“Mr. Emerson, your table is ready.”
Angelina, the tall, dark haired seductress appeared in front of me, a tray in one hand holding a glass of whiskey. Wiska and Casey both turned and raised a brow; I simply stared right back. So sue me. I came here often enough to be considered a regular.
My table was at the back of the bar. All the tables in this section each had their own small stage and brass pole directly in front of it. I watched as Wiska ran her hand across the platform with a small smile. We all sat; Casey and Wiska on one side, looking far too chummy, cheerful, and foreign—there was no way to miss the fact they were tourists. I sat opposite of them, a local sitting alone, brooding again.
My fucking mood swings were giving me whiplash these days, but I knew they were connected to Wiska. One moment, I was all lusty and hot for her; the next, I was pissed off about my completely overwhelming need for her. It almost felt like a weakness. Maybe it was hormones. Was it possible my mid-life crisis had arrived early? The thought of buying a convertible sports car wasn’t unappealing. I was constantly questioning my life and happiness, and had recently had the urge to change my hair style. Holy fuck! Was I going through male menopause? Was I having the dude version of a cougar crisis? My thoughts made me want to hyperventilate.
Angelina placed the whiskey before me, and I quickly threw it back, squeezing my eyes closed against the sudden burn. No, there was no way I was having a mid-life crisis; after-all, I’d been this way most of my damn life. I’d always wanted a sports car, I was always slightly altering my hair styles, and I was a health conscientious man who liked to keep fit. As for my happiness, it had been on a roller coaster for a long time now. Nothing had changed; apparently, my life was trapped in a constant state of menopausal confusion. Just as long as my virility didn’t abandon me, I’d be fine. My heart beat began to slow, and I opened my eyes to a vision of Angelina, a patient, somewhat amused look on her face.
“Another?” she asked.
I nodded, unable to speak as I shook off my panic attack. Turning, she kept her face neutral as her eyes carefully took in Casey. I realized I would need to tip her well tonight. She didn’t so much as blanch at Casey’s ridiculous outfit.
“I’ll have a pomegranate martini, and the lady will have a virgin Shirley Temple.”
Angelina swiftly disappeared to get their drinks while I watched Wiska and Casey rubberneck the room with big, wide eyes, fascination clearly etched into their faces. While I had become immune to the club’s sophistication and charm, I could understand their wonder as they took everything in.
Dazzling chandeliers hung above the exclusive, private tables at the rear of the club. The crystal lights were dimmed, but still gave off enough illumination to send shards of reflective light over the tables. Separating each private table was a heavy, dark curtain, which carefully hid the private doors to more private booths. They were the rooms where the hellishly expensive and brain melting blow jobs could be discreetly exchanged for an astronomical, yet worthy, price. I knew that more than a blow job was attainable, but not allowed in the club. Agreements to meet on neutral ground could be made in those rooms, though I had never indulged in more than the fabulous bob nob.
The fully stocked bar sat in the center of the room, and it was definitely the centerpiece of the establishment. The bar itself was made of glass, which was filled with water, and big, slow, fat, bubbles rose from the water at evenly spaced intervals. The water feature was lit up with yellow-gold lighting, sending a golden hue around the bar. Sitting in front of the bar was a large stage with three brass poles staggered at different intervals. A small catwalk of sorts led the stage out into the depths of the club with its own pole at the end. Tables and chairs were set up close enough for patrons to easily lean forward and tip their favorite dancers. Behind the poles was a mass of gauzy red fabric. I had seen a few dancers twist and roll through pieces of that fabric in a display of aerial seduction that blew my mind, and on one occasion, almost something else that would have left me in a damn embarrassing situation.
The club was nowhere near full. It was still early in the evening, but the men who had already arrived were mostly dressed in expensive suits, or at the very least, designer pants and button-down shirts. The women, and there were less than a handful, were mostly dressed in skin tight dresses that barely hung past their asses, breasts only one wrong movement away from falling out.
As Angelina strolled back to our table, she carefully placed Wiska’s and Casey’s drinks before them and gave me a quick glance.
“Put it on my tab,” I murmured.
“You have a tab?” Wiska gasped with a cough.
“Some of the bars around London can be a bit rough and garish. This place has one of the best reputations in the city; the astronomical prices keep the deadbeats away, it’s discreet, classy, and I can have a quiet drink without being hassled.” My tone bordered on defensive.
“You’re preaching to the choir, Bradley,” Casey said with raised hands. “I’m completely in club-love with this place. It’s just a shame about all the heterosexuals.”
A young woman I knew well approached the table. Luna, at least that’s what she claimed her name to be, was one of the best dancers the club had to offer. She was tall, standing easily even with my six-foot frame. Her jet black hair was cropped pixie style short, and her dark brown eyes were so dark they could easily be mistaken for black. Her cheekbones were high and accentuated with a deep rouge, her full lips a deep shade of purple. Her features were almost harsh and angular, in an exotically beautiful way. She was wearing a tiny black G-string that barely covered the necessities, a matching, shimmering black bra, and her shoes were fuck-me high, black stilettos. She looked like a sex goddess. I liked to watch her dance, and I had enjoyed her mouth on numerous occasions. Luna had propositioned me for a night away from the club more than once, but she was the kind of girl who loved to play the game, and I’d never really considered myself a player.
“Emerson,” she purred as she approached us, “would you like some entertainment?”
Casey and Wiska had stopped drinking and just stared—Wiska with something akin to awe; Casey with something akin to fear. Casey and I both said, “No” at the same time Wiska said, “Yes.” I kind of hoped Casey was glaring at her just as I was now.
Wiska offered an innocent shrug. “What? She looks fantastic. Give the girl a chance to work.”
Luna’s face morphed into a bright smile, and she stepped up onto the small stage, her hand reaching for the pole. As if by magic, the music changed and “Hell Is Around The Corner” by Tricky filled the room, the sound loud, crisp, and clear. Luna moved her body with the three S’s . . . slow, smooth, and seductive. She was spectacular, graceful, the perfect pole dancer. But tonight, she didn’t hold my attention like she would have a few short weeks ago. Tonight, my gaze drifted to Wiska, her wide eyes watching Luna with intrigue, her smile bright and beautiful. Casey, on the other hand, looked mildly ill. When the music died down, Wiska’s applause filled our private table, and Luna actually blushed as she stepped from the stage. When Wiska reached for her purse, I quickly pulled out one hundred pounds and handed it to Luna. I knew the two twenty pound notes Wiska had quickly stuffed in there wouldn’t come close to a reasonable tip in this establishment.
Luna nodded with a small tilt of her head, and I knew she was offering me what was hidden behind the heavy, black curtains. I shook my head, and with only a moment’s hesitation, she strolled away.
“Oh. My. Gosh! That was freaking incredible!” Wiska exclaimed.
“No offense, honey, but I’d prefer it with a little more meat and veg and a lot less pink taco,” Casey murmured.
“Pfft.” Wiska waved Casey’s words away. “You have to admit she was an amazing dancer, and she was gorgeous.”
“Much like yourself,” came a familiar voice with a heavy Irish lilt.
“Aedan,” I sighed.
“What a surprise to see you here, Mr. Emerson.”
He did his best to try and appear honestly stunned, and Casey laughed.
“Drop with the charades,” Casey scoffed. “We know party boy over here has frequent flyer points at this establishment.” Casey raised his hand and Aedan clumsily took it in what appeared to be a weak and awkward handshake. “Casey of LC’s day spa, which is, FYI, a day spa for your much loved furbaby.”
“Nice to meet you. Aedan Blake, driver extraordinaire,” Aedan said with a smile, his gaze quickly settling on Wiska. I found myself bristling at his obvious interest in her. “And who might this precious angel be?”
Wiska snorted. “Far from an angel, but pleased to meet you. I’m Wiska James.” She politely shook his hand.
“So, if not an angel, perhaps something a little more wicked?”
“Cut it out, Aedan,” I grumbled, and Aedan’s grin grew wide and knowing.
“Apologies, Mr. Emerson.”
He folded himself into the chair beside me, and I was grateful for Wiska’s nonchalance to his presence, her eyes flittering around the bar as she watched everyone and everything with undisguised interest. She seemed a little hyper tonight, bouncing in her seat, her grin permanently in place, her eyes unable to settle on anything for too long.
“So, you’re from America?” Aedan asked, watching Wiska intently.
Wiska either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and knowing Wiska, she more than likely missed his question; she was far too polite and friendly to brush someone off so callously.
“That we are,” Casey answered.
“Pleasure or business?”
Wiska’s attention finally settled back on our table, but Aedan’s question caught her unawares. Thankfully, Casey continued to hold the conversation.
“It’s been absolutely Bradley’s pleasure,” he said with a mocking grin. “He’s been the perfect host. He’s even attempting to whisk Wiska off her feet, pun intended.”
Everyone at the table froze for a moment, silence reigned, and then Aedan laughed, loudly.
“Is that so?” Wiska discreetly elbowed Casey in the ribs which he ignored. “Well, I would imagine Emerson has his work cut out for him.”
Casey beamed at that. I pouted, at least I think that’s what I was doing. My bottom lip felt heavy, my face in a permanent scowl.
“So, what does the wicked Wiska do back in America?”
“I work as an adult film star,” she replied without shame or hesitation.
I didn’t miss Aedan’s jaw, which practically hit the table with shock.
“Go way outta that!” he exclaimed.
Both Wiska’s and Casey’s brows headed south with confusion. Luckily, I knew Aedan well enough to have picked up some of his typical Irish slang.
“He’s basically asking if you’re shitting him,” I explained.
“Oh, no,” Wiska said with big, bright innocent eyes. “I’m not shitting you. I am on a sabbatical of sorts, though.” She glanced my way. “Possibly a permanent break. I’m actually thinking of a career change. I might even go back to school and finish my degree.”
“A porn star,” Aedan whispered with a little awe in his voice, completely ignoring the part about her degree.
Typical male, I thought, almost snorting. Fuck, who was I kidding? The porn part would ordinarily have caught my undivided attention, too. That was before Leah, though, and most definitely before Wiska.
“You do scenes with other ladies?” Aedan eagerly asked, and I groaned.
“I have done a threesome in which another woman was present. It was . . . nice.” She said it with a shrug, as if trying to find the words to explain it and came up short. “She did most of the work because I didn’t really have a clue what to do. I guess you could say she was the giver and I was the receiver.” It was Aedan’s turn to groan. “I prefer men, though. I’m definitely not gay or bisexual. In the words of oh wise one here beside me,” she nodded in Casey’s direction, “I prefer the meat and veg.”
Now we all groaned, Casey included, though I assumed his groan was born of horror rather than the sharp desire I was feeling, which no doubt had Aedan’s pants tightening, too.
“I hear working in front of the camera isn’t as enjoyable as one might think.”
I shook my head at Aedan and frowned. “Where the fuck would you have heard that?”
He shrugged. “I’m a man. I have Google,” he said with a grin. “What man hasn’t thoroughly researched porn?” At that moment Angelina approached the table. “Ahhh, love, I’ll have a pint of gat.”
Wiska and Casey both looked confused again, but Angelina understood he was asking for a simple Guinness. Her eyes then settled on their empty glasses, and Casey quickly ordered more of the same, and a whiskey for me.
“Put it on Bradley’s tab,” he added with a wink.
Angelina looked confused for a moment.
“Just put it on my tab, Angelina.”
“So, is it true? Do you fake most everything?” Aedan persisted, excitement easily identifiable in his tone.
“Aedan,” I growled. “Wiska didn’t come out to talk shop.”
“No, it’s okay,” Wiska interceded. “The company I work for does everything they can to make scenes comfortable for their actors. The cameramen try to be inconspicuous, but when you have someone sticking a camera lens down around the business end, it’s awfully mood destroying. I faked most my orgasms, but there was one that snuck up on me in the last scene I did.” Wiska smiled at the memory.
I gripped my whiskey glass so tight I thought it might break. I wanted to be the one to give her orgasms, dammit!
“I guess I was beginning to feel a little more comfortable with the people around me by that point, but yeah, it’s not really all that pretty on a porn set. Sometimes you need to use lube to make things more comfortable, and that gets all sorts of messy. Once we had to cut in the middle of a scene so someone could work around our joined bodies with Kleenex to clean away the extra lube that had dripped down my thigh. Once I was cleaned up, it was straight back into the action like we had never stopped.”
The table went silent. I was thinking thoughts of murder, images of Wiska in that position fueling my anger. I hated her talking about this shit. Aedan looked a little shocked, and Casey looked far too curious.
“Really?” Casey asked. “You just lay there, with him in you while someone mopped you up?”
Wiska shrugged. “Well, yeah, it’s part of the job. No doubt you’ve had to stop in the middle of a furbaby bath to trim away dingleberries, right?”
“He had dingleberries?” Casey exploded loudly.
Wiska giggled. “Hell, no. I’m just trying to find a comparison.”
“There is no comparison,” Casey huffed.
“My first scene was probably the single most awkward moment of my life. I had no idea what to do when the director called a wrap. It was almost like doing the walk of shame, and I felt so clumsy and out of my element that as soon as my dressing gown was on, I began high-fiving everyone in the room and shouting, ‘Great job!’.” She rolled her eyes and stared at Casey. “Apparently, that is not exactly how a scene is wrapped up, and it became a big joke. From that day on, every time I passed by someone from Kink Harder, they would raise their hand for a high-five.”
Casey grinned and raised his hand high in the air. “Lay one on me, poppet.”
Wiska elbowed him in the ribs. “I need a bathroom break.”
She suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and even vulnerable with the direction the conversation had gone, and I appreciated the break. I needed a moment’s reprieve from her horrific pornography tales. I pointed to the door where she would find the bathrooms, and she quickly disappeared.
“You really have your work cut out for you,” Aedan murmured at my side.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I fucking do.”
Wiska took her time in returning. I began to get anxious when she finally stepped towards our table. Rather than sitting beside Casey though, her gaze fell to the small stage and po
le before us. She cast me a naughty smile before climbing on top of it. I sat up a little straighter, worried security might drag her down any moment. When she gave Niles, the DJ, a little wave, I realized she had already set this up.
Casey and Aedan, who had been deep in conversation about Casey’s suit, became silent. Then, the entire bar fell fucking silent. The music stopped, and voices dropped to a murmur before loud, pumping music began to thump out of the hidden speakers once more. It was LMFAO’s “Sexy And I Know It”. The music was fast and edgy, but Wiska moved slowly. She rolled her hips, and her thighs caressed the pole as her body moved like a water. Turning, she bent over and allowed her ass to skim the pole, her hands stroking her ankles before she unhurriedly stood up with a swing to her hips. One arm reached above and grabbed the pole, and then she swung around it. She didn’t move fast; it was a slow seduction as she twisted around the pole until her thighs gripped the brass length, her feet hooked to hold her in place, and her body draped backwards so her perky breasts were thrust firmly forward, her head hanging down, her eyes closed. With an agile grace, she did a handstand that brought her feet back to the floor, and I’m pretty sure my tongue spilled from my mouth. I wiped my chin just to be sure I wasn’t drooling. She was so fucking beautiful. Facing the pole, she squatted down, her thighs spread, her hips still swinging, and then she rose to stand again. She pulled herself back up the pole, her body inverting and her legs falling into a perfect mid-air split before she swung her body upright. She proceeded to swing around the pole, her legs stretched out straight. When the fast swing slowed, and eventually stopped, she stepped away from the pole, her body still swaying and moving like silk. As the music came to a stop, so did her dance, but my heart hammered like a stallion at a fast run. My cock no longer whistled for Wiska—hell no—now it roared like an impatient beast demanding to sink into the stunning blonde who stole my heart, and quite possibly my sanity with it.
Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) Page 14
