I grin, knowing that he had appreciated them in his own way, but he’s a prideful man who wants to provide for his child himself, something I can respect.
Judging by the way Allie has moved from biting to full-on chewing her bottom lip, there’s still something bothering her. I reach out, placing my hand on my King and tilting it over, surrendering to her.
“Just ask it, Allie. No secrets.”
“Do you want kids?” she blurts without hesitation. “I mean—”
Though I know she is on birth control, my first illogical thought is that she’s pregnant and my heart soars. “Are you . . . ?” I say, eyes jumping to her belly.
She places her hands there, blocking my sight, gasping. “Oh! No! I just mean . . . ever?”
I beat back the swarm of butterflies that had taken flight at her words, knowing that they will have their time, but it is not yet. Instead, I reach across the board and lay my hands on top of hers.
“Allison, it would be my pleasure to see your belly swell with our child, to hold a baby created from our love.”
Her eyes tear even as her lips smile. “Really? But how? With all this?”
I shrug. “My childhood was seemingly normal, with private schools, bodyguards, reading, and chess games with my father.”
Allie bursts out laughing. “None of that is normal, you goofball. Not by a mile. But I guess it can be done. Part of me was just worried that you didn’t want that.”
Her words get quieter, and I can feel that this is the root of her worries, the thing that has held her back.
“Why would you think that, Allison?” I ask gently. “Do you want children?”
She nods, and my heart leaps in my chest. “I do. Not now, but I really do want that husband, wife, two-point-five kids and a dog family. But I want it with you, so maybe we’ll have to make it a guard dog and the kids can call the bodyguard Uncle Joe?”
She looks at me hopefully. And I know in this moment that I will do anything this woman wants me to.
“I think that’s reasonable.”
Her smile emerges from the depths of her soul, so bright that it dazzles the sun as she beams, just freed from darkness. We can do this. She is willing to stand at my side, perhaps not in spite of what I am but because of it.
She finds romance in my obsession, beauty in my icy heart, and worthiness in my dirty soul. With a small smile, I pluck her Queen and place it next to my now upright King in the middle of the board.
“It seems we have a winner.”
Allie nods, biting her lip. “I’m not sure, but I think that was an illegal move there.”
“You get used to those with me,” I deadpan. “Now take that shirt off and lie down. I think that ass needs a good spanking.”
She laughs and flips over, sending the other pieces of the set tumbling off the board and onto the comforter.
“Sounds to me like I’m the winner.”
In moments, my shirt she’s wearing goes flying across the room to land haphazardly on a chair and her ass wiggles in the air before me. I take the time to set the chess pieces aside, mostly because I don’t want a piece of marble to roll underneath my knee in the middle of our passion but also in deference to the sentimental value of my father’s chessboard.
He taught me so much in those hours on either side of the board. Patience, strategy, sacrifice.
And I think I’ll need every one of those lessons with my Allison.
Chapter 28
Allie
A few months later . . .
“And step, two, three, and lift. Let the spin build, extend your leg, and then your arms,” I say, coaching the class through a basic move on the pole.
The women beam, proud of themselves, feeling powerful in their bodies. And they should be. They’re amazing. Clapping, I give them a celebratory yell, embracing the woohoo girl inside me for a moment.
“Yes! And land it, dropping that booty to your heels, open your knees wide into a Hello Kitty, and close that peekaboo tease. Lead up with your ass, letting your head stay low . . . and pow!”
The ladies scissor their knees Single Ladies style and then drag their hands up their thighs to finish in their closing poses. If their men were here, there’d be some babies getting made tonight.
Excited, I run around the room in my heels, high-fiving each woman as they break pose and the room goes bubbly and giggly with laughter.
“Great job, everyone! Beautiful and fierce!”
I can see the praise warming their spirits, but more importantly, they’re feeling it from within, having been transformed from busy women rushing around, focusing on everyone else, into goddesses, unlocking their own inner sexy.
Their faces remind me again why I have the best job ever. My mission is literally to make women feel good about themselves and love the body they have, and I’m rewarded every time I see someone go from tentative newbie to stomping pole queen over the course of a few classes.
As everyone waves goodbye, I do my daily cleanup, running a cleansing towel up and down each pole. Tomorrow, I’ll use my ‘pole polisher,’ as Donna laughingly calls it, which makes sure every inch of brass remains gleaming.
I’m just finishing up when I hear a soft knock on the doorframe, and Donna asks, “Good class?”
“Yeah, great one!” I reply, tossing my cleaning rag behind my back and catching it.
Donna hums. “Well, receipts look great, and we’re getting enough interest that you might need to open another class.”
I’ve considered it because my pole classes, private lessons, and Diva Dance classes are almost always fully booked, so there’s definitely a demand for it. But between those, the private bachelorette parties, ballet classes, and the once-a-month feature at Petals, I’m doing everything I can.
Although some of that dancing isn’t just for me. Dominick has been putting my body to work every morning and night, and while I love it, something’s got to give. I don’t want it to be my body, so I’m carefully weighing each commitment before signing on.
I finally respond, “I’m going to leave my schedule as it is so I have time to practice for myself. I need that too.”
Donna nods, her smile one of motherly approval. Before she can say anything, Eileen sticks her head in, grinning lewdly.
“Hey, Allie, your chunka escort is here for the night.”
I grin, knowing that she’s taken to giving Logan a good-natured hard time about his weight. He’s simultaneously bulking up and leaning out, something about weight classes. I don’t understand the reasoning behind it, but he can go on for hours on end about his macros.
Luckily, I don’t understand a word, or I would’ve had to tell him to shut up about it, and I don’t want to do that because I like Logan and our guard-slash-friend relationship. Though I have years under my belt with healthy eating, one of the key components of lifelong recovery is to not overanalyze and focus on what I put in my mouth, which is basically what he’s doing in a healthy way. Making healthy choices and not obsessing is how I know I’m doing well.
And I am doing very well.
A couple of feature appearances at Petals paid off what was left of my medical bills, and with the classes doing so well and my partnership with Donna, I’m truly a successful businesswoman. I’ve even drawn up a tentative five-year plan to buy in with Donna on the ballet side of the business and be full co-owners. She’s told me that she’d like to retire one day, maybe travel and see all the top ballet company performances, and that she’d be honored to metaphorically hand her pointe shoes to me. One day, that’d be a great honor.
For now, though, I’m happy.
“Thanks, Eileen! I’ll see you tomorrow. Remind Sydney to stretch her feet tonight. She’s this close to pointe.” I hold up my finger and thumb an inch apart.
“Trust me, I know,” Eileen says with a laugh. “It’s all she talks about, and I won’t have to remind her to stretch. I’ll have to tell her to stop stretching. I’ve had to resist telling her that there a
re much more disappointing ‘few inches’ she’ll have to deal with later.”
I laugh, loving that Sydney is so dedicated but also that Eileen doesn’t let her go too far and still wants her to be a kid. Picking up my practice heels, I change out, laying them carefully into my duffel bag and pulling on sweats and Nikes.
“Hey Logan, how was your practice today?” I ask as I enter the lobby. He’s grinning, his hair still wet from his shower after MMA practice and wearing a fresh set of athletic clothes.
Honestly, workout stuff is almost all I ever see him in now. He’s stepped back from doing shift work at Petals, focusing on an upcoming fight. He laid out his normal training day for me, up at five in the morning and down by nine thirty, and I’ll admit, he’s got dedication.
He’s thanked me and Dom for the shift in his duties, which mostly consist of escorting me from home to Encore and back again, with a midday gap where we run errands.
I think it’s a routine that works well for both of us.
“Feeling good,” Logan says, sipping at some nuclear green drink that supposedly has a bunch of protein. “How was your class?”
“Excellent,” I reply, adjusting my bag. “I even met someone I think you’d be interested in.”
It’s a common tease between us. I don’t understand why he’s single when he’s such a kind-hearted badass. But like always, he shakes his head.
“Nope. No matchmaking here. I’ve got an evil, cold-hearted mistress already . . . the ring. It’s all I have time for right now. If you’re itching to play matchmaker, work on Max or Dalton.”
He throws them under the bus easily, my mind already scheming. Now that I’m in love, I guess I want to share the happiness and let everyone experience the joy. Admittedly, my relationship with Dom might not be most folks’ ideal, but it works for us.
Even TJ is slowly coming around, now that his divorce is final and he’s let go of most of the bitterness, starting to realize that he’s going to be okay. I think it’s that he is truly enjoying his new life, though it’s different than he pictured. His new job is awesome, and he made some good friends immediately with the guys he flies with. He’s got something new to focus on and it’s good for him.
I do think he still wishes I had an easy, Hallmark movie-type love story, but he’ll at least sit down to dinner with Dominick and me now. He even jokes around a bit, once telling Dom that if he’s in charge of the city, could he please do something about the potholes on 8th Street? So he accepts the situation somewhat, but at the same time, he hugs me goodbye every time we see each other and offers to whisk me away anytime I’m ready. It’s a tricky balance but a tightrope we’re walking together.
It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.
We have to, because I love them both, and they both love me.
“So,” Logan says, interrupting my thoughts. “The usual tonight?”
“Yeah, I want to rinse off and then head home.”
‘Home’ is, of course, Dominick’s house. Well, our house. It took us about two seconds to agree to move in together after we completed a very vigorous, very angst-filled, very sweaty, and very complete weekend of negotiations. We kept my third- and his fourth-floor apartments as safehouses, but I moved all my things into the apartment across the parking lot from the studio.
It’s been a godsend to be able to have a place this close to work when I need to clean up before going home.
We walk across the lot in silence as I let Logan work, his eyes diligently scanning though there has never been a single threat toward me. Only once was there even a hint of something wrong, but it turned out to be a backfiring pickup truck. It was good to know that Logan’s not all for show, though, because he’d had me on the ground and covered to make sure I stayed safe in an instant. Once we’d realized it was safe, I’d jokingly started counting and called it a TKO. I’d declared him the winner and did a fairly decent imitation of a cheerleader right there in the parking lot, much to his chagrin.
At the top of the stairs, Logan stops, glancing at the phone buzzing in his hand. “Hey, I need to make a couple of calls. You okay if I stay in the hall while you do your thing?”
“Everything okay?” I ask, worried.
He smiles, something dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, nothing to worry about. Just gonna wait out here.”
He sits down in a chair and shoos me down the hall where I let myself in. The door closes behind me and I feel the chill in the air instantly. Every light is off except for one, a spotlight over the pole I had installed in the dining room here.
Dominick had laughingly asked me if I even knew what dining rooms were for, and I’d felt like it was an accomplishment to be able to joke like that after my love-hate history with food.
I’m still working on getting one put in at home, mostly because all the ceilings are so damn tall, but for now, the light shining on this shiny pole calls to me. I can feel his presence, know he’s sitting in the shadows of the living room, can smell the faint hint of his favorite scotch.
And though I’m not in our house, I am home. With him. Wherever he is, that’s where I want to be. We’ve found our own routine as well, learning how to click our seemingly odd puzzle shapes together, softening here, growing there until it’s a seamless fit. He laughs at my crazy impulsiveness and smiles at my messes. I take delight in his detailed plans and perfectly-arranged sock drawer, though I did buy him some checkerboard ones emblazoned with chess pieces and a bright font proclaiming, Don’t Fuck with the King! He’s even worn them . . . around the house. Baby steps, I guess, but I’m determined to get him to do a little hip-wiggling strip-tease for me and get down to nothing but those socks. Hashtag-dream it and make it happen!
But for now, it seems like it’s my turn to put on a show, even if I don’t have any cool or even sexy socks. Silently, I set my bag down, kicking off my Nikes and sweats, slipping my heels back on, and stand tall. At the last minute, I pull my tank over my head too. In my sports bra and yoga shorts, I approach the pole, smiling to myself as the music begins.
The song he chooses isn’t a song I have choreography to, it’s just a slow-driving bass line that resonates through my body. There aren’t any words even, just the throb and the music, and so I dance for him. I dance for me. Swaying my hips and tracing my curves, I work my way up to spinning around the pole. I don’t do the fancy death-defying tricks, the showy moves meant to shock the audience into tipping more.
This isn’t about that. Instead, I seduce him, my eyes boring into the darkness, willing him to see me, to watch me. And though I can’t see him, I can feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, can almost taste his need in the air around me.
I need more, need him.
I take slow steps toward the mirrored wall, pulling my sports bra over my head and freeing everything for him. In the reflection, I watch myself palm my breasts, their fullness almost painful.
In the darkness, I can see a shadow move, and he’s on his feet silently, slowly moving closer. I push my shorts down, stepping out of them too, to stand in only my heels as he becomes visible in the light, his dress slacks perfect and his white dress shirt already halfway unbuttoned.
His heat licks at my skin as he presses himself to my back, one arm slipped around my waist and the other at my throat, turning my head to meet his eyes.
“I’ve dismissed Logan for the night. You have a new escort home.”
I can see the darkness in their icy depths, can read that he wants me rough tonight, and I gratefully oblige, pressing my hips back into his hardness. I never know exactly what I will get with him. Sometimes slow and sweet, taking hours to worship every inch of me, letting me ‘boss’ him around. Other times, he’s a beast, rough and hard, brutally using my body in ways I never knew I’d love.
But always, he’s in control.
Even when I tempt him too much, begging him to lose control, he never falters, his control absolute. Always. It’s become the stabilizing foundation for my chaotic ways, the cage for th
e black swan I can be, and the freedom for the woman I never knew I could be.
His coarse growl into my ear sends shivers down my spine. “Mine.”
I nod, the movement putting the slightest bit of pressure on my neck where his hand lies. “Yours.”
His hand releases my waist, and I hear the slip of the leather as he undoes his belt and slacks. I push back, knowing what’s coming and loving it. After all, this is the secret reason I bought these heels. They’re just the right height.
I whimper as his cock pushes into me, filling me and completing that connection we always need with one another. I look back in the mirror, watching the ecstasy on his face that leaves my heart filled with warmth, even as my pussy throbs with another type of welcome heat.
Dom uses his body to press me against the glass, my nipples hardening at the cold even as I buck back to take him deeper. Gripping my hips, he holds me steady as he starts viciously pounding my tight pussy, sending shockwaves up my spine almost in beat with the music that’s still playing. Cries pour from my mouth like I’m singing, adding my own creative lyrics, but it is just his name over and over against the throbbing bass and electric strings.
“Look in the mirror, Allison,” Dominick grunts, pulling me back enough to actually see. “Watch me claim your pussy, mark it as mine. Watch . . . us.”
I do as he says, enjoying the way the spotlight creates shadows and highlights along our skin, the way his muscles flex and my ass jiggles with every stroke. My eyes are drawn to the shaded spot where he disappears inside me, anticipation building, amplifying the feeling of him filling me.
Still, I’m drawn upward, until my eyes meet his and that’s all I need. I see the love there, raw and vulnerable, and his joy that he has found it with me.
He is a monster, but he is my monster.
And I love him.
His cock swells, impossibly harder inside me a moment before he comes, and his pleasure triggers my own, a sharp cracking sound filling my ears as I scream his name. He pumps his cum deep inside me making my pussy spasm, milking everything from him hungrily.
Dirty Secrets Page 29
