She grabbed her towel, wiped off her hands, then moved off the stage in disgust.
The two friends would sneak in here on their Sunday’s off to perfect a routine. Sara was frustrated. Lace was perfecting.
She went behind the bar and poured herself a drink.
Catching what she was up to now Lace came off the pole and moved her way. “You can’t be doing what you are,” Lace said, tongue in cheek.
Sara smiled at her friend and temporary roommate, said nothing, downing the shot. She poured two more and slid one over to Lace.
And first, Lace’s face took on that look that said if the cops were coming she didn’t want to be in the same room as Sara, or getting the handcuffs slapped on her delicate wrists. The look passed and Lace downed the shot, shaking her head to retract the heat.
Sara poured both another.
And another…
Two hours later, a full bottle of tequila reduced to drops and a dead worm, Sara didn’t care if her ass slipped to the floor. She was too drunk to care—but at least she could get her left leg off the pole, and most of the time the hands to follow, without worrying about breaking her neck. Thank God, the consumption of tequila could achieve all of this.
Unfortunately, this was also when the door to the strip club opened and the women were caught in the act.
Only one spoken word came from the darker shadows put chills to Sara’s spine. “Ladies.”
She stiffened, slid to the floor again, stood up on unsteady legs, and squarely faced the intruder to her actions.
Though she could not see his face, she knew damn well by voice alone who it was.
“Mister Griffen?”
Sara did not like Casey Griffen…and Casey did not like her. A mutual understanding of animosity had formed between the two when he’d hired her. According to him, she somehow made life miserable for a man. Emphasis had to be put on somehow. He had yet to say how, and she had yet to ask. But it was there, nonetheless.
“Care to tell me why two lovely ladies are on my poles, and quite obviously drunk?” He eyed the empty tequila bottle and the two shots glasses set on the bar. Neither woman was brave enough to have eaten the worm—but certainly brave enough to do a little breaking and entering and theft of spirits.
Strong legs carried Casey toward the stolen alcohol. He grabbed the empty bottle and glasses and removed all three while he sent another disapproving look at only Sara.
Drunk, frustrated with being unable to accomplish the rather easy task of pole dancing, she said the first thing coming to mind. “Care to tell me why your pecker is so pathetically small, Mr. Griffen?”
Lace hid her chuckle, but not before Casey turned icy eyes to the other woman to force violent retraction of this undesirable reaction.
“Well, Mecenna…,” he began with conviction, the ice in his voice chilling Sara even more. “Since you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing my pecker, how the hell do you know of its actual size?”
He was baiting her. Unfortunately she was too drunk to let any bait float downstream, undigested. “Then show it to me now, Big Boy.” A slow lick of the lips was made to entice the man into action. “I’m in no hurry.”
Casey owned this strip club. He was also the bouncer. Big, burly, mean…and so mouthwatering muscular, at six-feet-two and nearly two hundred forty pounds, all of his height and muscle he put to good use over the years.
“Come a little closer and maybe I will,” he offered.
Sara was ten feet away from him. Any closer and he could’ve easily made a grab for her.
Sara didn’t chance this. The last time Casey touched her body it had taken her days for the nerve endings in her arm to get back to normal. And since there were numerous moments in her daily routine where she felt abnormal, fate need not be tempted its hand.
Casey was hot. At one time in his life he’d been an exotic dancer. He worked out and kept himself fit.
Unfortunately, Sara wanted Casey in the worst possible way—any way had—because she was lonely and horny. Yet, the last time she felt this way about someone…a baby Boyd came out of the wrong woman’s body. She would not be fooled twice. Besides, she had a goal. The pole was not to conquer her. The wretched stripper’s pole had become her nemesis.
Before she spoke something she might not be able to take back, Lace grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her off the stage. “Come on, Mecenna. We should probably get you home.”
Sara yanked her arm out of her roommate’s steely grip. For a slight woman, Lace was one tough broad. “No. Not until I get the pleasure to see the size of Casey’s enormous pecker.”
He’d moved behind the bar, caught up in what he was doing, until she dared utter these words.
His eyes rose, as did his smile. “You really asking for trouble, Mecenna?” he warned crisply.
“Trouble is my new middle name,” she reasoned.
A smile to charm the pants off the man then sent his way. Whatever it took to get him to show her the goods.
Two seconds later, Casey rounded the bar. His movements were quick; too quick for drunken Sara to react to, and just fast enough for Lace to clear off the stage and move out of harm’s way. He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand down to the front of his jeans, then dragged her knuckles over the huge bulge under the taut material and smiled.
“You couldn’t handle all this heat, Sweetheart.” Another second passed before he slowly let go of her wrist.
Within this time, he’d told her all she need know through the glare of his eyes. Deep, unsettling dark blue eyes were warning her she was playing with fire.
She might have been able to handle the size of him, but Casey wasn’t offering. Moreover, smart as she was, Sara knew she should never take any warning with a grain of salt. Then again, Tequila was running this show.
She dove headfirst into the fire and reacted as only she could by the inducement of too much alcohol and the late hour that it was. The tequila sloshing in her brain unfortunately claimed ‘salt be damned!’
“Name the time and place, Big Boy, and prove you can handle all this heat.” Her hand made a full sweep of her nude form. If one was going to practice pole dancing while in a strip club on a Sunday night, one must do so without clothing on the body.
Lace was naked, as well.
Casey, the grumpy elephant in the room, had the only clothing on. Faded jeans, snug black T-shirt, it was his thick five o’clock shadow and perhaps the unusual dreads tonight that drew her in—hard. Normally, his hair was left to drape his shoulders. Normally, she had to do everything imaginable not to touch him.
After the initial snickering was heard behind her back from her roommate and friend, Lace had also taken the opportunity to escape to the dressing room and was about to leave Sara with the boss—alone.
She yelled out she was going home as the back door closed and locked from the inside, leaving Sara in a strip club, naked, with a man who was obviously quite angry and aroused. That angry man took a step forward and came to within inches of her. His hot breath fanned her face. Devil dark eyes stared straight into her soul.
In that one single moment Sara felt real fear. She knew Casey would never hurt her. He would lose too much: his club, his fancy playboy house, his one hundred fifty-thousand dollars sports car. All of it would disappear if he dared hurt one of his employees. Besides, she was pushing all the wrong buttons on this man, and those buttons led to the most interesting of places in the human body.
Sara’s downfall was she wanted a man between her legs. Griffen was certainly a man; a huge, hungry, predatory man in which she could sink her teeth into. He would certainly serve his purpose.
“How many times are you going to do this to yourself, Mecenna?” he asked.
Sara felt wanton, raising a brow. “Do what?”
Matched brows arched even higher. “Come here on your nights off. Drink my stash…” His voice hard with impatience.
Sara squared her shoulders. This caused her breasts to rise. “As many
times as it will take for me to perfect the pole.”
Casey did not back down. However possible for a man his size, he stepped forward in space only molecules could exist. His shirtfront brushed her protruding nipples, the material’s roughness causing them to tighten.
Sara wouldn’t back down either. Tequila had this effect on her. “And I have not perfected it—yet.”
“And I have warned you twice, just in this last week, you are not working the poles in my club.”
“Why not?” she rushed out, her tone neared whining.
“Because…”
Sara stepped forward. She squashed those molecules and atoms with vengeance and pressed her body as tight as she could to her boss upon hearing this undesirable answer. Sara felt his heat, his finely tuned heartbeat fluttering through her flesh, the shudder that ran down the length of him and back up again, the huge bulge under his jeans that was now beyond an aroused stage and drawing her in.
Casey would never say so, but he didn’t have to speak it. Sara only had to feel it. He wanted her…and tonight there’d be no turning back.
They stared at each other for what seemed like hours, when in fact only but a few seconds slipped past.
Sara licked her dry lips. Casey blinked—twice, perhaps the action done only to settle his nerves. She could see the tremor in his jaw-line. The tiny twitch at the side of his mouth to state he was holding himself back. The angle his lips were set at, warning her of what might happen if she dared push him into action. The darkening of the eyes to prove he was worthy of his stature.
Sara could not blink. Had she, she would have lost his image, and that would’ve complicated her life more than it was going to be.
Casey moved his hand to her lower back and pulled her even closer. His searing breath fanned her lips as he said, “You’re not doing the pole,” a half second before his mouth found hers like a heat-seeking missile, locking firmly onto its target.
Sara got lost in the unexpected kiss. Surreal, she was unsure if Casey started it, or if her brain had told her head to lean forward and initiate the act. Either way it became one hell of a kiss. Her eyes closed as his tongue battled hers. Her hands wound around his muscular neck, as his fingers dug into her spine. She could feel the tense muscles at the base of his skull, the erratic heartbeat inside the core of this man.
Casey’s coiled readiness should have made her wary. It did the exact opposite.
Then, the on-start of a small smile pressed against her lips. If kissing her in this way, sensual and passionate, one would think he wouldn’t be smiling about it.
Sara’s eyes opened. She watched in horror as that slow smile lit up his eyes.
A sudden sting of regret caught her by surprise.
Sara snapped out of his embrace. Damnit. Guilt was not what she wanted, and yet every fiber of her being had come alive by a very sensual kiss.
The last time this happened, she’d been left heartbroken and alone. She couldn’t go through that again. Therefore, the only sensible thing to do was to run from it—fast, hard…and again.
****
Casey knew what headed his way, and for it, his hands found her wrists and he held onto them for dear life. Mecenna had the want to slap him written all over her face, and he was having none of her disobedience tonight.
He watched her struggle with what she’d let him get away with: the regret, the sudden shame. These very raw emotions only made life more difficult for both.
He was mildly surprised he could remain so fully under control. Well, most of his body was. One vital part of his anatomy wanted control lost in a real bad way.
Still, the mutiny in her eyes showed clear through and dared him to say exactly what was on his mind. It was something stuck on his mind for the past few months. The moment he’d arrived at the club, saw Lace’s car parked by the exit door, knew the women were inside, then saw Mecenna hanging off the pole, was the moment Casey decided he had to do something permanent about possible loss of control.
Mecenna could easily react to what his body wanted, but Casey dropped her wrists, put his hands to her face, pulled her to him hard, and kissed her again.
She fought against this second kiss for one brief second, then gave in.
She must not have figured on a second attack, but once it began, there was nothing she could do to him to stop it. Other than, groin him. Damage the goods on a man who more than interested her…and who could certainly kiss the pants off a woman? No. Not hot Mecenna. She’d want him whole, non-bruised; her undying curiosity increased by the simple molding of their mouths.
Casey walked Mecenna backwards. As he deepened the kiss, the struggles in her body subsided. He bent her in half, and laid her flat out on the stage.
Casey had bent along with her to where he now lay on top of her. He never once let go of her face.
With deliberate purpose, her warm hands found his waist as the pressure built to uncontrollable. Mecenna’s slender fingers dove under his shirt. Her sharp nails scraped the sensitive skin on his sides, then moved to the hairs across his pecs. Still, he would not let go of her face, or pull his mouth from hers.
They must have laid on the stage for a good five minutes, just kissing. Five minutes of exploration, irrational behavior and loss of reasoning. When it was over, Casey stood, readjusted his jeans, straightened his shirt—a shirt Mecenna had nearly taken off him—and he held out a hand to help her up.
She looked at his hand. A half-second later, she slapped it away.
“You wanted this from me for a long time, Mecenna,” he warned.
She slid off the stage and glared. “Is that what this was all about? What I’ve wanted from you?”
Casey’s smile fell. The truth had to be said even if it sounded cold-hearted, or crass. “No. You know damn well this was what I wanted from you, too.”
“My, my…the mighty Casey finally admitted he can be knocked off his high horse,” she said tartly.
This irked him beyond repair. An employee was all of what this woman was to him, and she should learn her place—learn to hold her tongue or plan on finding somewhere else as her employment.
“Oh, really? High horse is it? You should talk, Sweetheart,” he responded bluntly. “Ever take a look in the mirror lately? Or do you only see emptiness and despair when your reflection comes back to you?”
Mecenna ignored his gibe. “You were waiting for Lace to leave us alone, weren’t you?” she asked.
He couldn’t react to this, knowing she was trying to get his goat. Yet he wondered how it possible for the captain of the ship to abandon all self-reasoning and join the crew in mutiny.
“No. But I’m glad she has, though I never thought to do this to you tonight…”
“Some other night, perhaps?” she interrupted, as a single brow rose to amplify her nastiness.
Casey’s tone turned formal, all business-like. “No, this wouldn’t have happened any other night either, Mecenna. If you hadn’t opened your mouth the wrong way…”
She took a step forward and touched his arm.
Unfortunately, Casey reacted in a way she’d likely wanted of him. He flinched from her gentle touch.
“Why can’t you just tell me the truth, Griffen?” she asked.
Her plead silken voice stung his ears. His eyes rose. They’d lowered to her palm and slender fingers touching his arm.
“What do you think I am not saying?” he asked.
“You, Big Boy, are not saying you want me in the worst possible way.”
He rolled his eyes, chuckling to mask the seriousness of his thoughts. “Fuck, Mecenna! Of course I want you. Any man with eyes would want you. You have what it would take to please a man—in more ways than one. Firm tits, great ass, and you’re needy. Guys love that shit. A needy woman is an easy fuck and every man on earth wants things easy when it comes to sex.”
Her placid expression changed in a single heartbeat. “Just not you.”
Casey’s expression changed, as well, into accep
tance.
“Just not me,” he echoed.
Before Mecenna could pull more out of him in the way of truthfulness, he figured offering it to her without further struggle would be in his best interest. “You’re my employee, Sweetheart. I can’t lose you over a hot, one-night fuck, with a more than ready cunt.” His eyes lowered to the specific area of her body as a sudden smile came forth.
“Oh, yeah? Who says I have any interest in you in a sexual way?”
She tried her damnedest to make this sound truthful, but her struggles to convince him of this lie had only increased the slight tremble her body betrayed her with.
Damnit, just the mere mention of a wetted cunt involving a one-night stand got him even harder, to where it became painful. He stepped forward, grabbed Mecenna by the shoulder with his left hand, slid his right hand down her pencil thin waist and shoved his index finger deep into the aforementioned wetted heat; no questions, no invitation, not even an arched brow to warn the temptress this was going to happen.
He literally pulled her hips toward him by the crook of his finger stuck inside her, then slid his finger in and out to prove his point. These swift actions created the expected gasp he’d wanted to come out of her delicate mouth, but she did not pull away or show the invasion as unwanted. In fact, truth be told, she’d dared him to do even more by the lowering of her lashes and the try if you might smile held firmly on her face.
She was wet, wide, and ready for him. Physical confirmation could not lie. All he’d need to do would be to lower the zipper of his jeans then screw her until she begged for mercy.
“You can’t lie to me, Mecenna—ever,” he rasped out.
Casey eased his finger out of her swollen slit and with an unexpected movement on his part, shocking his conscience, he stuck his finger directly into his mouth, sucking off her honeyed moisture.
Mecenna’s eyes had followed the movement to completion.
And he could see that in all the time she’d known him, not once would she have thought he could shock her in such a way.
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