Taking It Off

by Claire Kent

  He shouldn’t be doing this. Half dressed and sweaty, fucking a beautiful, intelligent woman in the middle of a crowded club, with his entire staff just on the other side of the door. But he didn’t care.

  Elizabeth and her intoxicating smile and her sweet, soft body and the person she was underneath were the only things that mattered at the moment.

  “God, Matt,” she sobbed, her body shuddering and her hands fumbling desperately over the surface of his desk, knocking over his stack of files. “Make me come. Need to come.”

  He wanted her to come. He hoped he could last long enough. With a rough exclamation, he drove into her faster, gripping the soft flesh of her ass so hard it would probably bruise later on.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes.” She was so wet he could hear sounds of suction as his cock pushed inside her.

  He was fucking her really hard and kind of rough now, but she definitely wanted it. Her fingernails dug into his skin, as if she was trying to get him even deeper, even closer.

  “Fuck, Elizabeth,” he gritted out, his building climax coalescing into an impending explosion. He gave her all he had and finally felt her pussy tighten around him again, her body convulsing as she sobbed out her release.

  Then he was coming. A rush of pure, absolute pleasure blinded him, swallowed him. He felt it sweep through him and spasm out through his cock in lingering waves of sharp pleasure.

  He must have cried out—his throat was dry and rough—but he wasn’t conscious of doing so. His body was spent, emptied, and he collapsed on top of Elizabeth for a moment before he could get it together enough to stand up and pull his softening cock out of her body.

  She was just as drained and exhausted as he was. She was sprawled on the desk, gasping and relaxed, a glow of heat and pleasure radiating off of her. She looked deliciously debauched, her skirt up around her waist and her messy hair sticking to her damp face.

  Matt was sure he looked hot, relaxed, and rumpled too, and he didn’t try to smooth out his appearance except for pulling up and zipping his pants.

  “Oh God, Matt, I don’t think I can move,” she gasped, shifting slightly on the desk.

  He reached down to help her up and, when she buckled, he put his arm around her and helped her over to the love seat. He sat down and she ended up in his lap, leaning against him, her arms around his neck.

  It should have felt crowded and too clingy, but it didn’t.

  He didn’t want to let her go.

  —

  Elizabeth wasn’t sure she could let go of Matt. She was utterly spent from the sex they’d just had, and she felt unusually needy.

  She was relieved when he kept her cradled in his arms and no knock on the door interrupted them this time.

  She felt close to him. Really close. Closer than she could remember feeling with anyone.

  They sat in silence for a long time, and she was feeling really good when she finally let out a long sigh. “When did you get your tattoos?” she asked, giving voice to her thoughts as she gently caressed one of his arms.

  “I was eighteen.”

  “They’re beautiful.” She’d never felt any particular interest in tattoos before, but the inked images were so detailed and aesthetically pleasing they were like art on his body, and she couldn’t help but appreciate the effect. “Why did you choose these images?” she asked, looking over the trees and swirls and bird wings that formed some sort of fantasy scene.

  “No particular reason,” he said a little drily. “There’s no deep meaning. I was a kid. I just wanted something that looked cool, and this is what I ended up with.”

  She smiled. “Well, I approve.”

  “I’m glad.” It sounded like he was smiling too, although she was still focused on his skin.

  After a few minutes she relaxed against his chest again. “I’m not used to being this person,” she admitted.

  “Me either.” He pressed a few kisses against her hair.

  “I figured you’d probably had a lot of hot sex in your life.”

  He made a grunt that sounded vaguely like “Eh.”

  “You mean you haven’t? Aren’t you the one all about letting your body feel good?”

  “I’ve had plenty of sex. Some of it hot. I haven’t found it to be very…fulfilling.”

  She peered up at his face. “Why not?”

  “It’s not hard to make your body feel good. But then afterward…”

  “What?”

  “Afterward nothing has changed.”

  She thought about that. It felt true to her, and she was almost relieved to know that Matt wasn’t really all that different from her, despite how far apart his upbringing and experiences were from hers. Since he was in an open mood, she risked another question. “Why don’t you strip much anymore?”

  He shook his head. “It’s…tiring. I think I’m too old for it.”

  “How did you get started?”

  “Mostly to piss off my dad, actually. And I needed the money. It was easy, once I got in the right frame of mind.”

  “Don’t you feel objectified, with all those women turning you into a sex object?”

  “That’s kind of the point.”

  “But does it ever bother you? Or did it?”

  He stared out at a space in the air. “Sometimes. Onstage it was okay, but I did some private parties when I was younger. Sometimes they…got out of control.”

  She sucked in a breath. “How?”

  “If there are enough drunk women and only one guy…” He shook his head and gave her a little smile. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Nothing traumatic. Just uncomfortable.”

  Her stomach twisted, wondering what it had been like for him back then. He’d started really young. “I’d definitely feel objectified doing that.”

  “The body is an object.”

  She drew her brows together, troubled by the faintly bitter tone. “Maybe. But it’s also a person.”

  “Not onstage.”

  “I saw you as a person,” she told him, speaking only the truth. “That’s why you could turn me on when you danced, when none of the other guys could.”

  He stared at her like he was seeing something new, something that surprised him. Then he smiled, and it took her breath away. He leaned over to kiss her softly.

  She gave him a little smile. “You’re not going to get all cold and rude with me now, are you?”

  He chuckled. “No. I promise. Sorry about last week.”

  “I know. You said you were sorry before. You don’t have to apologize again. I’m sorry I accidentally overheard. It’s over now.” She paused, then had the courage to ask, “Is everything okay with your mother?”

  There was a long pause during which his body tightened. “Yeah.”

  “It didn’t sound like everything was okay.”

  “Yeah. No. I guess it’s not. But it’s normal. Nothing new. It’s no big deal.” He didn’t sound cold and rude, the way he had on Sunday, but he sounded stiff and awkward, like he didn’t want to be talking about it.

  She probably shouldn’t have asked.

  She felt close to him, and she wanted to be closer still. She wanted to know more about him—what made him tick, what he cared about, what made him who he was. They’d started to approach that kind of closeness a few times before, but it had always abruptly returned to something casual. She found herself wanting more than that, even though she should have known better.

  But it was obvious to both of them that there was no future in this relationship—they were just having a good time while they could—so it was probably silly to push for anything deeper.

  She climbed off his lap, feeling sore and kind of disappointed, but she told herself there was no reason for her to feel that way.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, giving her a quick look. “I know I said a few things about it before, but I don’t really like to talk about it.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said with a smile, telling herself that the situation was exactly as it needed to
be. “Everything is fine.”

  It wasn’t really fine. She felt disappointed, like he’d closed a door in her face.

  But she was indulging in fantasies if she hoped for it to ever be different.

  Chapter 8

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Mom,” Elizabeth said, sitting behind the wheel of her car in her driveway. She’d been about to leave for Bare Assets, running just a little late, when her mother called, so she’d taken the call before starting to back out.

  “Don’t be snide,” her mother replied. “Just listen to the whole suggestion.”

  Elizabeth summoned up all of her patience. “Okay. Tell me.”

  “It wouldn’t be for the long term. Just the year of campaigning. If you live with us, it would be more convenient for you to be part of the process, and you wouldn’t be troubled by random reporters and photographers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Reporters aren’t going to be hounding me just because Dad’s running for governor. I’m twenty-six. I don’t really want to move back in with my parents. You’ll be gone traveling around the state a lot anyway, won’t you?”

  “Yes, but your father thinks it would be good experience for you to participate in the campaign.”

  “This isn’t Dad’s idea. It’s from one of his campaign staff, isn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t matter whose idea it is—”

  “I’m not going to move in with you just so some staffer can dictate what I wear, where I go, and what events I attend. I can see why it might be convenient for them, but it’s not at all convenient for me. I have a house—”

  “You’re just renting it, and there’s no reason you need all that space. Think of the money you can save over the next year, and then you can buy—”

  “I don’t want to buy yet. I don’t need to save money. I’m not moving back in with you.”

  “Just think about it for a day or two, and then you can talk to your father about it.”

  Her mother always did that to end arguments. Delay and then pass her on to her dad, whom she always had trouble saying no to.

  “I already know my answer,” Elizabeth said, her voice stretched with frustration. “I’m not going to—”

  “Just think about it. Don’t decide right now. I believe once you think it through you’ll see it’s a good idea for everyone.”

  Her mother hung up before Elizabeth could give another response. She sat in her car, fuming and irrationally upset by the conversation.

  She wasn’t actually sure why she was so upset. The suggestion wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, given the way she’d always prioritized her family in the past. It would save her a year of rent. She could be there to support her father at every stage of the campaign. It would be easier for his campaign staff to use her to their advantage.

  She just didn’t want to do it.

  With a soft groan, she called up Katie and explained what her mother had just suggested.

  Katie’s response wasn’t what she’d expected.

  “Well, it would be a big change, but it’s not necessarily a bad idea.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened at her friend’s thoughtful tone. “What are you talking about? It’s a terrible idea. I’m an adult.”

  “I know. But adults sometimes move back in with their families temporarily.”

  “Usually for financial reasons. I have plenty of money.”

  “Of course. But it seems like they think it would be good for the campaign. And you don’t really need your big house, do you?”

  “No.” Elizabeth had rented the house a few years ago since she wanted to feel more settled and have more space. It had felt like a step closer to the lifestyle she’d always wanted. But obviously she didn’t need three bedrooms, a huge yard, and a two-car garage. “But I like to be independent.”

  “I know. But maybe there would be a different advantage to moving in with your parents that you haven’t thought about. I’ve been wondering if a lot of guys are intimidated by you because you seem like you have everything together with your career and your house and your stability. Guys like to feel as if a woman needs them, like they have something to offer. Men might think they don’t have anything to offer you.”

  “That’s just ridicul—”

  “It’s not ridiculous. I’ve talked to Steve, and he thinks the same thing. You have this aloof, self-sufficient vibe, and it’s scary to guys. Maybe if you were living with your parents this next year, guys wouldn’t feel like you don’t need them.”

  Elizabeth was silent for a moment, trying to take in this idea. Finally she said, “If a guy is so insecure that he’s intimidated by something like that, do I even want him?”

  “Do you want a guy at all? I thought you did.” Katie didn’t sound annoyed or catty. She sounded genuinely confused.

  “I do. But it’s not like I’m going to fall apart if I don’t have one.” As she spoke, Elizabeth realized something. It might have been an obvious revelation, but it was a new one for her. “I want to be me. That’s what I want most. And if I meet a guy who wants that, then good. And if not, then too bad.”

  She thought about Matt, who seemed to really appreciate and desire the real her, the Elizabeth under the surface.

  That was what she wanted. Not a man who saw and reacted to only the superficial parts of who she was.

  “That’s good,” Katie said, still sounding like she was trying to come to terms with this new side of her friend. “That’s really good. I don’t mean to be a downer or anything, but it might mean that you don’t get the kind of man you’ve always been looking for.”

  Elizabeth realized that was true. The picture-perfect life and fairy-tale love she’d always imagined might be as false and artificial as Matt had always claimed. And that was okay. She wasn’t entirely sure she even wanted all that anymore.

  —

  All day Matt had been looking forward to another hot evening with Elizabeth, but she hadn’t yet arrived when the club opened and then there were nothing but problems backstage.

  Brent and Vinnie were supposed to do a new routine to start out the evening, but they’d ended up in a minor car accident that had made them late. The rest of the dancers were already halfway into their elaborate costumes for the big act that was to follow, so there was no one available to fill the first ten-minute block except Matt.

  He wasn’t at all interested in doing a routine—particularly when Elizabeth wasn’t even present yet—but he pulled on the undone suit that was the easiest costume to get his hands on and walked out onto the stage.

  Someone needed to get the evening started, and right now there was no one but him.

  The audience was in fine form tonight. They were loud even before the first spotlight came on. He went through his normal moves, poses, and steps, moving rhythmically to the music, making eyes at all the women he could see, and making love to the chair with slow, seductive rocks of his hips, and the audience ate it up, as usual.

  He gradually took off his clothes until he slid off his trousers and wore nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs. Other dancers wore bikini briefs or thongs, but he was too old to put up with horny women pulling at the fabric to see what was underneath or reaching down for a quick grope. Even the boxers didn’t always prevent that kind of thing, but at least he was more comfortable in them.

  When he was young, he’d gotten a thrill from so many women lusting after him. The thrill had slowly transformed into a weird, heavy feeling in his gut, signaling that this wasn’t what he wanted to be doing.

  He had to fill the entire block of time tonight, so he pulled a couple of women up onto the stage and did some playful lap dances. He even picked one up and lifted her high enough for her legs to go over his shoulders, so he could pretend to be eating her out.

  All of it felt worse than normal. Every time a woman reached out to touch him or tucked cash into his waistband, he wanted to swat her hands away—even though no one was out of line or inappropriate.

  He didn�
�t want them touching him. He wasn’t close to excited about their ogling his body.

  He wished Elizabeth were here so he could focus on her.

  The knot he always felt tightened more and more until he experienced a wave of nausea as he did his final little dry hump.

  He walked backstage with a good haul of cash and that same heaviness in his gut that wouldn’t go away.

  He was too old for this. It wasn’t what he wanted to be doing anymore.

  He wasn’t going to do it again.

  —

  He waited another half hour before Elizabeth finally showed up, and she wasn’t in a good mood when she arrived.

  She’d evidently had an argument with her mother, and it had upset her so much she wasn’t in the mood for sex.

  After his depressing performance earlier that evening, he wasn’t up for anything playful tonight anyway. So, when he realized her mood, he took her into his office where it was private and quiet.

  He didn’t really want to face the crowd. Plus, he wanted to know what was wrong with Elizabeth. He wanted to fix it.

  “It’s just ridiculous,” Elizabeth concluded after pouring out the argument to him in what was clearly an attempt to sound reasonable and not overly emotional. “I’m twenty-six. I’m not going to move back in with my parents just because my dad wants to run for governor.”

  Matt frowned. “I don’t get why she would even want you to. What’s the benefit to her?” Elizabeth had talked openly about her father and his plans for the future, as if Matt already knew her identity. She was acting like he had every right to know, and he couldn’t help but like that she didn’t feel the need to hide the truth from him.

  She didn’t know that he’d already found out as much as he could about her.

  “The benefit is that she could control me better. She and his campaign manager want to be in control of every little detail, and that includes me. They’d tell me what to wear and what to say and who to go out with and what to do and everything. There’s no way.”

  “So you don’t do it. No big deal.” It sounded terrible to Matt—like a nightmare. His mother was bad in almost every way, but at least she’d never tried to micromanage him. He pictured the attractive woman from the newspaper photograph and wondered what it had been like for Elizabeth to be raised by her.