”
What he’s going to do with me? Now that’s something to worry about. I can hear Paul bitch at me now for taking chances. “What do you—”
“I’ll see you soon, pet,” he says over his shoulder before he disappears.
Pet?
I’m left staring after him like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast-moving car. I hope I survive the crash.
Chapter Five
Roman
Two Weeks Later
* * *
I sit in the back of the room watching the dance floor through the smoke. I shake the ice in my glass before downing the last of my scotch. I may own the Dive, but it’s not my scene. I keep it to launder my money through. It serves a purpose, just like most things in my life.
That’s not the reason I’m here tonight. I’m here for Ana. I should have just walked away. I spent a week convincing myself of that. I spent the following week trying to replace her. That was a colossal failure. I couldn’t even get it up. I’d kiss a girl and instead of getting turned on, I kept remembering the feel of Ana’s body, the taste of her mouth and wanting more of her, because apparently no one else will work. It’s all I can seem to think about. Hell, I even jacked off to the memory of our kiss last night. A fucking kiss has me harder than I’ve been since I was a young kid wet behind the ears.
Now, the plan is to fuck her out of my system. Ana will be mine—one way or another. I still hesitate to use the brother, but I might if she forces my hand.
She is even more beautiful tonight. Her blonde hair is short, falling down in a straight, silky and sleek golden halo at her shoulders. It’s beautiful, but too controlled. In too much order. It’s not hard to imagine it rumbled and messed up in bed, though. Her whole body screams sex, with the way her hips move and the way her legs tighten against the pole as she gyrates around it. It’s enough to make any man wish he was the object she was holding on to, which explains why she’s developed such a large following in a short amount of time. Big Joe wasn’t kidding when he told me she had become popular. The men here are all screaming her name. She doesn’t notice, I can tell. As far as she knows at this moment, the room is empty. She’s lost in the music and has tuned out all of the screaming.
I don’t allow the men to touch the dancers. My girls don’t dance for singles. I pay them fucking well. If the men want a lap dance, then and only then can the girls allow that. It’s always in a separate room and only with a bouncer in attendance. Big Joe told me that Ana flat out refuses private dancing. I found it odd because I’ve checked into her pretty thoroughly. The woman is one step away from being homeless, yet she still turns down extra money. I watch as she rotates around and around the pole, defying gravity. Her spin begins to slow down and she slides to the floor, driving the men crazy. She’s smiling.
There’s a monitor hanging over my booth. I’ve never really used it since I rarely make the time to come here. Tonight, however, I am using it. I’ve been using it the entire time. The men are going crazy for her, salivating and dreaming of taking her home tonight. They’re so lost in her body, they don’t even realize that she barely notices they’re there to worship her. Ice. It’s a name that fits her. It’s a name that begs an answer to the question: what could make her melt?
My eyes are continuously drawn to her hip. There’s a tattoo with the word: “survivor”. Just what has she survived? I wanted her from the moment I saw her, but given what’s going on with her brother, I couldn’t be sure what she was like in person. Now I know. Intriguing. I definitely want to taste her. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that I want to taste her more than once.
“What do you think, boss? I’m telling you, she doesn’t mean to give you trouble. She’s a good kid. I’d hate to see he
r get mixed up in bullshit and get hurt because her brother’s a dick-wad.”
“Bring her to the back. Shut down any other dancers for the room until I’m finished.”
“Boss, Ana doesn’t do private dances.”
“Don’t give her a choice. I’ll be waiting,” I tell him, leaving without further comment.
Chapter Six
Ana
“The boss is waiting for you in the backroom,” Big Joe tells me just as I cinch the belt of my robe.
I look up at him as if he were insane, trying to ignore the thrill that runs through me. “Why would Yoly want me back there?” I question him, referring to the lady who hired me, even if I know better. I know who’s waiting and I’m excited about it. I should be panicking.
“It’s not Yoly. It’s Mr. Anthes. He wants a private dance.”
Electricity sizzles through me at his words. I’ve been thinking about Roman ever since our kiss, so much so that it worries me. I had been beating myself up ever since my last encounter with Roman. When I showed up the following day and went through my sets and Roman wasn’t around, I felt a keen sense of disappointment when it should have been relief. Stupidly, I had this anticipation running through me about seeing him again. When he was nowhere to be found, it bothered me. After a few days, it became apparent that he lied. He wasn’t planning on seeing me soon. I didn’t play his game and he was gone. That pissed me off, even if it shouldn’t. He’s got my head all fucked up, and that’s dangerous.
It didn’t change the fact that I obsessed over it, and the more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I’ll admit that a lot of it was because he awoke things in me I have spent years trying to forget. To put it plainly, I was horny. It’s been a long dry spell—three years, to be exact—and with one kiss, Roman brought things out in me that I’d buried deep. He succeeded so much that I’ve been having dreams about the man. The fact that he disappeared for two weeks and then just shows up out of the blue demanding a dance pisses me off. The bastard knows I don’t do private dances. He just expects me to fall in line, like he’s doing the stripper a favor and now she has to entertain him. That’s the feeling that smacks me across the face and I hate it. It’s a reminder of why I hate dancing.