by Nikki Chase
She must be new here. But even new employees must know they’re supposed to blend into the background. That definitely means they shouldn’t be telling customers what to do, especially when it involves hiding things from her employer.
This girl’s been bad.
And I’m itching to punish her.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Katie,” she answers.
I smile to myself in the dark. She really is new.
With a mask over the top half of my face, Katie won’t be able to recognize me if we run into each other outside the club. Sure, she may know my name, but she won’t know we’ve met.
If I see her in the real world, though, I’ll know exactly who she is. Unlike the other girls, she hasn’t even bothered coming up with a fake name.
This is either her very first night or she doesn’t talk much with the other girls—who usually have names like Candy, Cherry, or Chastity.
Katie is a nice name. A perfectly good name. But it’s not sensual or suggestive. It’s not the kind of name most people would pick as a sexy alias.
“Katie, huh?” I ask, still smiling.
“Um, yes.” She quickly adds, “I mean, yes, Sir. Can I please continue cleaning, Sir?”
“No, leave it alone,” I tell her.
She stares at me, apprehension in her eyes. Jesus, those eyes. I can see everything she’s feeling, every single emotion.
She wants to say something, but she doesn’t know how I’m going to react, so she’s decided to wait and see, instead of digging a deeper hole for herself. Smart girl.
I get up from my chair, and her gaze follows me.
Good. I’ve got her attention.
“Come with me.” I hold out my hand.
“Uh . . .” Katie hesitates. “Can I clean this up first before we go, Sir?”
“Are you saying you want me to help you hide your little accident from the club?” I cock an eyebrow.
“No,” Katie answers quickly. “I mean, no, Sir.”
She pauses, seemingly considering her options. When she meets my gaze, she’s made a decision, although I can tell she’s not completely comfortable with it.
She puts her hand on mine, and her soft skin sends a jolt of electricity through my system.
I stare at her, dumbfounded. Who’s this girl, and what did she just do to me?
Katie
What just happened?
I stare at the man in shock.
Something just happened, right?
The way he’s staring at me . . . It’s hard to tell because he’s wearing that mask, but I think he felt it, too.
“Let’s go,” he says as he pulls me up effortlessly. Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Where are we going?” I ask, taking one last glance at the mess I’m leaving on the floor.
Two cocktail glasses are on the ground, the liquid seeping into the red carpet. And two guests are going to have to wait a long time to get their drinks.
Kendra’s going to kill me. And then, I’m going to get fired.
But who cares? It’s not like I need the money from this job anyway.
“You need to learn to address me properly, Katie,” the masked man says. His big, strong hand is hot on my skin as he leads me down the aisle to the back of the hall.
I don’t need to learn anything because I’m getting fired soon anyway—because of him. Where does this guy get off, telling me what to do?
Oh, god, I’m really not suited for this job. I’m not some obedient girl who can just sit still while a man walks all over me—there’s nothing that makes me angrier than a man who does that.
But this is a job, and I need to remember to follow the rules.
And I hate to admit it, but the man holding my hand right now . . . Even though I hate the way he’s been bossing me around, there's something about him. Tingles spread all over my body from the place where our hands touch.
“I’m sorry, Sir. Where are we going?” I ask as the man pulls me into a hallway.
He takes sure, confident steps with his long legs. He cuts a sharp figure in his slim, grey business suit. The back of his suit jacket pulls snugly across his broad back.
I see hints of powerful, muscular arms under his sleeves, which make me wonder what else is hiding underneath those clothes.
I may be able to get a better look if the lighting were better. But like the rest of the club, it’s dark in this hallway.
There are crystal chandeliers overhead, casting soft, warm light all over the walls and carpeted floor. Mirrors hang on the walls, as well as paintings of women being bound naked and men striking them with crops and whips.
Along with the cries and moans from the women on stage, the atmosphere feels thick with sexual energy.
I can't ignore the throbbing in my core or the fact that the man holding my hand right now is the main cause.
“Sir, where are you taking me?” I ask again.
The man stops in his tracks and stalks toward me, forcing me to step backward until the heel of my shoe hits the wall.
“You need to learn to be silent when you're not being spoken to, Katie,” he says in a deep voice laced with danger. “Didn't the club tell you how to behave?”
Oh, right. I may have zoned out a few times during Kendra’s briefing earlier.
“I’m sorry, Sir. This is my first night.”
“I know. I can tell.” He takes another step closer and leans down, leveling his gaze at me. He's so close I can see the wicked glint in his green eyes and the short stubble along his strong jawline. “For future reference, next time I see you here, you're going to stay silent until you're spoken to, understand?”
I swallow. My heart pounds against my chest.
I should be angry. I should push him back and show him where to shove that attitude.
But I don't want to do any of those things, and not just because this is a job.
His gaze . . . It entraps me and hypnotizes me. The darkness in his eyes calls out to me. It sucks me in.
“Yes, Sir.” I find myself melting under his command.
“Good girl.” His voice sends a thrill down my spine. My chest expands, taking in his praise.
What's wrong with me? Why do I care what this stranger thinks about me?
But for some reason, I crave that feeling again, that assurance that I’m doing good, that thrill of knowing he takes pleasure in me.
“Aren't you going to thank me for saying something nice to you, Katie?” he whispers in my ear.
“Thank you, Sir.” A gasp interrupts my voice when the mysterious man nibbles on my earlobe.
“You're welcome.” His breath tickles my neck. “Now, you were asking me about where I was taking you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I gulp down my nervousness, grateful for the mint a girl gave me before I walked out into the big hall with my tray of drinks.
“Did you listen when they told you about the private rooms, Katie?” He leans his forehead against mine, our noses grazing against each other.
“Yes, Sir.”
The private room is where all the dirtiest, kinkiest things happen--behind closed doors where nobody can see.
Someone's true self comes out when they're anonymous; that's why Internet forums are filled with hatred and stupidity.
If this man takes me to a private room, there's no saying what he'll do to me. With the mask over his face, I don’t even know who he is.
Am I really ready for this?
And am I seriously considering having sex with a man as part of a job?
I mean, there's real attraction here. I’d still sleep with this man if we weren't waitress and customer.
At the same time, maybe there wouldn't be this level of attraction had we met outside, in the real world. The whole club has been designed to create exactly this kind of situations. The dark rooms, the hidden corners, the mystery . . .
The sound of the man’s palms landing on the wall behind me je
rks me back to reality. He's caging me in.
“I see you have trouble listening,” he says. “I can help you fix that.”
Before I can protest, he grabs the hair at the base of my skull. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it suddenly seems pointless to resist. He wants to consume me, and I want to be consumed by him.
Pulling my hair to make me look up at him, he claims my mouth and gets me lost in the most intense, passionate kiss I've ever had. His lips, hot and firm, stokes the flame of arousal kindling within me.
Just when I want more from him, he pulls away. I lean into him for another kiss, but he holds me in place by the hair.
“I already know what your answer will be. But club rules say I need your explicit consent.” He smirks. “So, Katie, tell me, will you come with me to a private room?”
“Yes, Sir,” I blurt out before I have a chance to overthink it.
“Good girl,” he says in a voice that makes my core clench in anticipation.
End of preview.
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Bonus: Stripped
A Bad Boy Next Door Romance
Jessica
Three Years Ago
“Come on, it’s my birthday.” The guy grabs my wrist, hard. His lips form into the shape of a smile and the apples of his cheeks shift up, but something dangerous flashes in his cold eyes.
His friends around us cheer from their couches, their hungry gaze flicking between my half-naked body and the dancer who’s currently on stage.
“Happy birthday,” I shout over the music that’s blaring in the background, then give him my best customer-service smile and pull my wrist away. “But I don’t do anything beyond lap dances.”
He’s not letting go. At first glance, his arm looks like it’s draped lazily over the arm of the couch, but his big muscles are flexed.
“What time do you get off?,” he insists.
“Let me go,” I say through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll have to call security.”
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s have a little fun. I thought strippers were supposed to be fun.” That fake smile on his otherwise expressionless face is seriously creeping me out. What an asshole. I look around to see if any bouncer is looking my way.
“Don’t be a creep, man.” One of the asshole’s friends taps him on the shoulder with an annoyed scowl on his face. “Take a hint. She’s not into you.”
“Fuck you,” the asshole says with an annoyed, embarrassed chuckle. He finally lets go of my hand.
I take two steps back and shoot the friend a grateful look. He nods at me and mouths a silent sorry.
The friend—my savior—doesn't look friendly at all. His handsome, angular facial features are frozen in a perma-grump, but something in his intense dark eyes doesn't quite fit the gruff exterior.
Like the rest of his group, he’s a big guy with beefy muscles and hair shaved close to the scalp. I’d bet all my tips tonight that they’re military.
The guy who just saved me… Even standing here among other big, strong men, he towers over everyone else. Wide shoulders, broad chest, hard muscles all over. Through his white crewneck, I can almost make out the lines of his chest and abs underneath, even with the dim lighting inside the club.
Now, if he were the one to ask me for something more than a lap dance…
Well, it would still lead to nothing, actually. I’m serious about my policy to never see any of my customers outside the club.
Still, as I make my way across the floor toward the dressing room, I wonder if he's checking me out my ass.
Good thing I’ve got my stripper strut down pat. It's not hard, really. Just wear impossibly high heels. They push your butt out and force you to swing your hips.
It takes a lot of practice to stand and dance on these babies for hours every night, but my feet still hurt sometimes. Like now, when my shift is almost over.
Most of the men have their eyes on Desiree, who’s wrapping one long leg around the pole as she sways her hips seductively to the loud music. The men standing right by the edge of the stage are shouting at her like they’re her choreographers.
“Show me your ass, baby!”
“Oh yeah, shake those moneymakers!”
A few men sitting at the tables check me out as I walk past, their lusty gaze roaming all over my exposed cleavage, my uncovered midriff, my bare legs.
While the military guys from the group I entertained are fit young men, the average patron in a strip club is… Well, not in such a good shape.
I don’t know why my co-workers date these men. It’s not like they go on to have healthy relationships. From the stories of the girls I work with, dating a customer only leads to trouble.
No doubt the fact that the guy has, at some point in time, walked into the club and gotten a lap dance from his girlfriend affects the relationship dynamics profoundly.
According to the girls who have told their stories in the dressing room, boyfriends bury their resentment at first until it all blows up into ugly arguments and accusations.
“Here’s $20. Maybe that’ll get you in the mood,” said one such boyfriend.
“How was your fucking day? Been rubbing that pussy all over random guys’ dicks all night, as usual?”
“Why won’t you quit for me? Still holding out for a richer guy, huh? I’m too poor to be your sugar daddy?”
Yeah, no. I don’t want any of that in my life.
I enter the dressing room and close the door behind me, shutting out the loud music and the even louder crowd.
“Busy night,” I say to no one in particular as I step out of my shoes.
There’s no answer. Strange.
Someone is always in the dressing room, changing or doing make-up or exchanging the latest gossip. This silence is unusual.
There’s a row of mirrors in front of me, while some lockers line the wall beside me. On the other side of the room, a tall cabinet where we store our costumes and makeup items separates the changing room from the showers.
The smooth concrete floor feels cold on my bare feet as I step toward the cabinet. When I peek behind it, I realize why it’s so quiet.
Nancy stands in the corner, her shoulders hunched, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Stan, the owner of the club, towers over her, his stance aggressive.
When Nancy’s terrified gaze lands on me, Stan turns around with a glare.
“Everything okay, guys?” My voice comes out steady even though my heart is jumping against my rib cage. Stan is a big, scary guy, but I can’t just watch Nancy in distress and do nothing.
Stan grunts in reply and stomps past me to leave the room. Dance music pours inside when he opens the door, only to be muted again once it’s closed.
“Are you okay, Nance?” I close the gap between us and pull her body into a hug. She’s shaking. Poor thing.
Nobody quite knows the exact nature of the relationship between Stan and Nancy, but all the guys know enough to never even speak to Nancy and all the girls know enough to stay away when they’re together. All the girls except me, that is.
“Yeah.” With her body crumpling into my arms and her eyes avoiding mine, she doesn’t sound very convincing.
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. Really, I’m fine.” Nancy pulls away from me and gives me a weak smile. She looks so pretty when she smiles. Too bad she doesn’t do it often. “Done for the night?”
“Yeah. I should go home now. My mom’s probably fallen asleep in front of the TV again. With no blanket. She gets sick a lot these days. I don’t know why it’s so hard for her to just grab a blanket.” I get my clothes from the locker and change.
“I don’t know how you do it. Classes during the day, working during the night, and then you go home to take care of your mom.” Nancy leans against the cabinet, her arms folded across her chest like a shield.
“You should spend some time on yourself or you’ll go crazy. You’re young. Have a little fun.”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” I smile as I put on my ballet flats. They feel like heaven after eight hours on my ridiculous heels. I look back at Nancy before walking out. “Take care, Nance.”
“You too, Scarlett,” Nancy says.
Some girls don’t mind sharing their real names with one another, but I use my stage name exclusively. I’m not going to be a dancer forever after all. This is only temporary.
I make my way outside and toward the back door of the club, the beat of the bass from the speakers thumping into my skull.
Maybe Nancy’s right. Maybe I should take a break and have a little fun one of these days.
My mind brings back a recent memory, of the guy who saved me earlier. He seems like the kind of guy I can have some fun with. I can just imagine the weight of that big, hard body pinning me down, those muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moves…
God, it’s been way too long since the last time I got some action. I swear I don’t usually fantasize about random strangers, but there’s something about that guy.
Sure, a relationship with a customer is a bad, bad idea, especially when I already have so much on my plate.
One night of fun, though? Surely it couldn’t hurt.
I’d make an exception for a guy like that, if he’d only ask. Too bad it’s always the weird ones who do.
Jacob
Three Years Ago
I take a long drag from my cigarette, the long, slender stick delivering a dose of sweet, sweet poison into my body.
I lean my back against the wall in the dark alley and flick off the ash forming at the lit end of the cigarette, watching it disintegrate into thousands of little white bits mid-air.
The door opens just as I exhale the smoke out of my mouth. Before it has a chance to dissipate, a girl walks out the door and right into it.
