Jagger

by Dee Garcia

“How are you awake right now?”

  I chuckle. This girl could sleep through a war.

  “I had a phone call,” I explain in amusement.

  She looks at me like I’m crazy. “At this hour? Who the fuck was it?”

  “Baby mama drama,” says Kat before the very same words can leave my mouth.

  With a smirk, she crawls toward us and settled herself in my lap just as Desi turns over and rakes her nails up my arm. “Need us to kill a bitch, Jag?”

  Kat’s quick to agree and I’m quicker to laugh because it’s fucking adorable. “It’d be the perfect solution, that’s for sure, but I can handle her. She’s just gets under my skin sometimes.”

  “Well, how about we take your mind off the bitch one more time before we hit the road,” Desi suggests.

  I should get out of here now, I know I should, but I don’t object.

  What sane motherfucker would?

  Here we go again…

  “Well, good afternoon to you too,” Betty, the owner, greets me in her usual squaking voice as I stalk into the club the following weekend.

  Freezing in my tracks, I turn my head toward her, an irate expression marring my features as it had been throughout the course of the entire week. It’s not directed at her and, clearly, she knows that but, nonetheless, her brow furrows curiously as she leans onto the bar, taking another drag from her cigarette.

  “What the hell crawled up your ass?”

  “Nothing,” I snap, raking a hand through my hair. “It’s just Calla and her usual bullshit.”

  “So, if it’s usual, then why the shitty demeanor?”

  “Because she has the ability to get under my skin like no one else.”

  “Because you give her the power,” she counters, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

  “The fuck? No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. You already know she’s vindictive. And she is so because, regardless of what she says, she wants your attention.”

  “So because she wants my attention that means she can just keep Mila from me?”

  “No,” Betty shakes her head, “that’s part of said vindictiveness, but she’ll take attention any way she can get it. Even if it’s negative.”

  Probably true, but I just can’t believe it. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Ignore her and just let her bark at me?”

  “Yep. Interact with her only where Mila is concerned,” she breezes, like it’s so fucking easy.

  But Calla doesn’t make anything easy. She never will. The person she’d become didn’t allow that. I could honestly say I regretted every minute I spent with her, even the ones that, at one point in time, were good. The only thing—the only truly good thing—I ever got out of being with Calla was our daughter.

  “Just live your life, Jagger,” Betty continues when I don’t answer. “I know there’s a kid involved, but don’t let her do this to you.”

  I stand there, unmoving. Wordless.

  Is Betty right? Could this constant back and forth with Calla possibly disappear if I just pay her no mind?

  Would that provoke her to keep Mila from me all the more or would the lack of arguments and confrontation make her easier to deal with?

  I guess the real question is, could I really do it?

  “Jag, Betty.” Sinclair’s voice booms suddenly as he strolls in through the front doors.

  I tip my chin at his greeting and turn back to Betty who’s now pulling a bottle of Jack from one of the shelves behind the bar. She then grabs three shot glasses, fills them to the brim, and pushes two our way with a smirk on her lips. Sin and I both know better than to decline a drink from her, so we shuffle forward and take the proffered whiskey, downing it with accustomed practice.

  The burn rippling down my throat is more than welcome, a reminder of a not-so-distant past, too, but I could give three fucks as it hits the sore spot right at its core.

  I got this, I’m good, I remind myself, but I have a feeling I’ll be back for more as the evening progresses.

  Whoever pays for a dance tonight is in for a real-fucking-treat, that’s for sure.

  As soon as our glasses hit the bar top, Betty collects them and waves us off, smashing her cigarette butt into the nearest ashtray. “Alright you two, shoo. Go get ready and do whatever the fuck you need to do not to blow a load on one of my customers. Doors open in thirty.”

  Typical Betty.

  Sin and I both chuckle and head through the club to the back in comfortable silence. The DJ is already behind the booth prepping his music for the evening, as are the cocktail waitresses who sit at a nearby table, chatting before they’ll be hustling on their feet till the wee hours of the morning. Their eyes sparkle when they see us, giggles and hums of approval following us as we flash them nearly identical slick grins.

  “Hey, Jag. Hey, Sin.” Multiple voices coo salaciously.

  We don’t stop, though. As cute as they are, not screwing around with the waitresses is another one of Betty’s golden rules, one the boys and I actually stick to. Things could get messy with them being co-workers and none of us have time for that shit.

  Slipping behind the privacy curtain, Sinclair and I tread through the dark to the dressing room. I can hear Rush going off about something while Calvin howls his usual laugh. Just hearing my boys puts me in a better mood. Wrapping a hand around the knob, I throw the door open and rush inside with Sin on my tail.

  “Knock, knock, fuckers. Daddy’s home!”

  A few hours later, I’m balls deep in a striptease with this sexy little blonde, her pert ass in my grasp as she rolls into me in time with the music.

  Yeah, I know, not usually how this works, but I’m sure as hell not complaining.

  At some point during my dance—with her friends egging her on, I might add—she’d shifted into my lap to give me a tease of her own. And I let her ‘cause shit, I’m buzzed after a few shots, and the little mewls she makes when I press her against my dick is exactly what I want to hear after a long ass week of dealing with Calla’s bullshit.

  “Yo, Jag!” I hear Ronin somewhere amidst Tinashe’s voice blasting through the room.

  With my hand in…

  Fuck, what’s her name?

  Um… I think it’s Maci, so we’ll just go with that.

  With my hand threaded in Maci’s hair, I give her ass a little slap, and peer around her small frame to find Rush. He’s right at the edge of the table, that knowing smirk set firmly in place. “You got a request. Bachelorette party.”

  I hold up two fingers and he nods in understanding, wading back out into the madness to get things started for me.

  “You heard the man, I’ve gotta go,” I tell Maci.

  She juts out her bottom lip. “Well, that’s not fair. I was just about to haul you into VIP.”

  “Give me an hour and I’ll do better than VIP.” I grin.

  Like my car.

  Maci nods with a sultry wink as I hoist her off my lap and set her back on the booth with her friends, stalking off in search of Ronin without a glance back. My dick is not fucking happy, but I have a job to do, and money comes first. It’s not like we won’t be ramming that pussy in the back of my LC soon enough. I told her an hour, but chicks like her all operate the same.

  Easy.

  Predictable.

  I could take three hours and she’ll still be waiting for me.

  Rush is looming over a booth covered in pink bachelorette paraphernalia when I sidle up beside him and slip an arm around his shoulders, quickly scanning the small group of ladies who are clearly a little past the limit.

  Laughing, slurring their words, the whole nine drunken yards.

  Yeah, this is going to be fun.

  That’s I notice the woman at the very end. A leg crossed over the other, she’s leaned forward on one elbow, cupping a wine glass in her hand. She chortles whenever her friends belt something out, but the smile never touches her eyes. Tense
would describe her best, almost as if she feels out of place, and when her bright green eyes suddenly meet mine, I’m nearly struck stupid by her beauty.

  Holy fuck.

  She’s stunning, with this exotic air to her. Maybe mixed or Hispanic.

  My fucking weakness.

  Dressed far more modest than her friends—in this plum, long-sleeved number that showed off her legs—I can’t take my eyes off her. Whatever thoughts I had about fucking Maci in my car just two minutes ago shatter into nothing.

  My focus is now solely on her.

  And she’s gaping at me in return, raising every hair on my body at attention, my heart thrashing in my chest. Blinking hastily, her long lashes fan out over high cheekbones, mouth slightly ajar. A rosy flush heats her skin as my eyes drink her in from head to toe. At my devilish smile, she rakes a hand through these loose dirty-blonde waves and turns away from me in a flash, whispering something to the woman beside her in haste.

  Do you know how hard it is to concentrate after that? Let’s just say I’m not the highlight of the double dance Rush and I give the bride-to-be. I could feel her watching me throughout.

  The one time a stole a peek confirmed it.

  I cut a glance over my shoulder, and there she was, wine glass to her lips, observing my every move from over the brim.

  Eyes wanton and unapologetic.

  Calling me like a siren.

  I wanted to dance for her, wanted her to drink me in with that saucy little look while I pinned her to the couch and taunted her until she begged for so much more…

  “Who’s next?” Rush’s voice booms, pulling me from my daze.

  “Vida!” The bride bellows enthusiastically as we back up off her. “Vida needs one!”

  The rest of the ladies nod in agreement, and with intuition stabbing me in the gut, I immediately find myself blurting, “Who’s Vida?”

  “That would be me.” My little vixen lifts her hand as suspected.

  I almost fist bump the air.

  It’s on like motherfucking donkey kong. Ronin knows it too; the look on my face says it all. Despite the fact this is supposed to be my gig, he doesn’t give me shit about it, occupying the bachelorette and her bridal party while I zero in on what’s definitely going to be the highlight of my night.

  “Ever had a dance...” It’s a question I ask everyone.

  “Never,” she answers breathily, jerking my head back in genuine surprise, ‘cause I mean, look at her.

  Alluring, feline features, curvy as hell. She’s fucking perfect.

  She’s had to have had one teeny dance before...

  “I don’t mean from just a male stripper. In general,” I clarify.

  But she comes back with the same answer a second time, shaking her head.

  Well, damn.

  This just got a lot more interesting.

  “The Hills” fades in through the speakers, revving up the electricity already buzzing between us in tenfold. Ironically enough, it’s the exact amplifier I need to give this girl the dance of her life, an experience she’ll never forget.

  The Jag Experience—not for the weak of heart.

  Cocky? Maybe.

  But what can I say? I’m good at what I do and I know it without a doubt.

  So I’m gonna work it to my advantage.

  “Sit back,” I order gently.

  That flush intensifies, but she complies, melting into the plush obsidian couch. A smirk curls my lips—so beautiful to watch; the prey submitting to the hunter. Caging her legs between my own, I grab onto the back of the couch and dip my head eye-level with hers, grinning as she gulps when I lean into her.

  “Close your eyes.” The words caress her neck.

  Again she obliges, but I don’t miss the shiver that racks her frame or how her hands tremble. Bringing a knee up beside her, I roll my hips right as the chorus sets off, looming closer and closer until my lips just barely brush her own.

  The shaky breath she sighs rouses me up like gasoline to a flame.

  “You can touch, Vida,” I murmur, bringing her hand up to my chest. “Just keep it above the belt, sweetheart. It’s for your own good.”

  Lust-hazed eyes meet mine, then drop between us, enraptured by my every move. Small, eager hands quickly steal under my tee, trailing up my rigid torso. Every muscle in my body clenches beneath her unabashed touch. I hiss through my teeth, luring her stare to my face as I reach behind myself and pull my shirt over my head.

  Eyes from all around are on us, hoots and hollers exploding over the music. Vida bites down on her bottom lip in realization, the enticing gesture a direct connect my cock.

  In one swift movement, I scoop her up in my arms and drop to my knees where she’d been sitting, trapping her between the back of the couch and my hard body. Thick thighs lock around me, the hem of her dress rising up an obscene amount.

  Her thighs. They’re shapley and toned, yet so thick and juicy. And the heat between her legs, it’s insanely palpable, so much that I’m practically salivating at the mouth for a taste. Pressing her against me, I keep on with my tease, my hands snaking up her waist for purchase. Jeweled eyes on mine, she grinds into me with the beat, too, completely uninhibited, looking one-hundred percent tantalizing and all too fuckable.

  Captive at my mercy.

  And fuck me if I don’t want to take her right there, with or without an audience.

  It would be so simple…

  Push her panties to the side.

  Dig into her heat.

  Mark her with my stamp.

  Jesus Christ.

  I feel like a crazed animal. Need her closer. Need to feel her on me, underneath me. Want those plump lips yielding beneath my own. I don’t understand what the fuck is happening right now—except the blind, fierce haze of lust clouding my rationale—but fuck it all to hell.

  I’m running wild with it; questions be damned.

  Thrusting a hand into her hair, I crash my mouth into hers almost brutally, bubbling a satisfied whimper from deep within her.

  One brush.

  Another.

  And another.

  Tongues exploring, teeth nibbling. Her taste is instantly addictive, sweeter than honey with an intoxicating hint of white wine. I’m higher than a fucking kite, drunk on every inch of this delicious woman’s being.

  And I want more.

  So much fucking more.

  Somewhere in the midst of my spectacle, Betty manages to yank me off Vida and drag me all the way to her office by the ear—like an errant kid about to get his ass whooped. I suspect if she could’ve taken the belt to my ass like my momma used to do, she would’ve without question. You see, Betty doesn’t quite care for us kissing or making out with clients.

  In fact she preferred us not to at all.

  Another one of her golden rules.

  But Vida was too delicious for me to play by the damn rules. I had to taste her.

  Regardless of the new one my boss tore me, all day, every day for the next week, Vida is all I can think about.

  Her eyes.

  Her lips.

  Her tight little body gyrating in my lap.

  Her fucking everything.

  I can’t get the woman out of my head, have her ingrained in every thought to the point I consider the fact I may very well be possessed.

  And we hadn’t gone any further than that kiss.

  Can you imagine if I’d actually buried my cock inside her?

  Fuck me.

  Not the smartest thing to be thinking about as I’m rolling my hips against the stage, all but feeling her beneath me. The screams that resound from the audience only make me go harder, a concept my dick does not appreciate in the slightest when the closest thing in reach is the glimmering floor. Fucker’s pounding by the time “Sex Therapy” fades out and the signature blue lights dim low.

  Once the stage is bathed in darkness, I hustle my way behind the ebony curtain, palming down the Vida-induced hard-on I’ve given myself for the third time to
night. I don’t even bother heading back into the dressing room for a break. I need a goddamn drink, something strong as fuck to distract me from all this ridiculousness.

  Several tables call for me, but I keep on at a steady pace, flashing them grins and a wink along the way to sate them for the moment. They can wait. If there’s any hope of me actually getting to them and doing my job, I need my head on straight.

  Or at least straight enough that Vida isn’t my every thought while another woman stuffs bills under the waistband of my jeans.

  But as I close in on the bar, I literally skid to a stop at the sight not twenty feet away from me.

  Vida.

  It’s fucking Vida.

  I rub at my eyes, blink a dozen times. I’m convinced it’s all a figment of my imagination, but the image doesn’t change.

  It’s really her, and she looks as delicious as I remember—in this black strappy cut-off top and tight leather knee length skirt that only shows off enough to make my head spin. Don’t get me started on those fuck me heels. I can very vividly imagine them digging into my back as I fuck her straight into next week.

  I’m blatantly ogling her—more like drooling if I’m being honest—and when those green irises lock with mine, I swear I feel that current burn right through me, down to the tips of my toes.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she spun around in a flurry, leaving me with a mouth-watering view of her from behind. Loose dirty-blonde waves hand down to her slim waist, accentuating the pert swell of her ass. An ass I want in my hands as she makes herself come on my dick.

  Her head thrown back.

  Rivulets of sweat dripping down her body…

  Goddamn.

  I can’t get to her fast enough. My chest brushes her back, hands instinctively falling to her hips as my lips find their way to the shell of her ear.

  “Back for another dance, I see?”

  Vida shivers in my grasp, her fingers clasping the edge of the bar for dear life. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for this squeaky little gasp.

  It’s louder still when I trace the curve of her neck with the tip of my nose.

  “Answer me,” I press, spinning her around to face me.

  “No.” She shakes her head briskly.