Only Me: A Surprisingly Safe Book

by Ayers, Brandy

  Her lips part and she sucks in a shallow breath as I add a second finger to the first and fuck her pussy a little faster with them. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  “Eyes on me. I need to see them when I make you come undone.”

  Quickly she snaps her brown eyes back to mine, and I make sure to keep our eyes locked together as I bring my mouth back to the wet, warm place I want to spend the rest of my days loving.

  I play with my technique, sucking on her clit, flicking it with my tongue, circling it. With each new sensation, a corresponding reaction spills from her. Moaning, biting her lip, whimpering and writhing to get closer. Inside, her walls clamp down around my fingers. It’s a tight fit, but as much as I can, I circle my fingers, trying to touch as much of her as I can. I brush against something, a patch of flesh that feels slightly different than the rest of her, and that slight sweep of my fingers against her sends her hips flying off the wall and her eyes widening.

  “Holy shit, there. Oh God there, Zeke. That is my G-spot.” I have no fucking clue what that means, but she obviously likes it, so I continue to explore that inner spot again and again. I increase the pressure as I go and her noises get louder, her body more restless. Sensing the end approaching, I suck her clit into my mouth while I press down hard on the spot.

  I’m not sure what I expected from the first orgasm I ever see, ever give, but whatever preconceived notions I had about this moment, they pale in comparison to the reality of Casey coming on my fingers. I thought women were supposed to be quiet. Taking whatever a man gives her. But that’s not what Casey does, and I’m fucking grateful for that fact. She rides my face and hand, humping them harder as her orgasm increases in intensity. Her juices run down my hand and forearm, and I want to lick them all up. But the best thing of all is her face. She screams, her mouth gaping and her eyes still firmly planted on me, just like I told her. But they go in and out of focus as the pleasure ebbs and flows. Her pale cheeks light up a bright pink that bleeds down her neck and chest.

  As the noises and writhing of her body begin to calm, I stand back to my feet and catch her just in time, before her legs give out completely. “You liked that.”

  “What was your first clue?” Even spent from the power of the orgasm I just gave her, my Spitfire still finds the energy to give me hell, and it makes my grin widen. Life with her will be fun.

  Gently, I scoop her up into my arms, she’s so exhausted she doesn’t even protest. Crossing the office, I lay her on the worn leather couch against the wall and cover her with a throw blanket draped over the back.

  “Give me five minutes, and I’ll return the favor, I swear.” Even as she says the words, her eyes are drooping shut.

  As I press a small kiss against her forehead, I realize I kissed her pussy before I kissed her lips. Somehow that seems appropriate for the level of my desire for her. But I’ll make sure to rectify that just as soon as we make our way home.

  After the club closes.

  Casey drifts off to sleep while I stroke her hair. I give myself exactly one minute to watch her face relaxing and going soft, my heart melting right along with every muscle in her body. Then I stand and pull the office door closed behind me. No way am I letting her waitress, tonight or any other night. But if we are short staffed, somebody has to do it. That somebody is going to have to be me.

  The lights are low as I stalk out into the main club again. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, not even allowing the stage and whoever might be there, in whatever state of dress they have progressed to in the performance, to enter my peripheral vision. I have no desire to see anyone but my Casey like that, and I won’t disrespect my woman by even accidentally seeing another woman naked.

  Thankfully, the bar isn’t far from the hall back to the offices. I make a beeline over there, only bumping my shins into three chairs on the way. Not risking a glance up, I stare at the shining chrome bar top.

  “You’re the new boss right?” A high-pitched voice on the other side of the bar asks.

  “I am. Or at least half of the team. Casey is resting, so I’ll be taking her place as a server. Are you dressed?” I probably should have taken in more of the club when I came in, but my sole focus was getting Casey away from the handsy asshole, so I didn’t even notice if the bartender wore clothes or not.

  By the sound of her almost hysterical laughter, I’m going to guess she is and she thinks it’s hilarious I would think otherwise. “Boss, no one wants me to take my clothes off, trust me.”

  Secure in the knowledge that I can look up slightly; I take in the woman well into her fifties decked out in black trousers and a white button-down shirt.

  “I’m Rose, I was friends with your uncle and his husband, they gave me this job when I got laid off a few years back. Good men, both of them.” Sadness creeps into her voice, and it’s at odds with the sexy music and bright lights around us, I almost laugh.

  “Thanks, I’m hearing a lot of people say that. Makes me wish I had known my uncle.” I can’t dwell on that now. Not when I can still smell and taste my woman on my lips, and I have a job to do. “Well, put me to work.”

  Quickly, Rose gives me a rundown of the floor, drawing a map on a napkin, so I don’t have to look up to find where I’m going. She gives me my first tray of drinks, and I set off for my first night as a waiter. It’s harder work than I expected, and I’m in work boots and jeans. I can’t imagine doing this in a short skirt and heels.

  I get lots of comments from the men watching the show as I deliver drinks. Both because I make sure to keep my back to the stage as much as possible and look at their feet the rest of the time. And also, because I’m a dude delivering drinks to other dudes in a strip club. Even with as little experience as I have, I know that isn’t the norm.

  From her perch behind the DJ booth, Zsa Zsa Grabmore makes me the butt of all her jokes between the dancers’ sets. “Farmer boy, fetch me a bucket of water, will you?” I don’t know why she keeps calling me that, or why she would need a bucket of water, but after the third time, Rose informs me it’s from a movie called The Princess Bride, and I should respond with as you wish.

  At one point I almost bump into one of the robed dancers on her way back to the dressing room, and I blush so hard in embarrassment Zsa Zsa can’t stop laughing for the entire two minutes between sets. “What owner of a strip club refuses to look at the naked employees and blushes when he even has to talk to one of them to say excuse me?”

  “The kind that’s respectful, both of the employees and the woman he loves. And one that will be signing your paycheck soon.” That seems to shut her up, and I’m left alone for the most part.

  Soon an hour passes, my neck aches from holding it at an awkward position for so long, my arms are sore from carrying drink loaded trays around without stopping. Just as one table of men leaves, more seem to magically appear in their place. It’s like a never-ending parade of men and cash in this place. Immediately I start to see places where we can improve productivity. As I deliver drinks, I make mental notes to bring up with Casey later.

  Twice I check on Casey, relieved to see her still fast asleep both times.

  I’m shocked to find a table with a man and woman seated close to the stage when I come back. I can’t tell what she looks like since I refuse to look higher than her ankles, but she keeps laying her hand on my wrist as I deliver their drinks, which is annoying. But this is nothing compared with what the girls have to deal with, so I break the contact each time and get on with my duties.

  Soon two more women show up and plant themselves at the bar, their backs to the stage.

  I had no idea women frequented strip clubs. As a third takes a seat next to where I’m picking up a fresh round of drinks, I lean over the bar and beckon Rose. “Is this the usual crowd for a Thursday night?”

  She laughs and shakes her head no. “I’m pretty sure word has gotten out that there is fresh meat here tonight, and I don’t mean on the stage.”

  I have no idea what she means
but put it out of my mind so I can concentrate on not tripping as I deliver drinks with my eyes glued to the tile floor.

  “Hey, darling, can I get a Sex on the Beach?” An older woman runs a sharp nail down my bicep as she places her order and I take a giant step back out of her reach.

  “Sure.” Refusing to look at the woman, I walk away and place her order. But apparently, she doesn’t get the message, because when I come back, she touches my hand when I try to place her glass on the table. “Please do not touch me, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I thought that rule only applied to the dancers.” I can hear the sneer in her voice as she references the hard-working women on stage.

  “No. That goes for all employees here at the Pink Pony.” I go to walk away, but she slips a finger through one of my belt loops before I can and tugs me back. Not wanting to hurt her by pulling too hard, I stop but refuse to get any closer.

  “According to Instagram, you aren’t an employee; you’re the owner. So, I think we can forget about those silly rules, don’t you?” She takes her finger from my belt loop and tries once more to touch my arm. I step back, still unwilling to meet this woman’s gaze.

  “What are you talking about? I’m not even on Instagram.”

  “Maybe not, but the official account for the club posted a photo of you forty-five minutes ago. Why do you think all these women are here?”

  Without responding, I make my way back to the bar. “Rose, who runs the club’s Instagram page?”

  She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes slip over to Zsa Zsa. Of course.

  I’m about to give the Pink Pony’s DJ hell when a skinny arm snakes around my shoulder and a sickly-sweet perfume invades my nostrils. The woman from the table has no clue how to take no for an answer.

  “Get your hands off my man unless you want to get your eyes scratched out.”

  6

  Casey

  I’m used to having an odd sleep schedule. When you work in a strip club that is open until four in the morning you get used to sleeping during the day. And I’ve taken my fair share of naps on the leather couch in the office.

  But never have I felt more rested than I do as I stir from the orgasm coma Zeke put me in with his mouth and fingers.

  I stretch out my limbs, all loose and relaxed.

  Then I realize I’m alone. Sitting up, I hold the blanket to my chest and look around. Zeke is nowhere to be found. Disappointment and anger rush through my veins and the relaxation I’d enjoyed just moments before is swiftly disintegrating.

  Standing, I get my skirt and shirt back in order. According to the clock on the wall, it’s almost midnight. Which means I’ve been out for at least three hours.

  Damn it!

  Poor Rose has been out there having to deal with drunks alone as the busiest time of night sneaks up. I check the mirror I have stashed in the desk and have to admit I’m surprised to see my minimal makeup is more or less intact. I redo my ponytail and head out to the floor. I don’t know what happened to Zeke after he went down on me like a man starved, but that mystery will have to wait until later. I have a club to run. Obviously, I won’t be getting any help from my new found business partner.

  Emerging from the dark hall, the bright spotlights take me a moment to get used to. When the room finally comes into focus, I’m confused. Did I walk into the wrong place? There are still plenty of men around, all with their eyes glued to the stage. But there are also about a dozen women, most congregating close to the bar and ignoring the show one of our best dancers, Misti, is putting on.

  We’ve had women here before. Some come with their husbands or boyfriends. Some gay women come in on occasion. But this is different. These women are not here to spice up their relationship or to enjoy the beautiful women on stage. In fact, they’re dressed to the nines. As if they’re out on the town prowling for a man.

  That’s when I see him. Zeke. His T-shirt is so tight you can see damn near every muscle in his back as he leans over the bar to talk to Rose. His jeans are stretching across his round ass in a way that almost has me groaning out loud. I didn’t even get to touch it yet.

  “Looks like word about our new boss has gotten out.” Zsa Zsa leans over the wall of her DJ booth, raising her voice to be heard over the loud notes of Pour Some Sugar On Me.

  “Gee, I wonder how that happened.” The sarcasm is so thick it practically oozes from my mouth. Zsa is an infamous pot stirrer; I have no doubt she had a hand in this.

  “Uh oh, looks like someone is moving in on young Ezekiel.” Her words fade behind me as I stomp over to the bar.

  Red hot rage boils up from my belly, taking all reason with it. It’s as if I have no control over my own body as I approach the Botoxed bitch touching Zeke. “Get your hands off my man unless you want to get your eyes scratched out.”

  I have no idea where the possessiveness comes from. Defending Zeke, staking a claim on him, should be the last thing I do. But every thought I’ve had about getting him to sell his half of the business suddenly disintegrates.

  The woman looks over her shoulder, annoyance apparent in her eyes. “Run along little girl. We wouldn’t want the cops to find a minor in a place like this.” She flicks her hand toward the stage and turns back to Zeke.

  But he’s moved away in the brief time she took her hand off his shoulder. His hands are fisted by his sides, and I can see his chest is rising and falling swiftly, a look of disgust painted on his sweet, chiseled face. “I asked you to please not touch me.”

  The woman rolls her eyes and goes to step closer.

  Hell to the no. Before I can think better of it, my hand reaches out and grabs the woman by her dry, poorly bleached hair, and I yank her back. Landing on her ass at my feet, the woman screeches in pain. “He said not to touch him. We have a strict no touching policy here. Plus, that man is mine, his face was just buried soul deep in my pussy. So now I’m going to have to kindly ask Butch to escort your skanky ass out of my club.”

  No sooner is his name out of my mouth before Butch is on his way over. Gently, he picks the woman up by the armpits and sets her on her feet.

  “What the hell? This is outrageous. I’m going to call the cops and tell them you’re serving minors here.” She points her finger at Zeke. “You probably have a small dick anyway.”

  “Trust me; he doesn’t.” I felt it pressed against my belly; it is most definitely big− Huge. “Also, I’m twenty-five. So, unless you are fond of making false claims to the police and wasting taxpayers’ money, I suggest you shut up and get out.”

  The woman huffs but turns and stomps her way out of the club with Butch close behind.

  Which is when I notice the music has gone silent. Looking around everyone is staring at the scene I just orchestrated. Even Misti has come to a complete standstill on stage, her robe wrapped around her body and a wide smile on her face. I’m never going to live this down.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, let that be a lesson, never touch the talent!” Zsa Zsa hits her drumroll button and the crowd titters a little in response. “Well, ladies, if you’d like to stick around even knowing our handsome co-owner has been marked by that bitch there, drinks are half off for anyone with tits.” Zsa Zsa grabs her stuffed bra. “Maybe we’ll even have a little pole dancing lesson for the brave in the crowd.”

  Several women turn back to the bar and make their orders, a few even approach the stage and express their interest in learning some moves from Misti. In no time the music is back on, and several women are on the stage learning how to spin on the pole. The men in the audience look perplexed, but not at all angry about this turn of events.

  “Your man, huh?” Zeke’s deep voice filters into my ear through the thumping notes of Rihanna's Werk. “I like the sound of that.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to hear the humor lacing his words. With an embarrassed groan, I drop my face into my hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I saw her hands on you, and I wanted to rip her arms from their sockets.”

 
“I know that exact feeling. I had the same one when I saw that guy earlier.” Zeke’s arms wrap around my waist from behind, and he draws me back to press against his chest. “I like the look of possession on you.” He presses his hips forward, and I feel the steel rod press into my back. “A lot.”

  “You sure that isn’t a result of the show you’ve undoubtedly gotten out here all night?” A jealous ping bounces around in my stomach. I know it’s dumb, he’s part owner of a strip club now, something I’ve accepted. He’s going to see naked women, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  In a flash, I’m spinning around, and my face is cupped by Zeke’s strong hands. “I’ve seen nothing but this ugly tile and Rose’s face all night. I wouldn’t even look at the customers I served.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “There are four cracked tiles that need replacing. One by the bar looks like there is a mouse in the marbling. And a surprising number of the men here tap their feet along to the music.”

  “Oh my god, I totally know that mouse. You really didn’t even peek once?” My heart speeds up, and my stomach feels light in my belly at the thought that Zeke averted his eyes the whole night.

  “Why would I want to see anyone but you? After you’ve seen perfection, everything else pales in comparison.” His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, sweeping away a tear I hadn’t even realized escaped from my eye.

  “Holy shit, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Zsa Zsa comes up beside me and slings her arm around my shoulders. “If you don’t take him home right now and fuck his brains out, I will.”

  Zeke’s eyes widen at the prospect of the six-foot drag queen before us taking him home. “This is confusing. I’m not sure if I should be jealous that you’re touching the woman I love or mad that you want to sleep with me.”