by Alexis Angel
I nod, unnerved at where this conversation might be going.
“She was all wrapped up in one of my other partners that owns the bar. Dominic. Small world, huh?”
“Yeah.” I force out a laugh as we make our way underground, but he doesn’t seem to notice how strange I’m acting.
“If I’d known Dom came to your club, I might have come with him.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “Maybe the two of us will hit up one of your tables sometime. Though I don’t know that I want him checking you out in that sexy outfit you wear.”
I look over at him as we wait for the train. Is he serious? I want to believe he thinks I’m sexy. Then I catch the joking smirk that’s nearly always plastered on his face. Nope. Not even a little bit serious.
I swat him on the shoulder. “You better not come in there. I won’t be able to focus on my job if I know you’re in there distracting me with those muscles and dirty smiles.”
Dax laughs, knowing I’m teasing. It’s what we do. Trade flirty jokes, often full of innuendo. But that’s all it ever is. Joking. Teasing.
That doesn’t mean I wish for once he’d mean it. But right now him staying out of the club is not a joking matter. The last thing I want is him and his friend coming in to pay a little visit to me, the cocktail waitress. Because as of tomorrow I’ll be up on that stage. And the idea of taking my clothes off in front of Dax is the last thing I want to imagine.
Except I do. Over and over again that night when I get in bed and grab my vibrator. All I can think about is him, hard and needy, his eyes glued to my body as I strip for him. His hand going to his cock. Dax coming hard while watching me.
And that’s all I see as I make myself come, wishing it was him and not my favorite toy getting the job done.
Yeah right. If only.
Dax
The music pouring from behind the bathroom door thrums in time to the fantasy going through my head. Each heavy beat mimicking the brutal pounding I wish I were giving Whitney right this minute.
Her under me. Her on top of me. Her on her knees while I give it to her from behind. Or up against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. Anywhere really. Or everywhere, if I’m being honest. All I want is to fuck that girl everywhere and every way possible.
I grit my teeth and try to focus on the game on TV, but it’s really fucking hard after what I saw earlier.
Whit didn’t know I was home. I came out of my room and headed to the bathroom, only to see her fucking dancing in her room. In nothing but her bra and panties. It took everything I had not to barge in there and throw her on the bed and show her what I’ve wanted to do since the moment she moved in.
Raking a hand through my hair, I debate for the millionth time if it would really be such a bad thing. People do it all the time, right? Friends with benefits.
Added benefit here is that we share the same apartment. Except that’s probably the very same reason I haven’t done anything about this near constant hard-on she gives me. If I were to fuck it up, I’d be out roommate. Even worse, I’d be without her.
And I like having her around. She’s pretty fucking awesome. Not just her body that’s what fantasies are made of—mine in particular—but everything. We have fun. So I’d hate to ruin it.
Even if I do have to jerk off to thoughts of her on the regular. I mean, what’s a guy supposed to do? It’s the only way I’m able to function around her. Though it’s been harder and harder lately to keep those thoughts tucked away.
Like right now. Knowing she’s naked in that bathroom. Maybe even shaking that eyes in a way that shouldn’t be legal—just like I saw her doing earlier.
“Fuck.”
I get up and go to my room to grab some headphones, needing to drown out the sound of that music with something less boner-inducing.
Just as I’m walking past the bathroom, the door flies open, the music amplified. Clouds of steam pour out from where she stands in front of me with her eyes wide and her mouth in a perfect little O.
Totally fucking naked.
“Oh my god, Dax,” Whitney squeals, darting forward in what looks like an attempt to get around me. Then she halts and starts backward, apparently deciding a retreat to the bathroom is a much better choice than brushing against me. Something she’d have to do to get past. Because I’m rooted to the spot.
She jerks to a stop again, as if she’s paralyzed with indecision just as much as I’m paralyzed by the sight of her body in front of me.
We stand there like that for seconds that feel like forever. Staring at each other. The air between is thick with tension. And desire. I can’t hide the way my eyes drop down, slowly taking in her body. I can’t stop them from greedily drinking her in. I don’t think I could tear them away if my life depended on it.
Shit.
Fucking perfect.
Full, round tits, so lush and perky, the nipples tightening into hard buds as I caress them with my eyes.
I want to groan when her breath hitches and her tits rise and fall in a way that begs me to reach out and grab them.
Lower, lower, my eyes rake over her flat, toned stomach, coming to rest on her pussy. Totally bare.
Goddammit. That’s the last thing I need to know. And the one thing I wonder about night after night as I lie in bed with my dick in my fist. The dick that is currently straining against my jeans, begging to sink into her wet heat.
Only a matter of seconds pass, but it feels like we stand there for hours. Somehow, I gather every last remaining ounce of self-control. Leaning forward, my body towering over hers, I reach behind Whitney.
A sexy little gasp escapes her lips as our bodies nearly touch, and that sounds nearly makes me come unhinged. I grind my teeth together and clench my fingers around the fluffy white towel that is sitting on the counter.
And I ought to be given a fucking medal of honor. Because I take the towel and wrap it around her, covering up my one and only glimpse of that perfect body. Wishing for just a minute that I wasn’t a good guy. That I could turn her around and drive my cock inside deep her and fuck her against the wall until she screams my name and gushes all over me.
But I am a good guy. So I step back and give her room to pass. But not a lot. Because I’m only so good. I make sure she has to ease around me, brushing that body that’s meant for fucking against me. And I don’t bother looking away as she scurries down the hall, turning once to look at me over her shoulder, her eyes huge and unreadable, before she disappears into her room.
I stride to my own room, throwing the door shut behind me and whipping out my cock in seconds, groaning as I wrap my hand around it and start tugging furiously. I come hard and fast, but it’s not enough. Now that I’ve seen her like that with her perfect tits and pussy begging to be fucked, I don’t know that it can be enough.
Which is why an hour later, after she’s headed off to work, I find myself on the train, headed to her club. Just so I can feed this gnawing need to be near her. To have my eyes on her in that skimpy little waitress uniform while she prances around the club in those fuck-me heels. It’s not nearly enough. But right now, I’ll take what I can get.
Whitney
I’m a nervous wreck. I’m about to lose my cool. I don’t even know if I can get out on that stage and do this. Not after what happened at home.
Holy shit, the way Dax’s eyes scraped over my body, I could practically feel it. My body responded as if he were actually touching me, rather than just eye-fucking me. And that’s exactly what it felt like, despite everything that I’ve told myself—that I continue to tell myself. He’s not interested in me like that.
But his body told an entirely different story. There was no missing that hard-on. It was freaking huge outlined against his jeans, begging me to reach out and touch it.
I did that. I made him hard.
That knowledge is enough to make me wet all over again. Almost as wet as I was when I hid in my room and finger-fucked myself after he stared at me like that. Wishing the whole time it was hi
s cock inside me.
I shiver, my whole body tingling with desire.
“Whitney, you’re up in five,” the backstage manager calls into the dressing room, disappearing just as fast.
I look in the mirror, gathering my courage. I don’t look too different than I do most nights. Same over the top makeup and wavy hair trailing down my back. The only thing that’s different is that I’m wearing a bit more clothes than normal. Something that will change real fast once I’m up onstage.
I take a deep breath. This is what I want. I’ve been hoping to get a job stripping since I first started at this club. The pay is so much better. Ridiculously better. And I need to save as much as I can if I want to start my own business eventually. This will get me there. That’s what I have to focus on when I go out there.
I stand and make my way to the edge of the stage, staying hidden in the shadows. This is right where Poppy was standing last night after she got ripped from the stage by that guy—Dax’s business partner. I saw the way he looked at her. I wish a guy would look at me like that.
Then I realize, that’s an awful lot like the way Dax was looking at me earlier. Possessive. Greedy. Barely contained restraint all over his face.
My breath comes a little faster, nerves with what I’m about to do mixing with the way thoughts of him make me feel.
That’s what I’ll focus on while I’m out on the stage. Dax. The way he looked at me like he actually desires me. The way his body responded to my naked one. The power and confidence that I felt because of that look. I try to channel that same feeling, letting myself go back to that place where that one look made me so hot and needy that all I wanted was for him to fuck me.
That’s what I need right now. And when it’s my turn and I step out into the blinding lights pointed at the stage, all I feel is sexy. Desired. Wanted.
All these men out there want me too. They want to see me take my clothes off. I make them feel things.
But the only thing that I think about as I begin moving to the music—peeling my costume off slowly, taunting the audience with just a peek here, then a little more there—is Dax. I pretend I’m stripping for him. Making him hard. Making him come.
I’m fully into the moment, lost in the fantasy playing out in my head. This job may be easier than I thought. All I have to do is pretend it’s just me and Dax.
When I walk off the stage and back toward the dressing room when I’m finished, I smile. Easy. That wasn’t complicated at all.
Pushing open the dressing room door, I reach for a robe and wrap it around myself. Grabbing a bottle of water, I turn back to the door when it creaks open again.
My eyes go wide.
Because things just got a whole lot more complicated.
My breath all rushes from my lungs as I say the only thing that comes to mind.
“Dax.”
Dax
Sitting out in the dimly lit strip club where everyone is unrecognizable in the haze of smoke and lights, I can’t drag my eyes away from the stage. I have to be seeing things. I wondered at first if I was wrong and Whitney didn’t have to work tonight because I didn’t see her working the floor with her tray of drinks.
Now I know why. She’s working in an entirely different way.
And I’m about to explode from the sheer delicious torture of it. I thought seeing her dancing in her room was bad, naked in the hall even worse. Those are nothing compared to seeing her writhing onstage, clothes flying off to reveal the body that I only just learned was way beyond perfect.
Holy fucking hell. I feel like my dick is about to revert ten years and make me lose all control and come in my pants. Because every fantasy is coming to life right before my eyes.
Whitney wraps herself around the pole onstage, grinding against it like I want her to on my cock, and I grip myself through my jeans, needing some kind of friction against this building need that’s taking control of me.
I groan out load, unable to keep it in. But who the fuck cares? Because every guy in this place is probably doing the same thing. It would be impossible not to because she’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Minutes fly by, and my mind struggles to comprehend what’s going on. Thought isn’t coming easily since all my blood has currently drained south. Since when did Whitney start stripping? Is that what I saw earlier when she didn’t know I was home? Her practicing?
Fuck. If I’d known, I would have given her plenty of time to practice with a live audience of one.
When she finally leaves the stage, I spring from my seat, searching for a way backstage. I take in the bouncer and know the entrance from in here is a no go, so I toss some bills on the table to cover my drinks and head outside and around the side of the building.
The girls here know me from coming to pick up Whitney most nights, and when I see one of them exiting the building, apparently done for the day, I give her a smile and tell her I’m here for Whitney. She lets me right in. Easy. Thank fuck.
I glance around, then see her long dark waves disappearing inside what must be a dressing room. I don’t even think about it, don’t evaluate what the hell I’m doing. I just walk right over and barge in.
“Dax,” she breathes.
Every bit of wanting that is raging through my body right now is reflected in that one word. Just as it’s shining in her dark eyes. Evident in the way her tits heave with the breath that’s now coming out in pants.
And I don’t think. I don’t stop to evaluate the consequences. I just react.
“Fuck, Whitney,” I say, taking the two steps to cross to her and thrust my hands into her hair, tilting her head up until I’m staring straight down at her, our bodies pressing together.
Then I crush my mouth to hers, taking what I want. Devouring her as if I’ve been starving my whole life. And that’s how I feel. Like I can’t get enough. Can’t get close enough. Like my life depends on having this girl.
She moans against the assault, her lips parting, and I take the invitation, diving into her, plunging my tongue deep into her hot mouth.
My fingers tighten against her head, and I pull her even closer, plundering her mouth and swallowing her moans. Her hands come up between us and fist in my shirt, clutching me with the same urgency that’s rushing through my veins.
I spin her around and press her against the wall, pinning her with my hips, pushing my cock against her soft belly until she gasps.
“Need to have you,” I mumble, my hands dropping down to trace her shoulders, palming her tits, the silky fabric of her robe the only thing between me and those nipples that are still hard. Those nipples that taunted me during her entire dance, begging to be sucked and licked and nipped.
I pinch them in my fingers, and she moans more, her hands moving all over my chest, exploring, scratching as if she is trying to get more of me.
She wants more? I’ll give it to her.
I reach under her robe with one hand, sliding it up fast to cup her pussy. I groan when I find it fucking soaked.
“Fuck, Whitney, what are you doing to me? I’m going crazy here. Have to have you.”
Her head drops back with a sharp cry when I thrust two fingers inside her. I couldn’t slow down right now if I had to. I’m so on edge, so desperate for all of her. All my pent-up desire and frustration of having her so close but not being able to actually have her comes raging out of me in fast and furious kisses as I drop my mouth to her long, slender neck. All the while, I plunge into her wet pussy. Over and over and over, loving how she clenches and pulses around my fingers, getting wetter every fucking second.
Fuck, what will it feel like to have that wrapped around my cock? I have to know.
Pushing her robe open until she’s exposed to me again, I lock my lips onto her tits, sucking one and then the other while I fumble with my jeans.
I take my cock in my fist and pump it while I drive her closer and closer to the brink with my fingers. I can feel her tightening, and I bite her nipple lightly
before dropping to my knees, sucking her clit into my mouth while I keep my fingers buried deep inside her.
A scream rips out of her almost immediately, her body twitching and bucking as she comes. Her juices flow out, covering my hand, and I have to have a taste.
I drop my mouth down to where her pussy is convulsing on my hand and lap at her slit while she digs her fingers into my hair, pulling me against her like she can’t get enough of this. Just like me.
When her quaking body finally begins to come down, relaxing against the wall in a boneless heap, I stand and wrap her up in my arms, looking down at her wide-eyed expression of shock and wonder.
“Dax,” she whispers, lifting a hand to my face and touching my lips. “What are we doing?”
I press my begging cock against her. “What I’ve wanted to do for a really fucking long time. What we should have done a long time ago.”
Whitney gasps, looking down at my dick and swallowing hard, her eyes going even wider. She reaches down as if she has to touch it, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
“You like what you see, Whit?”
Her eyes flick up to mine, then back down as she takes my cock in her hand.
I hiss out a breath, watching her the whole time. “You want some of that, baby? Because I really fucking want to be inside that sweet pussy right now.”
Her hand tightens around my shaft, and she looks back up at me and bites her lip. “What if it’s a bad idea?”
I shake my head. “From where I’m standing, I think it’s the best fucking idea I’ve ever had.”
She laughs, the shakes her head seriously. “I can’t do this here. I could lose my job.”
I grind my teeth. “Then put your clothes on. I’m taking you home.”
I watch as she hurries and dresses, and she keeps looking back at me like she wants to jump me right there. Then we’re out the door and headed toward the 6 Train. It can’t get us home fast enough.
