My eyes widen.
She just nods sagely. ‘When your garter starts to bulge with twenties and fifties you know you’re not just hot, you’re bloody good at what you do. I always make them sit with their legs spread wide so I can see them get a hard-on. This gives me total control of the situation. I will then roll my body inches away from their faces so they feel the heat coming off me.’
She puts her feet up on the coffee table and wriggles her toes.
‘And I’ll purposely let my hair trail their cheeks or let out a long sigh close to their ears. Usually they will start breathing heavily, which means I’ve done a good job, but sometimes they will become so fixated, so paralyzed they actually forget to take a breath and have to take a sudden sharp intake, and that is when I know. They are ready for the VIP room.’
Melanie looks at me as though seducing strange men is the simplest thing in the world to accomplish.
‘And if you know a guy is really satisfied with your service you can even ask for a tip.’
Wow! It had not even occurred to me to do such a thing. ‘Won’t they feel robbed after they’ve paid all that money for the dance?’
‘Don’t ask, don’t get.’ She grins. ‘These men know the game. They know what I do and where they are and that means if they spend my time it has to be in exchange for money. Exactly as they would pay their lawyer, by the hour. I’m not there for fun. I’m there to make money.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ she adds, ‘the more wealthy and powerful the man the more cheeky and forthright you can be with them. They’ll think you’re hilarious and that’s another tip there for you. It’s a hustle only if they feel they’ve been harassed. I take pride in never letting them feel they’ve blown away good money.’
I think of her dangling from the top of the pole and doing splits mid-air to David Guetta’s electronic music and a voice screaming, ‘Let me see your fucking hands,’ as she starts tumbling down the pole. And when the male voice asks again, ‘A party without me?’ the lights come on and the club fills with lines from the song, ‘I Might Be Anyone’. But she is not anyone. She is as beautiful as Lupita Ny in that iconic Lancôme advert. After her performances the club always erupts into applause.
‘I know you are very good at what you do,’ I tell her sincerely.
‘Damn right. I’m not just showing them a pair of tits. I’m giving them a performance that will blow their heads off. And if a customer treats me with contempt—some of them come in there just to do that, a stripper and a black stripper at that, I must be despicable—I’ll use his money the next day to buy me something that will make me feel good, and that will be my revenge.’
Melanie yawns hugely.
‘Thanks for the advice,’ I say gratefully. She is absolutely right. I’d better get off my high horse or forget dancing altogether. And since leaving Eden is not an option I’m going to have to do things very differently from now on.
SEVEN
The club has a carnival air to it. Men throwing money into the air as if it is confetti, champagne flowing like it is free, gorgeous girls dressed for showtime, and then the cabaret starts, and ladyboys from Thailand flutter onto the stage. They are bold, highly talented, and gregarious.
I stand backstage and hear the DJ announce my name. As I walk up to the door I remember Ann, my instructor, saying, When you are on stage wave a wand and become a tigress. Make eye contact with the punters, hold their gazes for a long time. Make them think you want them. Make them squirm in their seats. Make them feel your power, so that when you have finished your routine and are walking toward them they know it’s time to reach for their wallets.
At the doorway of the stage I hold onto the doorframe and strike a pose while I survey the darkened audience of men. The lights are hot and bright in my eyes, but I see him immediately. He stands out like a sore thumb, the only man who does not look like he is looking for a good time. His pose is relaxed, his knees spread apart, one hand on a thigh, another loosely curved around a glass of amber liquid, but he stares directly at me with intense, unsmiling, furious eyes.
What the fuck is he angry about?
I freeze and almost lose my self-confidence. But then a blast of candy white smoke from the stage bathes me. A blue strobe light cuts me in half. Then the music comes on and my heart starts to pound with sexual energy, the kind that Melanie uses in her performances, and I think, fuck you, Jake Eden. I haven’t done anything wrong.
Totally ignoring him I strut onto the stage. There are whistles and catcalls from a stag party that are seated right at the edge of the stage. There are about twelve of them and I am glad for them. They straighten my spine. I will give them the best performance of my life. I’ll take their money. My time has to be paid for.
I concentrate on the music. I let it fill every cell in my body as I dance around the pole and rub myself sinuously on it. Flicking my hair back, I grip the pole hard and perfectly execute the flying around the pole move that landed me on my knees at the audition. The men from the stag party seem impressed judging from the whistles.
I search for the bridegroom. Early thirties, red hair, pleasant face and has an L sign pinned to his shirt. I will dance for him. It’s hard to explain, but it’s so much easier to dance for someone you don’t fancy. You look into their eyes and you pretend. So I do. And the more I stare at him the more rowdy and boisterous his mates become. I am clearly a success.
It is almost time to lose my bikini bra. I climb the pole. Slowly, seductively. They hoot their encouragement. I focus totally on the bridegroom—his eyes are on stalks. Gripping the pole with my thighs I lean right back so I am looking at the crowd while I am upside down. Hanging in that position I let my breath out in a hard puff. The bra pops open and flies off. The boys go crazy.
Far in the shadows another man is watching, calling. Helplessly my eyes flash across the crowded room, the crush of bodies, and clash with his. All the sounds and smells and chaos recede. He is as still as a statue. For a moment I am suspended on the pole and caught in his world. In this world I am in trouble. I have done something very wrong. Somehow I have betrayed Jake Eden.
Then gravity asserts itself and I pull my body upwards, and slide down the pole. I bend to pick up my bra from the stage floor and the bridegroom is standing at the edge of the stage holding a fifty. We look at each other. There is hunger in his eyes, the kind of hunger that Melanie talked about. And I feel sorry for his bride. Then I pull my stocking out and he slips my very first cash tip into it.
I look again at him—we are less than ships that pass in the night, and yet we are more.
‘Thanks,’ I say, blowing him a kiss as I exit the stage. I go backstage and get back into the deep red cheongsam with the slit that goes up to my crotch. I touch the orchid Jake gave me and it is exactly where I pinned it. With a deep breath I walk out onto the floor. I know exactly what I will say to Jake.
A waitress sidles up to me. ‘Table twenty-three has just left a black Amex behind the bar and thinks you’re hot,’ she whispers.
I look at her little name tag, and say, ‘Thanks, Toni. I’ll be sure to remember you later.’
‘No problem,’ she says with a wink and moves on.
For a second I think about not going to table twenty-three and then I think: No, I’m working. I need this job. Toni has taken the trouble to send a customer my way and she’ll be expecting her cut. I’ll make it real quick.
I walk up to table twenty-three. He is wearing a smile that could light up a Christmas tree.
‘Hey.’
‘You were great on stage,’ he says.
‘Thank you. Would you like a dance?’ I ask.
‘Sure, I’ll buy a private dance off you,’ he says, another bulb on the Christmas tree lighting up.
Shit, what bad timing! My first big spender and I’m in a horrible hurry. From across the club I can feel Jake’s animosity searing my back. I realize now I shouldn’t have come. I should have passed table twenty-three onto another dancer.
Jake
What the fuck! I cannot believe my fucking eyes. Not only did I have to sit through a roomful of horny men staring at her nearly naked body—now the fat bastard is standing up and following her. She’s going to go into one of those VIP rooms and give him a private dance. Frustration claws at my heart. I grit my teeth. I have never wanted to be shackled to anyone, no matter how enticing the chains. But damn her. I cannot even bear the thought of any other man in a room with her, looking at her.
I want her to belong to me. And only me.
From the corner of my eyes I see Brianna walking toward me. She is smiling. I don’t smile back. The thoughts in my head seethe so bitter and dark that I lose control. I stand up and begin to stride toward Lily and her punter. I see Brianna’s experienced eye sizing up the situation. She stops smiling and picks up her speed—not so she would make a scene, though.
I grab Lily’s hand. Her first reaction is interesting. It is one of pure repulsion. Then her gaze collides with mine and the expression is replaced by a mixture of joy, lust, and anger.
The man turns to look at me. ‘Excuse me,’ he says pompously, as if it is I who has trod on his property. I’ve collected money from men like him before. Without their fancy lawyers they are sniveling, pathetic messes. They’d give up their mothers to avoid a scratch.
Fortunately for him, Brianna reaches us at that same instant. She is so smooth I have to admire her anew.
‘Mr. Walsh,’ she coos. ‘Jewel has a personal emergency that she has to take care of, but I have found two beauties to dance for you instead. Obviously, your champagne is on the house.’
Mr. Walsh accepts with ill grace. He has no idea how close he was to being floored. Brianna leads him away quickly.
Hiding the black lust in my heart I look down at the brazen little hussy coldly. ‘I believe this dance is mine.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she says sarcastically.
I am still furious, but her scent drifts over me like a sweet cloud and lust writhes hot in my blood as my cock hardens too fast and painfully.
Lily
The walls and ceiling of the VIP room are mirrored. It is empty except for a small, round, low table, a large upholstered red and gilt chair, and another much smaller black one that the dancers use as a prop. He kicks the door shut, his heel slamming into the wood, and stands there, tall, proud. Pure alpha. Great! I am alone in the VIP room with one pissed off gangster.
In a silky, dangerous voice, ‘Did you enjoy that?’
Nervously, ‘What?’
‘Taunting me.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You looked right into my eyes. You knew I was waiting for you.’
I lick my lips. ‘This is my job.’
He walks over to the red chair and lowers himself into it. He takes two blue chips out of his jacket and puts them on the table. Blue chips are a hundred pounds each. Then he looks up at me.
In a voice like the crack of a whiplash, ‘Now strip.’
I feel my cheeks start to burn. Doing a dance for someone that you fancy like crazy is totally different. The adrenaline rush is undeniable. It surges inside me. I finally understand why the other girls wear tampons all the time.
Without taking my eyes off him I unzip my dress and let it slip down my body and pool around my ankles. His eyes rush down my body greedily, hungrily. From the speakers Snoop Dogg is singing, ‘Tell me, baby, are you wet? I just want to get you wet.’
Just perfect.
Jake
She flicks her head flirtatiously like an animal in heat and deliberately presents her buttocks to me. I see her sex clothed in satin and puffed out between her spread thighs. I know exactly what she is doing. She is showing me the sweet wet heat at the center of her. The urge to reach out and touch. Fuck!
She moves her hips from side to side, slowly, teasing, provoking. Then she pushes back until she is inches away from my face. I can smell the heady scent of her arousal. It has hidden itself within the noisy smells of cheap perfume, sweat, sex, and seedy thoughts. It flowers in my face.
Like a wolf scenting the air, I inhale in quick bursts. She pulls back and my nose moves forward, following the intoxicating trail of her scent. Her hands skim lightly over her ribs and linger over the tops of her breasts, the skin satiny. She cups her breasts. I stare at her utterly riveted. She hooks one leg over the chair’s back and in one deft, smooth movement, sits down on the edge of the seat.
Keeping her body arched and her legs straight, she opens her thighs so her long, long legs make a fabulous V. The position is obscene and bewitching. She is good enough to eat.
I stare at the wet patch hungrily.
She holds the pose.
I raise my eyes up to hers. ‘How much to push the material aside?’
Something flashes into her eyes. She lids them quickly.
‘One thousand.’ Her voice is flat and cold.
At that moment no one else in the world exists. Only her, me, and something raw and too hot to touch. I reach into my pocket and pull out a handful of chips. There might have been two, maybe three thousand there. I hold them over the table and let them fall. Some hit the surface and roll away to clatter onto the floor.
Very slowly she reaches into the material and pulls it to one side. My eyes drop. God only knows how many pussies I have seen in my lifetime, but this time it takes my breath away. I stare riveted at the pink glistening whorls of wet flesh. In that position the hole gapes, as if begging to be filled, taken, fucked. Enticingly thick nectar drips out of it.
I raise my eyes to hers. Very deliberately she moves her gaze to my crotch, to my hard-on. I get it. She is angry. Even in this humiliating position she is helpless to fight the sensual call of her own body.
She smiles. ‘Want anything else?’
‘What else is for sale?’ My voice sounds cool and distant, but my heart is hammering in my chest. Afraid of her answer. Afraid she will become more than just a cock tease. Terrified she’ll become another fallen flower littering the ground I walk upon.
I see it clearly then. A flash of something far stronger than the liquid dripping out of her. Hatred. The violence of it shocks me. She doesn’t close her legs. She doesn’t pull the material over the gaping wound between her legs.
‘You’ve already bought everything that is for sale,’ she says quietly.
My heart leaps in my chest. Alive with some sort of great wild joy. ‘Cover yourself,’ I say curtly to hide the joy.
She pulls the material over her sex and puts her legs back down.
I take a black chip out of my jacket pocket. I didn’t know what I was going to use it for tonight—if I was going to use it at all—but I am immensely relieved and glad it is going to be used and for this purpose. I put it on the table and watch her eyes widen with astonishment.
‘This is for you to get dressed and go home right now.’
EIGHT
Lily
The door shuts softly behind him. I walk over to the table and pick up the black chip. It weighs the same as all the others, but wow! I never thought I would ever see one of these. Ten thousand sweet pounds! I sweep all the chips from the table into my satin bag and gather those that have fallen on the floor.
Then I get back into my dress and go looking for Melanie to tell her I am leaving early. I change back into my normal clothes and head to the cashier’s box where I cash everything except the black chip, and ask for the money to be put directly into my bank account. Shockingly, there is nearly three thousand pounds.
I pop over to reception and ask Toni to call me a taxi. Less than five minutes later she tells me the cab is outside. Steve, the doorman, walks me out. It is a thing they do, see us into our cabs. As we walk out we see the taxi driving off.
‘Hey,’ Steve shouts, and then goes silent when he sees Jake walking toward us.
‘Good evening, Mr. Eden,’ he greets politely.
Jake nods but does not look at him. ‘I thought I might as well give you a lif
t to mine.’
I gasp at the audacity.
Steve starts backing off. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he says, and makes himself scarce pretty quick.
‘How dare you give him the impression that I’m going back to yours?’ I storm.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No.’
‘You can come in my mouth.’
I gasp. My insides lurch, like being in a very efficient lift. ‘For God’s sake!’
He shrugs. ‘Better, surely, than having to hear all those men telling you they want to come in yours.’
I look down at the ground and see his expensive boots polished to a mirror shine. I regret it even before I say it. ‘I won’t bother, thanks.’
‘Why not, Lily?’
‘The truth?’
‘Of course.’ He gazes at me with those smoldering eyes.
And fire flows into my blood. Jesus! I’ve never had it this bad for any man. ‘I don’t do one-night stands.’
‘Whatever gave you the impression that it would be a one-night stand?’ His eyes are curious, quizzical, fascinated.
My heart swells. He sure knows which buttons to press. He takes a step closer. I should make him try harder. ‘I want to go on a date.’
He smiles, a look of genuine happiness on his face. ‘On a date? With me?’
I nod. ‘Could be fun.’
‘I knew I’d like you.’
I grin, feeling protected and precious.
‘Come on,’ he says, and leads me to a white Porsche 918 Spyder.
I don’t know where the night is taking me—some distant warning that it could be dangerous clamors in my skull—but the call seems distant and inconsequential, and I turn away from it. I tell myself it is just a snapshot in time. Here, there, and then gone forever. Why shouldn’t I have this night? Without thought. Without consequence. Embrace, kiss, no rules, no guilt, just get and give pleasure. Only tonight. It will never be more, anyway. Not with men like him. For men like him, women come and go. So I will just do this one time.
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