"Hazards of the job, huh?" A smile bloomed on his face. "They really lengthen your legs."
"With all this flesh in your face, you were watching my legs?"
"Among other things."
Crap, now I was blushing. What the fuck? I'd been a succubus for longer than all the men in the room had been alive combined. I used to eat guys like these for breakfast. Literally. Snap out of it, Jezebel!
"I never would've pictured you as a stripper," Paul said, keeping his eyes on my face. "At the train station, you seemed so… I don't know, naive. Innocent."
I barked out a laugh so hard that my eyes teared up. "Sweetie, I'm pretty sure that's the first time anyone's ever told me that I was innocent."
Those magnificent eyes warmed as his grin softened into something incredibly kissable. "But you are. There's something about you, something… I can't put my finger on it. You're like a real sex kitten. Playful and… I don't know. Young. God, that sounds stupid."
No, it didn't. Maybe I was an experienced succubus, but I was still a newborn as a human. "A sex kitten, huh? Maybe I should buy me a catsuit."
"Mmmm." His mouth made the right sound, but his eyes whispered something different. I couldn't tell if he was trying to read me or if he was casting judgment on me.
A hand clamped down on my bare shoulder. Points for me that I didn't jump. "Love, if you have a moment, I'd like a word."
I glanced over my shoulder and up at Roman. He was sporting black like it was going out of style, with enough gold jewelry winking on him to give rappers an inferiority complex. With a smile as sweet and fake as saccharine I said, "Sure thing, Roman."
Paul's hand reached out and touched mine, covering it completely. "Actually, I was just about to ask Jezebel for a private dance."
Still watching my boss, I saw something dark flash in his eyes. Then he grinned like a hungry barracuda, showing all of his perfect teeth. "Hey, the customer always comes first. Especially if my girls do their jobs right." He squeezed my shoulder, then oozed away to annoy the other dancers.
Paul's gaze tracked him, and the look on his face made it clear that he thought Roman was right up there with plague-infested rats.
I cleared my throat. "So, you said something about a dance?"
He looked back at me, and his eyes softened from a stormy green back to sea foam. "Show me the way."
Ooh, the things I could show him…
A smile on my face told Paul I'd be right back. I dashed over to the DJ booth as fast as I could in stilettos. Getting Lyle's attention, I mimed that I'd be going upstairs for a bit, and I pointed to Paul seated at the table. Lyle gave me a thumbs-up. A man of few words was Lyle. Maybe that was due to the speaker mounted directly over the DJ booth.
Then I led Paul to the stairs that headed up to the VIP lounge, my arm wound around his. On the way to the stairs, I caught Roman staring at me, his eyes hard as diamond chips. Maybe it was just me—the air-conditioning was set to nipple-hardening temperatures, so my internal thermostat was way off—but for a second, I thought the peridot stone felt hot against my skin.
No, it was cold, as cold as the smile that flashed on Roman's face as he winked at me.
Chapter 11
Belles (II)
At the front of the lounge, the VIP host loomed in his chair. Don't ask me how any mortal could loom while sitting; this giant in bouncer's clothing pulled it off beautifully. "Evening, sir," Dalton rumbled.
Paul removed a bill from his wallet and flicked it toward Dalton. "Evening."
The bouncer's eyes lit up. "Much obliged, sir," he said, palming the tip.
My Cabin Boy doth have charms I hadn't expected. Sweet. I wondered what else there was to Paul that was just waiting to be discovered. Ooh, the possibilities…
Dalton rose to his feet—a feat unto itself, rather like watching a mountain form before my eyes. "Follow me." Pocketing his cash, he led us past two other booths, where Candy and Faith were grooving to the beat, their customers drooling with desire. In the far back corner, just outside the VIP room, Dalton motioned to the plush sofa, small circular table with two matching chairs, and a slim, metal pole that connected the floor to the ceiling.
"Enjoy your dance, sir."
"He will, sweetie," I told him with a wink. Dalton, obviously unimpressed with my wry wit, lumbered back to his bear cave at the front of the lounge.
The music piped in from the overhead speakers changed to the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams." Nice. I wrapped my arm around Paul's waist. "So tell me, you want me between your legs or on the tabletop?"
He smiled, and my nipples nearly burst out of my bra. "They both sound tempting."
Yay, tempting! "Sweetie, you tell me what you want. I'm happy to do it for you." I wished I was taller; how was I supposed to blow in his ear to emphasize my point when his ear was a good five inches above me?
"Really…" The way he said that single word gave it layers of meaning.
"Really." I bumped my hips to the heavy synth beat. Annie Lennox's voice rang out, smoky and lush and sexy enough to make me take note. Sweet dreams are made of this, she declared. Who was I to disagree?
"Anything?" Paul's eyes sparkled like moonlight on the water. Ooh, my Cabin Boy was entertaining naughty thoughts. Yum! "But we've got an audience."
I glanced at the others in the lounge. Candy's customer was nearly blind with passion. Faith, sitting on her man's lap, giggled as she sipped from his glass. Off by the host station, Dalton tried to look fierce as he hid a yawn.
"Sweetie, I'm betting we're all but invisible to them. So name your poison. Lap dance? Maybe something on the table?"
Paul smiled up at me as he slid onto the couch. "You really don't have to dance."
"No? Maybe a massage? I give good massage."
"I'd really like to just talk."
Boring! He paid to be with me… and he wanted to talk? Oh, but bless me, he looked so earnest. I leaned forward, giving him an eyeful of my cleavage. Beneath my gown, my bra was a black satin demicup that shoved my boobs way up, defying gravity and a few laws of magic. "Talk? Sure. Do you speak body language?"
His smile was the stuff of sonnets. "Willing to learn." He leaned back in his seat, measuring me with his eyes. "Interesting job you've got."
Grinning, I sat on the table, rolling onto my hip and propping my head in my hand. Tabletop centerfold in training. "Believe me, it's nothing like my last job."
"Oh? What'd you used to do?"
I trailed a tapered nail along the tabletop. "Collections. I like this better."
"Yeah?" His lovely poet's eyes deepened to a true emerald. I wondered what he was thinking. "Why'd you change jobs?"
"Oh," I shrugged, "I didn't see eye to eye with management." Not liking where this was going, I changed the subject. "What about you? What's your ball and chain?"
"I'm a consultant."
"What do you consult?"
"This and that. How's it go, jack of all trades, master of none?"
"Handsome and modest," I said, wanting to do more than just talk with him. "My, my."
"Modesty's my best quality."
Not even close. That strong jaw, the bump on his nose… oh, those eyes and his large hands…
His voice pulled me out of my fantasy. "So, do you do more than dance?"
Ooh, a man who cut to the chase. Me like. "Sweetie, I do almost anything once," I said, blowing him a kiss. "Why? Have something in mind when my shift ends?" Sex! Sex! Let's have sex!
His eyes met mine. Expectation, anticipation… something dark and wet and hungry made those sea green eyes flash like heat lightning.
A pregnant pause, then he said, "Maybe. When do you get off?"
Now, just from watching you. "Closing time. Three." Visions of him and me in my king-sized hotel bed nearly made me swoon.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, two inches away from my right breast. "Too late for me tonight. Maybe tomorrow?"
Crap. How could my Cabin Boy have no stamina? "I'm wo
rking middle shift tomorrow. Seven to one." I perked up. "Maybe we could grab some dinner?"
"Can't. Got a long afternoon meeting that's going to stretch into the evening. Maybe lunch? Like around one-thirty?"
"I'd like that." I rolled onto my belly, cupping my chin in my hands as I gazed at his face. "I'd like to know more about you, Paul the Consultant."
"And I'd love to learn all about you, Jesse the Dancer."
Love? LOVE? WOOT!
The rest of the half hour, we made small talk and mooneyes. Nothing more. No touching, no kissing, no breathy promises that neither of us intended to keep. Just staring that was so physical I could feel his gaze caressing my body, my face, my hair. Paul had a tiny scar beneath his left eye, one that you couldn't see unless you stared really closely at his face. I wanted to know how he got it. I wanted to know whatever he was willing to tell me.
After, I walked Paul to the host's station. I tugged on Paul's shoulder until he lowered his head enough for me to kiss his cheek. "Talking was lovely, but next time I'd love to dance for you too."
"That would be great," he said, his voice low and soft, making me think lusty things. How could a few spoken words turn my insides to jelly? Was this the effect I'd had on my former clients before I sucked out their souls?
If so… then damn, I'd been real good.
Paul pulled out his wallet from his back pocket. Ooh, the way he wore those jeans! Slurp, slurp! Grabbing a bunch of bills, he folded them into a square and tucked them into my cleavage. His fingers barely touched my skin, but it was enough to send shocks of heat blasting through my body.
He smiled as if he knew the effect his touch had on me. "Tomorrow, for sure."
My voice about three octaves higher than it should have been, I said, "I'm marking my calendar."
He winked, then he shook Dalton's hand before he ambled out of the lounge. I should have escorted him downstairs, but I was too busy melting into the floor in a pool of presex juice.
"Oh, Jezebel." Dalton laughed from his host station. "Getting a crush on the customers is a bad idea."
"Yeah," I said, thinking about how Paul would look wearing my ankles as earrings. "But I'm a bad girl."
Bent backward, with my tits over my head and my hair whipping against the floor like an automatic dust mop, I mused that being an exotic dancer meant that I was reduced to being nothing more than a creature of sex—an object, a toy. Just something that men thought of as a potential receptacle for their seed. They didn't see my smile, they saw my blood-red lipstick and imagined what it would be like if I sucked their root until they exploded in my mouth.
Über cool.
I finally didn't have to tailor my costume to each individual client. I could dress however I wanted, as long as a G-string covered my bush. For that matter, I didn't have to actually sleep with anyone (not that I ever really got any sleep with my former clients).
Maybe I should have become a call girl instead of a dancer.
But then I wouldn't be dancing, unless it was between the sheets. And then I was back to doing one-on-one jobs (unless I got very lucky). I sort of dug the whole bespell-the-entire-room thing. Maybe I was just a sexual object… but I was a fucking powerful one.
Being a dancer definitely had its pros and cons. But I was willing to bet that the pros—most of which were stuffed in my garter—outweighed the cons. Nothing like swinging from a stripper's pole to really get some perspective.
Someone called my name. I swung to the left, gripping the pole tightly, and I stretched my smile wider than a football field as my upside-down gaze fastened on Roman by the tip-rail. I'd forgotten that he'd wanted to talk to me before—being with Paul had turned me into a creature of the moment. Oopsie.
"When you're done with your show, love, stop by my office."
"Okay."
Crap. It wasn't even one in the morning. I hoped I wasn't going to be fired; another hour at this rate was going to line my panties with the better part of five hundred dollars. Not that I counted or anything.
I swung away from Roman and pulled myself upright, then danced away from the pole, shimmying to Melissa Etheridge. She wailed about some other gal, wondering if she does it like the way I do. Better believe it, sweetie.
After the song ended, I gathered my clothes and my tips, bid adieu to my adoring fans, and sashayed offstage to clear the way for redheaded Lorelei, whose tits appeared about three feet before the rest of her body. In the dressing room, I put on a blue satin robe and cinched it tight. Then I made my way upstairs to Roman's office.
I rapped my knuckles on the door. His muffled voice said, "Come."
As if I could on command.
I opened the door and hovered in the threshold. The man himself was sitting at his desk, his legs crossed by the ankles and planted on top of a stack of papers on the desktop. A cigarette clung to his lips like a desperate lover; the entire room stank of tobacco, with a deeper odor of… something. Not sweat, exactly, and not sex. I couldn't place it.
"Ah, Jezebel. Come in, love."
Momma, behind Roman, straightened up and patted her graying hair. "What can we do for you, honey?"
"Roman asked that I stop by after my set."
"Did he now?" Momma shot Roman an appraising look, which ended in the tiniest of nods—if I hadn't been watching for it, it would've looked like her hair just shifted back into place. "Well then, I'll leave you two alone."
"Close the door behind you, would you, Momma?"
"Of course, Roman."
Momma smiled at me, then sauntered out and shut the door. Wondering if he assumed he was getting in my pants, I stood with my hands clasped in front of my body. The room was tastefully done—tasteful, that is, if you're into wood paneling and tan Naugahyde couches. I was surprised the carpeting wasn't shag.
"So, how's your first night going, love?"
I smiled politely. Don't piss off the boss on Day One. "Fine, Roman. I like dancing, and the men aren't too grabby."
"Yeah, I've been watching you."
I knew I'd felt little rodent eyes on me all night. Now I had the source.
He was watching me now, searching my face as if looking for something he'd lost. His eyes narrowed as he crushed out his cigarette. "You're a fine dancer. Most girls don't know shit. They get on stage and sort of bounce their tits and shake their ass, and they call that dancing. But you actually move to the music. That's nice. I like that."
Not sure where he was going, I said, "Thanks."
"You give any thought to my suggestion, about doing an act with Faith? She's got the angel thing going, maybe dress you up like a devil?"
Somehow my heart wound up in my throat. I swallowed it and said, "I don't know, Roman." I stretched my smile wider, trying to ignore the icy fingers creeping up my back. Bless me, I was afraid. It had to be coincidence. Nothing more.
Except there was that smell, just under the surface of the Pimp Motif, a smell that was so familiar, yet completely elusive. I'd heard the expression "Right on the tip of my tongue" before; until now, I'd assumed it had to do with fellatio.
"Think about it, love," Roman said, standing. "You're both around the same height, and you've got similar figures. Originally I'd wanted Jemma for this. She and Faith could be twins, if you look at them after a couple rounds of Jim Beam. But she's too green for that. You, though. You know how to move that body of yours. Same as Faith. You two are actually for-real dancers." He spread his hands wide. "It doesn't have to be too raunchy. Hell, I don't want to lose my license because of a girl-girl scene. I was thinking something… classier. Like a mirror image show."
He was moving now, coming around his desk and walking behind me. His hands on my shoulders, he whispered in my ear, "Just think about it. That's all I'm asking."
His hands moved down to my breasts. He got one squeeze before I pushed his hands down and away.
"Roman, don't."
"No? Are you sure…Jezebel?"
Something about the way he said my name made
me want to turn and run, but my legs felt rooted to the floor. His tongue darted against my earlobe, and he hit a zinger of a spot because my knees buckled. Pressed against him, I felt his erection against the small of my back.
Finding my voice, I said, "This isn't a good idea, sweetie."
"There we go." He kissed my neck, sending electric shocks across my skin. "I knew it was you, babes."
My throat constricted, and pretty white stars blinked in front of my eyes. Swallowing thickly, my heart boomed as "babes" echoed in my ears. My voice a harsh whisper, I said, "Daun?"
"In the flesh. Heh. Flesh pit."
Suddenly I was falling backward, but he caught me, held me in a dip. Staring into Roman's brown eyes, I watched as they gleamed red… and for a second, I saw the incubus buried within the man.
My boss was possessed.
"Babes," Daun said, his breath hot on my neck, "I've missed you."
Chapter 12
Pandemonium
I dropped off my lover at the edge of Covet. He gave my hand a final squeeze before one of the Greedy eagerly led him to the Cauldron. He'd been sweet, in a sickeningly cloying sort of way. Sort of like rotting honey.
Content over another job well done, I headed toward the Second Sphere. As I was groaning over the thought of waiting on line for days just to file my body receipt, a presence slid through my mind: Hey, babes. You busy?
I grinned from the slick feeling of the thought, which left an impression like scented oil. My buddy Daun always knew how to get my sweet spots. Reaching across the psychic link between Seducers, I replied: Heya, sweetie. I have to file some paperwork. Paydays right around the corner.
Oh well. I thought I could tempt you with wild, rampant sex.
So who needed to get paid? You know what? I need me a good bout of loving.
That's my hot-blooded little succubus. I'm in the District. Come on over, babes.
I fixated on his presence until I clearly pictured his location within Pandemonium. And then I blinked myself to his side.
Daunuan the incubus stood before me, arms folded in front of his broad chest. Like me, he was in his natural form. One of Pan's brood, Daun was a satyr, complete with horns, hooves, and tail. His turquoise skin offset the brilliant gold of his hair and eyes. A pelt of thick, sandy curls covered his lower half, with finer hair covering his torso and arms. A smile played across his face, full of silent temptation and unspoken promises. In stark contrast, his dick spoke volumes as it stood proudly. My nipples hardened in response. Body language at its finest.
Hell on Earth 1 - Hell's Belles Page 10
