Got Mine (Men of Trance Book 1)

by Nicole Loufas

  Leeyan’s cheeks flare, and she stands to leave the room. Giovanni stops her on his way in.

  “She’s just playing,” he tells Leeyan. She nods and leans on his shoulder. He looks at me and shrugs.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I tell Sylvie. “They’re playing; it doesn’t mean anything.”

  My words don’t comfort her the way Giovanni’s did with Leeyan. Why is Giovanni comforting her? More importantly, why is it working?

  I wait until we’re in the car to ask Giovanni what is going on between him and Leeyan. They didn’t really get along before she left for the army. Now he has a key to her apartment. It’s weird on so many levels.

  “Nothing.” He tries to play it off, but I know him. He doesn’t comfort women. Not with words.

  “I saw you walk into her apartment earlier.”

  He kind of smiles like he’s been caught. “It isn’t what you think. She needed to talk one night, and we kind of became friends.”

  “What did you guys talk about?” I air quote talk because I know Giovanni; he doesn’t talk.

  “You.” He pulls off the freeway and loops around into downtown San Francisco. “She wanted to know what kind of life you’ve had since she’s been gone. She feels horrible about leaving.”

  I have to give it to Leeyan. It takes a special kind of woman to break through Giovanni’s wall. She has him convinced she cares about Lulu and me. Leeyan only cares about herself. This isn’t about making Lulu happy; she’s here because she feels like a bad mother.

  Leeyan is an infection. She gets under your skin, into your blood, and takes control of your heart. When she loves you, there isn’t a better feeling in the world. If Leeyan had the mental capacity to put others before her needs, there would be nothing to worry about. We’re talking about a woman who left her daughter for three years and didn’t look back. People have wondered why I never asked Leeyan to help with Lulu. I told them I didn’t need her. The truth is; she never offered. In all the months she was gone, she never sent a dime. Not even a birthday present or a Christmas card. She probably emailed me a dozen times and called half as often. Now she shows up out of the blue, and she can leave again, just as fast.

  Giovanni pulls to a stop in front of a restaurant on Sutter Street, and I text the client to tell her I’m here.

  “Be careful, Gio,” I warn him as I open the door. “Leeyan only cares about Leeyan.”

  “I’m good, bro.” Giovanni holds his fist out, and I bump it. “Hit me up later if you need a ride.”

  I wait on the sidewalk for the client. I can’t believe I’m here. I should be home with Sylvie, eating cold pasta and watching Disney movies. This job wasn’t supposed to take over my life.

  Even if I wanted to quit, I can’t afford it. I’ll never find a job that pays like this one. If I want to send Lulu to the Elite Institute, I have no choice.

  “Hey handsome,” a familiar voice says.

  I turn and find Rachel in the same red pencil skirt and white button-down blouse she wore the first night I danced for her.

  “What are you doing here?” I step forward and kiss her cheek. Greeting her this way is part of the job. We have to give the illusion of familiarity. Although with Rachel, it isn’t fake.

  “I hired you.” She laughs her soft womanly laugh.

  “You’re the cuddler?” I confirm.

  “I just like to fuck with Rico. Come on; they’re waiting.”

  They?

  Rachel leads me to the back of the restaurant, down a flight of stairs, into a private wine cellar. Laughter echoes into the hall as she opens the door. Women fill every seat of the wooden table in the center of the room.

  “What is this?” I whisper to Rachel. I’ve never done a party by myself. I went to a thirtieth birthday gig with Dain, but the party was canceled when the woman’s husband called to say he was watching us on the security cameras. Video is a deal breaker. We allow pictures after the show, but never during.

  “I wanted to show you off to some friends,” she says like it’s no big deal. Like I’m a new pair of shoes or a handbag.

  Before I can protest; a woman accosts us from the other side of the room. “Rachel didn’t do you justice.” She holds her hand out as she moves closer. “I’m Christina.”

  I kiss her hand and play my role. “I’m Sway.”

  “More like swoon,” another woman says.

  “Let me take your jacket.” Rachel pulls the coat off my shoulders and peeks at the tag. “Gucci.”

  The women make little sounds of approval.

  I want to kill her.

  This was supposed to be an easy job. Dinner, drinks, maybe a little cuddling. Not performing for a room full of dragon ladies. It helps that they’re all professional, well-groomed women. Then again, it’s intimidating as fuck.

  “Do you have a stylist?” Someone asks. She looks like a stylist.

  I sit at the end of the table, between Rachel and Christina. “A friend of mine gives me tips.” Rachel offers me a glass of white wine. I point to the red.

  “Is he gay?” Christina chirps. She’s on the verge of sloppy drunk. I need to be on her level.

  I take a large sip of my wine. “No.”

  “Well, hell, then call him up and get him over here,” Christina suggests. Everyone at the table laughs.

  “Believe me; Sway is all we need for tonight.” Rachel places her hand on my leg under the table. “Maybe we can even persuade him to dance later.” She squeezes my knee, and I jump slightly.

  “You’re joking, right?” I whisper.

  She just winks and pours another glass of wine.

  We eat and drink for a little over two hours. The women love my stories. Someone finds my MMA routine on YouTube, and they gather around her phone to watch it.

  “You have to do it for us,” Christina insists.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug like I’m embarrassed, but I’m just drunk enough to consider a private performance.

  While Christina is trying to rally the women into convincing me to dance, Sienna, the one on the end that asked about my stylist, walks over and sits beside me.

  “I have to get a selfie,” she insists.

  She leans her back into my chest and holds her camera up.

  “Say cheese.”

  I lean over her shoulder and get a whiff of her perfume. It’s my favorite smell in the world. It’s Sylvie’s smell. I think of her, home with the kids.

  “Thanks.” Sienna kisses my cheek and snaps another picture.

  “Act your age,” Christina chastises her. Sienna sticks her tongue and returns to her seat.

  I check my watch; it’s past ten. Technically, I’m off the clock. I pull out my phone to text Rico and contemplate texting Sylvie to tell her I’ll be home soon. As I do, Christina slaps a stack of money on the table in front of me.

  “Put that phone away; we have business to discuss.”

  I turn off my phone and look at the money. When I say stack, I mean stack.

  “One dance and this is yours.”

  I lift the money off the table and thumb through the bills.

  “Two thousand one hundred and seventy-five dollars,” Christina confirms.

  “For once dance?”

  “The MMA dance,” Sienna shouts.

  That’s a no-brainer. I don’t even need to take all my clothes off. “Done.” I stand up and move my chair back.

  “No, no, no.” Rachel stops me. “Not that fast.”

  “Come on, Rachel,” Sienna pleads.

  I appreciate Rachel looking out for me. I wonder if she’s jealous. I give her my special smile. “It’s just one dance.”

  Rachel eyes me for a moment. There is something sinister in her smile. “You really think we’re that easy, Sway?” She walks around the table, moving chairs against the wall. “If you want that stack, there are a few tweaks you’ll have to make to your routine.”

  “Tweaks?”

  “First, you dance to one song, but not one time. We’
ll play it on a loop until we’re done.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Second, for that kind of money, we expect a little more effort on your part.” Rachel stops behind Christina’s chair. “We want the towel routine.”

  Christina pulls a towel from under the table and sets it over the money.

  “I don’t do towels.”

  She holds the towel in one hand and the money in the other. “It’s the towel or nothing.”

  The towel routine is only done at the club when we have a private party, mainly because we’re fully nude. There’s a special room in the back that women rent out just for this routine. It isn’t something any of the guys particularly enjoy. Even Rico gets antsy when he does it, and he’s packing serious meat.

  “We need an answer.” Christina taps her finger on the table. I wonder if she’s a lawyer. She has the judgmental glare of a lawyer or cop.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  I excuse myself to the bathroom under the guise of preparing for the routine. In actuality, I’m contemplating my situation. Even Sylvie would tell me to quit being a pussy and go for it. That’s a lot of money.

  I grab my crotch and see if there’s any life down there. I fucked Sylvie before I left; he’s satisfied and a little drunk. Limp, drunk dick is no fun. Luckily, I did some maintenance grooming yesterday. I unbutton my shirt and inspect. It isn’t great, but smooth enough. A guy walks into the bathroom as I’m feeling up my chest. He clears his throat and ducks into a stall. I leave before he comes out.

  “What’s the verdict?” Christina asks when I return. “Did you talk yourself out of it?”

  I reply by closing the door and placing a chair under the handle so it can’t be opened from the outside. “Let’s do this.”

  The women start moving around in excitement. The ladies sit down in the chairs Rachel lined along the wall. Christina plugs her iPhone into a small speaker on the table.

  “Where did that come from?” I ask.

  “Sienna came prepared,” Christina boasts.

  They planned this. Every second of my time here has been carefully calculated. They feed me, get me a little drunk, then spring the dance on me. Pure evil.

  The lighting in the room is already dim; since we’re in a wine cellar, there are no windows. I just have to worry about bus boys and waiters. I check the door one more time.

  “Don’t worry,” Rachel says. “I told them we’d let them know if we needed anything.” She moves to the other side of the room and sits alone.

  “You’re not going to watch?”

  She smiles and crosses her legs.

  “I don’t like to share.” Her foot bounces inside her stiletto. I watch her brown heel dangle on her toes, and the room goes quiet.

  “Maybe we can schedule a private for later,” she suggests, and I no longer have to worry about having a limp dick.

  I would never fuck Rachel, but the idea of dancing for her turns me on. Even after all the humiliation she’s put me through, that woman just does it for me. You always carry a special place for your first.

  “Come on!” a woman yells. “I want to see what I’m paying for!”

  My song comes on over the speaker, and I’m in work mode. I smile down at Rachel and run my hand across her cheek.

  “Later.” I wink. Mostly it’s for show.

  Mostly.

  Her foot stops moving and her lips part as I turn and walk away. I want her to want me. It’s our sadistic game.

  I stroll past the table and consider using it as a stage, but it’s full of glasses and salad plates. Having a crouton stuck to my ass isn’t sexy. I scan the line of women waiting for me to get naked. Usually, I focus on one, but this situation is highly unusual. I decide to work my way down the line.

  I move from woman to woman, undressing as I go. When I’m in my boxer briefs, I retrieve the towel from the table. This routine is typically done with whipped cream. The dancer is supposed to spray it on himself then rub the woman’s face in it. Rico sprays it just above his dick. There have only been a few times when someone tried to give him a blowjob. Most women just take the whipped cream in the face and go back to their seats. I don’t think this is one of those times.

  I’m not surprised when the towel fits my waist perfectly. These women are fucking prepared. I search the table for something I can use in place of the whipped cream.

  Wine is too thin. Coffee creamer might work. I find a little silver dish filled with thick white cream. I dip my finger in it, ranch. I catch Rachel’s eye, and we laugh.

  Fuck it.

  I slide my underwear off as I hold the towel in place. Cheers come from behind me. My song is on a loop, but this calls for something slower. I pick up Christina’s iPhone and find lucky number seven in her music library. I hit play and look at Rachel. She makes a sad face. Our song, she mouths. I shrug and turn back to the ladies.

  “Who’s first?”

  Christina and Sienna raise their hands, and the other ladies laugh. I point to Sienna and motion for her to come to me. She rises from her chair and walks over, stopping a foot away. I hold out my hand, and she takes it. I should get her a chair, but fuck that.

  I move to the music, and she follows. We dance a few seconds then I move around her. I bend her over and bounce against her ass a few times. I don’t do it to feel good; it makes the ladies laugh and humiliates my prey. Now she knows how vulnerable I feel.

  I dip my finger in the ranch and place it on her lips. She licks the tip of my finger, and I pretend it feels good. Sienna is facing me; I’m facing the wall of women. I place my hand on the crown of Sienna’s head and press slightly. She hesitates, then lowers to her knees. Christina is out of her chair like she’s rooting at a football game. If she’s this wild now, I’m a little worried about taming her later.

  I get a good grip on the towel and hold the seam on my right side. I don’t want it flopping open at any point.

  I dip a spoon in the ranch then pull the towel away from my body, and let the dressing drizzle down my stomach. It runs through the creases of my abs, past my shaft, and under to my balls. Let me tell you, cold liquid dripping off your balls doesn’t feel sexy.

  I place the spoon on the table as ranch runs down my inner thigh. I grind my crotch in Sienna’s face a few times to the music, then I open one side of the towel and wrap it around her head. Sienna doesn’t move the inner towel; it remains between her face and my dick. I look at the wall and find the women in utter shock. Even Christina has quieted down. My facial expressions sell the illusion that Sienna is blowing me. When I realize the women are more horrified than intrigued, I step back and help Sienna off her knees. She gives me a hug and returns to her seat. I notice a small white smear on her chin. I wipe it with my thumb.

  “It’s just ranch,” she yells when some of the women make a face.

  “Who’s next?” I ask.

  Nobody makes eye contact with me. A few women get up and move to the other side of the room where Rachel is watching.

  Christina gets a text, and the song pauses. She hurries to her phone and unplugs it from the speaker.

  “I have to make a call,” she apologizes.

  I try to stand in a way that doesn’t cause me look like a total fuckwad. It doesn’t work. The ranch I drizzled down my stomach has made its way to my ankle. Some of the women notice. They point to my foot in disgust. None of them look too excited about getting up close and personal with my cool ranch scented balls.

  “I have to pee,” someone announces. Two or three more women claim they have to go too. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all bailed to the bathroom.

  “Maybe we should call it a night,” Christina suggests. She looks at Rachel to confirm.

  “I’m good with that,” Rachel agrees. She walks over and helps me gather my clothes. We don’t make eye contact or small talk.

  I want to go to the bathroom and clean my leg, but I can’t walk out of this room in a towel. I do my best to wipe the ranch off my ball
s and legs, then put on my underwear. As soon as I pull on my jeans, the ladies move the chair and escape to the bathroom. I get dressed quickly and gather the money from the table.

  “I should go,” I tell Rachel.

  “Yeah,” she replies. “Raincheck on the private.”

  “Come to the club this weekend.”

  “I fly out tomorrow.” She looks disappointed. “How often do you make it to New York?”

  “Um, let me see. The last time I was in New York was…never.”

  “I’ll be back in the fall. I’ll look you up at the club.”

  I make a face like I’m not sure if I’ll be working at the club in the fall. I don’t want Rachel to think I’m a lifer. This job was supposed to be temporary.

  “Well, if I don’t see you, have a great life, Sway.” She reaches around my neck and hugs me.

  I pull away first.

  I don’t turn on my phone until I’m out of the restaurant. I have twelve texts and eight missed calls. The first six are from Sylvie; the last two are Leeyan. I call Sylvie first.

  “Theo,” she cries. “Leeyan took Lulu!” Sylvie says more words, but I don’t understand them.

  “Took her where?” I step off the sidewalk and wave down a cab. He pulls over, and I get in. “Eighteenth and Dolores,” I tell him.

  “I don’t know.” Sylvie’s voice trembles. “I was giving Reese a bath, and when I came out, they were gone. I didn’t know what to do. Should I call the police?”

  A lot of scenarios run through my mind. Calling the cops on Leeyan isn’t one of them. “Did you look upstairs?” I’m sure she’s still pissed about Lulu calling Sylvie Mommy earlier.

  “Of course I did!” Sylvie is hysterical. “I knew something like this was going to happen.”

  “Sylvie, calm down. How long have they been gone?”

  “Three hours.” She sniffles. “I think some clothes are missing.” I hear Lulu’s bedroom door squeak. “Yeah, the laundry you left on the dresser is gone, and so is her backpack and Froggy.” Froggy is Lulu’s favorite teddy bear.

  An alarm goes off in my head. “You’re sure Froggy is gone? She had him in the living room earlier.”

  “Froggy is gone, Theo. I’m telling you, something isn’t right.”