by Claire Kent
What the hell was wrong with her, to get turned on by this kind of conceitedness and effrontery?
She was so overwhelmed with heat and interest that she couldn’t immediately think of anything to say. He didn’t give her a chance to respond anyway. He stood up, straightening his long, hard body with a kind of leisurely grace she wasn’t used to seeing in men.
He gave her one backward smile as he walked away. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”
—
Two hours later Elizabeth was ready to go home.
She’d made it through most of the evening and, aside from the one invigorating conversation with Matt, the night had passed with the same kind of vulgar tedium as her previous visit to the club had.
Matt was wrong about her. There was no way she was ever going to learn to enjoy this kind of entertainment, and she was convinced that was a good thing and not a sign of something lacking in her.
If Matt had come back around, she would have at least had something to think about, but he’d stayed in the back the whole time.
He was humoring her, having a little fun with her, but he didn’t seem particularly interested.
It was probably a good thing. She wasn’t sure what she would even do if she had a male stripper suddenly start pursuing her and wanting to date her.
She could just imagine her mother’s face if she brought him to their fancy dinner on Saturday.
At ten thirty she was going to leave. Surely two and a half hours was long enough to count for the challenge Matt had issued her. One more act and she was out of here.
She wanted to pull her phone out as she waited for the next performance, but Matt’s words from earlier kept her from doing so. She didn’t think she was so insecure she needed to use her phone as a crutch to make sure people didn’t think she was lonely, strange, or pitiful.
She sat in her seat, keeping her posture straight and sipping a second scotch that the same blond waiter had brought over to her.
The liquor was stronger than she was used to drinking, and she could feel it buzzing in her throat and her ears. She decided to stop sipping it, since she didn’t want to have drunk too much to drive home.
One more song and she could leave.
When the room went dark, she let out a breath, relieved to get this over with. She would slip out as soon as it was done. She certainly wasn’t going to search for Matt or act like she wanted to see him again.
He didn’t need the ego boost.
Arrogant bastard.
When she saw the blue spotlight and then the three white searching spotlights roam the room and then land together on the stage, she perked up instinctively.
As she’d suspected from the intro, Matt was performing again.
Like before, he was alone onstage and the music was slow, seductive, unfamiliar, always keeping her on edge, waiting to hear the next note.
Today he was dressed for manual labor, but his clothes weren’t costume-y or exaggerated like the construction-worker routine the guys had worn earlier. Instead of a chair he had a ladder, and she watched with growing fascination as he slowly stripped to the slow beat of the music and used the ladder in a way it was never intended to be used.
She was flushed and tense when he passed the ladder back to a guy behind the stage. Then Matt came down the stairs onto the main floor of the club, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, and the girls were all screaming like banshees.
Elizabeth felt so strange. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, but she couldn’t stand the way the women were pawing him as he passed by.
It felt wrong. Like they shouldn’t be touching him.
Even though she desperately wanted to touch him herself.
He made some initial moves, like he was going to grind against a few different women, but he never actually did so. His reluctance seemed to fuel the excitement of the audience even more.
He was slowly making his way in her direction, and she suddenly wondered if he was heading toward her.
She could barely breathe, desperately wanting him to come to her and desperately afraid that he would.
She was in a strange sort of sensual trance fed by the flickering lights, the loud music, and the erotic motion of Matt’s body when he was finally standing directly in front of her.
She stared up at him, taking a minute to recognize that he was stretching out a hand toward her.
It was an invitation—the same kind of invitation all the other guys used to make sure the woman was willing before they got her to participate in their routines.
She could refuse Matt’s outstretched hand. It was the smart thing to do, considering how she was feeling. And it would certainly be the appropriate response to the smug presumption he’d displayed before.
But instead of refusing she reached a hand out to meet his. He took it in a warm grip and pulled her to her feet.
The women around her were shouting with excitement, urging them on, but Elizabeth wasn’t aware of anything but the smolder in Matt’s gray eyes.
He pressed her back against the edge of the table, moving his body slowly against her, his hips rocking in a leisurely rhythm that was both erotic and graceful.
Her blood was throbbing now in her veins, her vision blurring as her body moved with his—instinctively, shamelessly, without any conscious volition at all.
The heat from his body was burning her, and she felt branded every time his skin brushed lightly against hers. He placed her hands on his shoulders and adjusted her body to spread her thighs, intensifying his motion against her until the audience went wild.
Elizabeth was so turned on she could barely breathe, her pussy clenching every time he pushed against her. She was wearing jeans, and he had on his boxer briefs, but the layers of fabric didn’t seem to matter.
It felt like he was fucking her, and she wanted desperately for him to do so. Her body needed it—needed it in a way she’d never experienced before, like she was partly empty until he was filling her.
Her cheeks were hot and her hands were shaking and her spine was arching toward him eagerly.
As his hips pumped against her, he leaned down and murmured into her ear, “Will you come back on Saturday evening?”
Her body was saying yes. Everything inside her was saying yes. She was dying to experience this again—experience him—and even more.
But she managed to gasp, “I…have plans.”
“Cancel them.”
“I…can’t.”
“Come anyway. Come afterward.”
She was so aroused now her panties were damp, and it felt like her nipples were clenched in a vise. She could see them poking out through her thin shirt as he pulled away.
His eyes were hot and hungry as they crawled over her body, still sprawled bonelessly against the table.
He had to see the effect he’d had on her. It must be obvious to anyone how shamelessly turned on she was by his performance.
“Maybe,” she panted, embarrassed and confused and deeply aroused.
He gave her one more look before the music built toward its climax and he returned to the stage.
Elizabeth managed to sit back down, hoping no one was watching her as she tried to pull herself back together.
She didn’t do this kind of thing. She didn’t get aroused in public by a stripper in a sleazy club.
When the act ended and the audience burst into applause, she got up quietly, leaving a tip for the waiter on the table.
She hurried out, keeping her eyes down so she wouldn’t see if anyone was observing her as she left.
She walked quickly through the parking lot before collapsing into the driver’s seat of her car. She leaned her head back and breathed deeply, telling herself to get a grip.
It was just an act. A performance. It didn’t mean anything.
Her body didn’t know it, though. Her body definitely needed some sort of satisfaction.
Ignoring the pulsing between her legs, she drove out of the lot and started down the street. She got three blocks
down before the throbbing need was too distracting for her to deal with any longer. She pulled into the empty parking lot of a building full of medical offices.
It was dark and there was no one around, and Elizabeth just couldn’t stand it anymore.
She slid one hand under the waistband of her jeans and into her panties so she could rub her swollen clit. She let out a loud breath and closed her eyes as the pressure eased some of the ache.
She imagined Matt moving against her, the way he had before. She imagined him doing it, both of them without clothes. She imagined his cock inside her, thrusting with that same leisurely, erotic rhythm, building her up until she could finally, finally let go.
She rubbed herself hard until an orgasm broke, fast and intense. She moaned out loud as the pleasure washed over her. She couldn’t seem to stop with the first rush of satiation, so she kept rubbing herself until another climax followed, making breathless sounds in her silent car, keeping her eyes closed to block out the setting.
She could occasionally hear cars pass by on the road and wondered what the drivers would think if they could see her, so horny and desperate she had to get herself off in her car. She couldn’t even make it home first.
Her body started to shake as she kept massaging herself, imagining Matt watching her, knowing his performance had turned her on so much. She was grunting softly as she worked herself up to one more orgasm and let out a little cry of satisfaction when it finally broke.
She sat in the seat for a few minutes afterward, gasping and letting her body relax, her hand still in her pants. She felt better. Warm and mostly sated, although there was still a lingering tension in her gut that hadn’t been filled.
Mostly she just wondered what was happening to her.
This wasn’t her. She wasn’t like this. She’d never been this kind of woman.
And she wasn’t sure if she liked the change or not.
Chapter 3
At seven o’clock on Saturday evening Elizabeth was sipping champagne and smiling politely at one of her father’s friends—an elderly man who’d been a state senator for years and was now completely obsessed with his horses.
Elizabeth didn’t give a crap about who he was planning to breed his new mare with or the condition of equine teeth, but she made enough murmuring noises of assent and interest that he believed she was an excellent conversationalist.
She’d been going to her parents’ get-togethers like this since she was sixteen, when her mother had decided she wouldn’t be an embarrassment to them. She knew how to talk, how to hold herself, and how to dress. She wore a new designer sheath dress in a rich blue with pearls and gorgeous nude heels.
Occasionally her mother would glance over in her direction and smile, so Elizabeth knew she was putting on a good performance.
But she was tired of this. She didn’t really want to be here. She was an adult now and shouldn’t have to come when her parents beckoned.
Her father would be disappointed if she didn’t, though, and her mother…It just wasn’t worth the effort of putting up a fight.
She was nodding and smiling as her conversational partner waxed eloquent on the value of sperm from one of his stallions when she heard her father’s booming laughter from behind her.
She turned to look, glad to see that he was having a good time. Her dad worked really hard—in the past as a state prosecutor and then as the attorney general of Massachusetts. He’d always made an effort to spend time with her when she was growing up, but sometimes she’d gone weeks without seeing him when he’d been really busy or stressed.
Since he’d left the job as attorney general he should have had more downtime, but he continued to be involved in politics, and he seemed just as busy now as he ever had.
He was tall and still fit, with silver hair and a distinguished appearance she’d always been proud of. She heard someone say behind her, “Please tell me you’re going to run this time around. This is the election when we really need you.”
For years he’d been hemming and hawing about running for governor, and she used to hope he would do it because she liked the idea of being the governor’s daughter.
Now, however, she hoped he wouldn’t. It would be even more pressure and work for him, and she really didn’t want him to take all that on.
He was sixty-four. Surely he could look toward retirement and take life a little slower now.
Her father must have seen her looking back at him because he smiled and stretched out a hand toward her, bringing both her and the elderly horse lover into his conversation with the smooth diplomacy that had always characterized him.
“I’m thinking about it,” he said, answering the earlier comment about running for governor, “but in the meantime I’m trying to convince Elizabeth here to think about politics.”
He’d mentioned that to her a couple of times, and she’d given noncommittal answers each time. She hated the idea of going into politics. She would strongly dislike being onstage like that—and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t be any good at it. But there was no sense in disappointing her father with a blunt refusal, so she’d never given him one.
The group of guests all seemed to think this was a wonderful idea, and they started to quiz her on possible roles she could play in politics or public office. She handled the questions as best she could, but she felt uncomfortable and a little trapped.
She liked art therapy. She loved working with kids. She had no ambitions or desires to move out of her current career path.
When her mother announced that dinner was ready and they should all move toward the dining room, Elizabeth released a sigh of relief at no longer being on the spot.
Her father lingered, smiling at her. “You don’t mind my tossing out the idea, do you?”
“Of course not,” she said with a smile. “It’s nice that you think I’d have something to offer, although I’m not sure politics is really my thing.”
“It is your thing—it’s in your blood. No one is more articulate and responsible and ethical than you are. I always wished you’d majored in political science or gone to law school.”
“I know, but I prefer art and working with kids.”
“That’s okay. You can use it.” He looked at her with a gentle trust that always made her feel a little guilty, like she could never quite live up to his expectations of her. “It’s all good experience. People hold public office from all different backgrounds.”
“I’ll think about it, but it’s early yet. I’m just twenty-six.”
“I know, sweetheart.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “And I couldn’t be prouder of you. But time passes quickly. It’s never too early to think about where you want to be ten years from now.”
She knew where she wanted to be ten years from now. She wanted a life something like Katie’s, with an attractive, successful husband, a couple of adorable children, and a job she enjoyed.
For some reason the vision of that future made her think about Matt, and the way he’d pinned her down exactly in her striving for that picture-perfect life.
Then she thought about the way she’d let him hump her against the table at the club two days ago and how turned on she’d been by him.
She flushed hotly, standing in her parents’ house and thinking about how she’d behaved on Thursday night.
Before she could clear her mind, her mother appeared, evidently coming to round up the stragglers.
Her mother had auburn hair like Elizabeth’s—silvered now and pulled into an elegant French twist—and she held herself with the same kind of poise. She wore a green silk suit that was as wrinkle-free as everything else she ever wore.
“Powder your face before you come in, dear,” she murmured to Elizabeth. “Your freckles are showing.”
Elizabeth had some light freckles that dusted her nose and cheekbones, and it felt like she’d spent half her life trying to hide them, per her mother’s instructions.
She suddenly didn’t want to powder her nose
. She didn’t think the freckles made her look bad. Sometimes she kind of liked them.
“Don’t be long,” her mother added, turning to walk with her husband into the dining room.
Elizabeth was left alone with the responsibility of powdering away her freckles.
She looked in the mirror at her clear complexion, glowing skin, red-brown hair that fell in smooth waves to her shoulders, and blue eyes that looked even bluer because of her dress.
She wondered what Matt saw when he looked at her.
She wondered if he was expecting to see her at the club tonight.
She wondered if he liked her freckles.
She paused for a minute, but she didn’t pull out her compact, and she walked into the dining room with an unpowdered nose.
—
A little more than two hours later she was making her way into the club.
It was late—going on ten—and the place was packed.
She still wore her new dress and heels, and she knew she was overdressed for this particular venue, but she’d been afraid that going home and changing first would make her too late to come tonight at all.
She’d been issued a challenge, and something inside her was compelling her to keep it.
She stood in the back as five guys did a big military number on the stage. She searched the room for an empty seat—or maybe for Matt—and she didn’t see either one.
So she felt awkward and out of place as she watched the performance, relieved that at least she wasn’t in the middle of the crowd, at risk of being humped by one of the guys.
She started to pull out her phone but stopped herself when she remembered Matt’s comments about using it as a crutch.
She didn’t need a crutch. She was perfectly confident in who she was.
She didn’t need to feel like she fit in here to be who she wanted to be.
“You made it,” a voice came from behind her.
She turned to see Matt, who must have just come in from outside. He wore his normal uniform of jeans and T-shirt, and he looked a little more unshaven than normal.
“Evidently,” she said with a little smile.
His eyes moved up and down her body, missing no detail of her appearance. “Did you come from a date?”
