Down & Dirty: Dawg (Dirty Angels MC Book 7)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Em...” She hesitated. Then with a look of understanding, she began again, “Em... Ember!”

  Ember. Fitting for that flame inside her. “Better. Can’t have a kiddie-garden teacher named Emma on my fuckin’ stage.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re going to give me a shot?”

  Fuck. His big dumb ass was going to regret this. “Gonna give you an audition. Nothin’ more ‘til I see what you can do.”

  Relief crossed her face, and it made him shake his head.

  He was such a fucking sucker.

  He released her wrist. “Got an outfit you need to change into?” He jerked his chin toward the back of the club. “Dressin’ room’s in the back.”

  She glanced down at what she was wearing again. As if she didn’t find anything wrong with that shit she covered herself up with from neck to toe. She could be going door to door, preaching religious shit and handing out pamphlets, dressed like that.

  “I’m wearing it.”

  His lips twitched. Sure she was. “Got you. Wearin’ it underneath that getup.”

  Her mouth opened, then it snapped shut. Right.

  “I-I have to dance for my audition?”

  His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “No, you’re gonna hand me your fuckin’ resume an’ I’m gonna look it over... Of fuckin’ course you gotta dance. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He turned on his heels and ducked behind the bar.

  Normally on busy nights he had a DJ playing. During the day and on slow nights, he just used the high-tech sound system that was wired throughout the club. Each VIP room had their own smaller system, so the girls could pick whatever music they wanted for private dances. Then there was also a room off the main stage area for private parties, VIPs and special traveling entertainment troupes. It was a smaller version of the main club area, with its own stage and a bar.

  He had to admit that his club was the shit and the nicest in the greater Pittsburgh area, if he said so himself.

  He glanced at the woman who remained frozen in place near the entrance. “What music?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you wanna dance to?”

  She blinked at him.

  “Ah, fuck. You don’t have a routine ready an’ a song picked out?” Of course not. All the red flags in his head were whipping in the wind.

  “Should I have?”

  This whole thing was going to be a disaster. He should just chase her out of there and stop wasting both of their time.

  But he couldn’t. He was dying to see what was underneath that virgin-like outfit of hers. If she had potential, he could get one of his seasoned dancers to give her a few pointers.

  Yep, that’s what he told himself. Had nothing to do with him wanting to check her out for himself. Fuck no. She didn’t make him curious at all.

  “Rock? Country? R&B? What?” he prodded.

  When she didn’t answer, he scrolled through his music and found a song that worked well to get his girls moving on stage. He set up the track and, grabbing the remote, headed down the long, narrow stage that was dead center in the main club area. It had a pole, from stage to ceiling, on each end and the bar was attached to the end closest to the entrance.

  He settled his bulk into one of the low, vinyl club chairs that sat directly in front of one of the poles. He wanted a good seat and a very clear view.

  He glanced her way. “Need help gettin’ up on stage?” He jerked his chin toward the steps. “Stairs are down on this end.”

  She unfroze herself, shook her head and moved toward the back of the club where the three steps led to the lighted stage.

  “Might wanna take those things off your fuckin’ feet first,” he suggested. He wasn’t sure what they were called, but they were the most unsexy shoes he’d ever seen on a woman. Besides Crocs. Those gave him limp dick. Her shoes were a close second. Some kind of brown pleather shit.

  She got to the end of the stage, bent over to unstrap her shoes, then kicked them off. Straightening her spine, she blew out a breath and climbed onto the stage.

  Dawg leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lemme know when you’re ready, Ember. I’ll hit the music.”

  She nodded and eyeballed the pole.

  “Poles are clean,” he reassured her. “Cleaning crew just left ‘bout an hour ago.”

  With a little nod, she wrapped a hand around it. He really wanted her to fist that hot little hand around his dick instead.

  He sighed. “Gotta plan, right?”

  Her gaze dropped to him. “Yes. Get naked.”

  Well, damn. “Normally gotta keep your bottoms on. Ain’t legal to take ‘em off when we’re open to the public. But since the club’s closed, leavin’ that up to you. Sometimes I give private parties for my VIPs an’ the girls go totally naked. They really rake in the tips those nights.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that,” Dawg said and then snorted, shaking his head.

  “Okay,” she said softly, staring up at the pole.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Okay, what?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Dawg pinned his lips together. “Sure?”

  She nodded, a determined look on her face.

  Dawg shrugged and hit play on the remote. Ginuwine’s Pony began to blast through the hidden speakers.

  Her body jerked at the sound. “What’s this?”

  “Music. Just go with it.”

  She bit her bottom lip again, and that went straight to his dick.

  Then she began to move...

  He was hoping he’d been wrong, and she was a secret little slut with hot moves that would make him want to bust a nut. But fuck no, she wasn’t. Her hips moved in a wooden circular motion as she held a death grip onto the pole with one hand.

  Dawg groaned. This was going to be worse than he thought. As she tried to match the rhythm of the song, she threw her head back and closed her eyes, letting the music move through her.

  Dawg sat forward in his chair. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad...

  She reached up to pull her hair clip out, and her golden hair cascaded down around her.

  Holy fuck.

  All that blonde hair and her natural looks...

  He lost his breath as she continued to shift around awkwardly but reached for the top button of her blouse. Which was promising...

  With visibly shaking hands, she worked the buttons out of their holes one by one, and as the fabric gaped, he caught glimpses of a black bra underneath.

  He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat and he willed her fingers to move faster.

  The little he saw was no grandma panty set. Fuck no, it wasn’t. He swore he got a glimpse of see-through lace.

  She stopped unbuttoning when she got to her waist and reached around to the back of her skirt. Suddenly it shifted when it became loose and she caught his gaze as she began to push it down her hips.

  The “suggestive” wink she gave him looked more like an eye twitch.

  Even though this woman had the seduction skills of an eighty-year-old virgin, Dawg’s breath caught.

  She stopped moving around the stage as she rolled the long skirt down her thighs. But he couldn’t see shit since her baggy blouse covered the V of her legs. He wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had a huge untrimmed bush trying to escape her panties.

  Finally, the skirt dropped to her feet and she stepped out of it, almost tripping herself. He jerked forward as if he could catch her, but she caught her own balance and then stood there unsure, wearing just her blouse partially unbuttoned.

  His eyes slid from her face down to her legs. What the fuck?

  She was wearing thigh-high stockings!

  Maybe she wasn’t lying about wearing an “outfit” under her conservative clothing.

  But she just stood there, staring at him!

  “You done?”

  She shook her head. And, fuck him, she bit that bottom lip of hers again. That was
going to be her signature move. She could do some sort of naughty teacher routine, and bite her bottom lip, while giving his customers an I-need-to-be-fucked look.

  They’d be throwing twenties at her. Fuck, maybe even fifties.

  She had no idea just how dick-hardening sexy she appeared with all that blonde hair loose, wearing thigh-highs and that half-open blouse. Like her brains had just been fucked out, and she was in a sex coma.

  Jesus. He needed to see the rest of her. But not up on that stage. That was too impersonal, and he wanted to get so much more personal.

  “Maybe that big stage’s makin’ you nervous. How ‘bout makin’ this dance a little more personal.”

  Her brows furrowed. “How?”

  “Gotta show me somethin’. Some kinda skill. Right now, you ain’t showin’ me nothin’ I wanna see.”

  For the most part anyway. Nothing a strip club manager would want to see. Dawg, the man? Fuck yeah. That was different.

  He pushed to his feet and came around to the steps, holding out his hand. She stayed where she was on the stage, her skirt pooled at her feet, her blouse hanging crooked. She stared at his hand as if it was going to bite her.

  “All my girls gotta do private dances... you know, lap dances. Get up close an’ personal with my customers. Makes both of us some extra scratch. Better than the tips you’ll make on stage. The stage is just used to entice these fuckers into the VIP rooms. Got me? It’s the tease. Gotta get ‘em droolin’ for you, get ‘em rock hard. Make ‘em think they got a shot with you. They pay big money for that personal time. That’s where you make most of your scratch. You act like they’re special to you, not just any regular Joe, an’ they’ll become regulars. The regulars are the best. They’ll even ask you out. You always say no, got me? No datin’ the customers. No fuckin’ ‘em, either.”

  “Am I hired?” she asked, surprise clearly in her voice.

  No shit. He was just as surprised that he was wasting time on this woman who had no fucking clue what she was getting herself into.

  “Nope. Ain’t hirin’ you yet. Gotta convince me to. Just like you gotta convince the customers to throw those dollar bills on that stage. Right now, you’ve only convinced me that you’re lost.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That you don’t belong here. This ain’t for you.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I am. I’m lost.”

  Well, damn. He hadn’t expected for her to agree.

  Dawg dragged a hand through his hair that needed a damn cut and shook his head. “Woman, you’re crazy for bein’ here. This ain’t you. Anyone can see it.”

  “No. I’m not crazy. I’m... I’m desperate. I need this... this job.”

  “Strippin’ ain’t a job, it’s a career.” One that could be lucrative for the right woman. Only she wasn’t the right woman.

  “What do I need to do to get this job?”

  The desperation in her voice, in her eyes, killed him, twisted his gut.

  “Like I said. Money’s in the lap dance. Gotta sell yourself. Right now, you ain’t sellin’ nothin’ ‘cept that you’re an uptight teacher up there. C’mon down.” He held out his hand again. She grabbed her skirt and approached the end of the stage, but avoided his assistance. She took two steps down until her gaze was level with his.

  “I need this,” she whispered.

  He wanted to close his eyes and savor that honeyed voice of hers. But he didn’t. He had to remind himself that this was business. “Why?”

  “I-I have to make a lot of money and make it fast.” The desperation was thick in her voice. And that bugged him.

  “Why?”

  Instead of answering him, she shook her head.

  “Girls ain’t got no secrets from me.”

  “So you think.”

  Damn. She was probably right. But when they were down on their luck, and they needed help, he was always there for them. He took care of his girls, made sure they didn’t want for anything, and in turn, they took care of him. They came to work with a good attitude, and that spilled out on stage.

  Happy strippers made the club money, ones with problems didn’t. It was difficult to shake off a bad attitude when you were in the spotlight swinging around a pole only wearing a thong. There was nothing to hide up there.

  He knew it. The clientele knew it. So he kept his girls happy.

  “I’m going to ask again. What do I need to do to get this job?”

  Chapter Two

  Dawg sat in a wood chair at the center of one of the private VIP rooms. Though the room had a couch—that he had cleaned on a regular basis—he preferred the chair. Why? Because the dancer had three-sixty access to him.

  In a VIP room, the dancer could touch her customer. She could take it as far as she wanted to go, except for accepting payment for sex. Again, he wasn’t putting up with that bullshit, because if the club got shut down, the MC would lose a huge portion of their income. And he had to do his part in keeping the DAMC coffers full.

  He had taken Emma to the Red room, rightly named since everything in it was the color of blood and his was certainly pumping right now. His pulse was also thumping in his neck and his dick throbbing.

  Emma stood in front of him, her fingers unfastening the rest of the buttons on her blouse, her hips swaying to another Ginuwine song that he had turned on when they first entered the room.

  She seemed a little more comfortable in here, but not by much. He figured the large stage had been a bit too intimidating for this woman, who so clearly lost her fucking way.

  “Woman, gotta act like I just paid you a Benjamin for two songs. You better make it worth my hard-earned money.”

  She glanced up from fiddling with her buttons. “Okay,” she said softly, tossing her head to get her long, loose hair out of her face.

  Fuck. He needed to just stop all this right here and now. He needed for her to pull that long, ugly skirt back on and then he needed to push her back out of the front door and lock it behind her.

  That’s what he needed to do.

  He was just about to tell her all that when the last button popped free and her blouse gaped open. Then she started to move.

  Suddenly she was channeling her inner Demi Moore from the movie Striptease. But not nearly as good.

  She walked around him, attempting to strut, and placed a hand on his shoulder, then moved around behind him to push her chest against him.

  What the fuck?

  Her warm breath and her husky voice was suddenly in his ear. “You mean like this?”

  Fuck yeah, like that.

  He’d seen a lot of fucking lap dances, and hell, he’d done hundreds of auditions, so he’d received them himself. They were simply a part of the job. On a rare occasion, his body would react. But his reaction to this woman...

  Fuck.

  Like nothing he ever had before during a simple audition. And she wasn’t even good at it. That was the fucked up part. She completely bombed when it came to doing a lap dance. Just like she had done on the big stage.

  When she finished circling him, her blouse was hanging off her shoulders, but she was holding the fabric up to her tits, fucking hiding them.

  That wouldn’t do at all.

  When he opened his mouth to tell her that, she slipped the blouse lower, and the black lace of her bra became visible.

  His head jerked back.

  When she dropped the blouse to her feet, and he saw her panties, he just about shot out of the chair.

  Those were just as lacy. He was right; this was no lingerie set from a discount bargain barn that grandma shopped at.

  Fuck no.

  He not only lost all the oxygen in his lungs, but the remaining blood in his brain was now pooled in his dick.

  The woman was hiding a hot little body on her under those ugly-ass clothes.

  Fuck. And those tits...

  “Wasn’t expectin’ that,” he murmured before he could stop himself.

  She gave h
im a small smile. “I might be a kindergarten teacher, but I’m not dead.”

  Fuck. His dick wasn’t dead, either. Nope, it was fucking telling him just how alive he was.

  When she reached back to unhook her bra, he jumped up from his chair and barked, “No!”

  She jerked back at his shout and dropped her hands.

  “No, that’s enough. Fuck!” He raked his hand through his hair and dropped his gaze to his boots as he tried to slow his racing heart.

  There was nothing he wanted more than to sit back on that chair, pull her into his lap and have her ride him until his nuts were completely empty.

  But he couldn’t do that.

  She needed to get the fuck out of his club.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Yeah, you came to the wrong place.” He shook his head, trying to clear his lecherous thoughts. She’d probably run screaming if she knew just how much he was struggling to keep his hands off her. “You gotta go. Get your shit an’ get the fuck out.”

  Her sweet, little mouth gaped open. “Why? What did I do?”

  Scrambled my brain and made my dick harder than steel. “Nothin’. You didn’t do nothin’. You gotta go.”

  “Mr. Dawson.”

  “Dawg!” he corrected her, louder than necessary.

  “Mr. Dawg...”

  “Just Dawg! Fuckin’ goddamn it.”

  “Dawg. I really need this. Please.”

  He shook his head, avoiding her pleading eyes. “No. No. Fuck no.”

  “I promise to get better. I’ll work on my moves. I’ll—”

  He shook his head even harder. “No.”

  “Please!”

  She dropped to her knees at his feet and grabbed his thighs, scaring the shit out of him. He jumped back. What the fuck was she doing?

  She turned her face up, her light blue eyes brimming with tears, her ivory skin now sheet white. “Please,” she begged again. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I just... I—”

  He grabbed her elbows and hauled her to her feet. “What the fuck you doin’? You offerin’ me sex for this job?”

  Her eyes widened. “No! No! I didn’t mean to—” A tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I—”

  He grabbed her upper arms and gave her a little shake. “You gotta be straight with me. What the fuck’s goin’ on?”