by Eva Luxe
“It’s harder to recover from this climax than it normally is. It must be the higher altitude. I feel out of shape, even though I hit the gym a few times a week in order to fit into my wedding dress.”
“Well, don’t lose too much weight,” Darien asked, with a smile. He pulled me toward him and rubbed my bare back gently with his hands. “I love your curves. I mean, they’re your curves so you can do what you want with them, but I hope you keep them.”
“Of course I will,” I told him. “I like when you hold onto my hips or my ass when we come together, and we can’t do that if I lose my curves.”
“Exactly,” Darien said. “I’m going to get that lap dance at some point and, unlike at the club, I’m going to make sure you give me a happy ending. We’ll come together then too. And that’s what married people are supposed to do, right? Come together? I think they’re supposed to do everything together. Including finishing together.”
“You bet your ass they are,” I said and kissed him deeply. “We’re in this together. No matter what. Whatever life brings our way, we can conquer it as long as we’re together.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Darien said, holding me, his new bride, close to his body.
I nestled my head into Darien’s neck, taking in our adventure high above the clouds. Then I look at the man whose strong arms are holding me, looking forward to the adventures we have ahead of us.
I’m not sure what life will throw at us but I’m ready for us to handle them together. I wouldn’t have it any other way, either.
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Baby Wanted: A Virgin & Billionaire Romance
Copyright 2017 by Eva Luxe and Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Cover by Cosmic Letterz.
Chapter 1 – Stacy
Today was supposed to be a normal start to a normal day at work— at least, as “normal” as anything could be when one’s job is stripping, which, mine happens to be. But nothing was turning out to be normal at all.
The music wasn’t on, and the doors to the club were closed. My friend Lindsey and I both tried calling the owner. A few of the other dancers and bartenders showed up, scratching their heads as well.
“He isn’t answering my calls. Any luck, Lindsey?” I asked, smoothing my hand down the rusted door to the bar.
The alley way began to darken with the sky. The only thing that usually kept this area lit were the lights from the bar when it was open, which it was supposed to be now, but clearly wasn’t.
“No. I’ve been trying to call his ass for the last ten minutes!” Lindsey hissed, staring at her phone as if it could give her a magical answer.
I rubbed my chin and glanced up at the sign that would originally be lit up, letting everyone know Bar Seven was open for business.
Frowning, I sighed and looked at my phone. “Yeah, we were supposed to be open twenty minutes ago.”
Now there were customers beginning to wobble down the alley, expecting a fun time. They looked just as puzzled as we were to find out the bar wasn’t open.
“Yo, what’s happening? Ya’ll not open?” A guy asked, his girl for the night hanging off of him.
Just then, Lindsey’s phone rang. “Shit, it’s him!” she took the call and jutted out her hips to the side. “Hey. What’s going on?! Are you alright? As you probably know, we’re due to start our shifts now, and customers are waiting for the bar to open,” she huffed. “What do you mean closed? It’s a weekday. What? For good? Jim, that can’t— oh shit,” Lindsey took her phone off her ear and stared at it in the palm of her hand.
More people gathered by the door.
“Lindsey, what’s going on?” I asked her, to break her from that listless gaze.
“We’re all out of a job…” she whispered.
I grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her, so she could look me in the eye and say that again. I needed confirmation.
“What? Lindsey!”
As if finally snapping out of it, Lindsey turned back to the spunky, take charge girl I knew and loved. She walked away from me and over to the small crowd of dancers and bartenders as well as the loyal, early bird customers, all of whom had gathered to wait for some news.
“I’m sorry everyone, but Bar Seven is closed… permanently. I just got the news. I’m sure there are some other spots to go to, but, right now, I’m sorry to say I’m quite shocked to have learned of this information and I have no suggestions.”
Holy shit, she was telling the truth. I had bills that needed to be paid— the most important one being rent— and they were all due within a week. And my one way to pay them was over. I’d worked my way up to dancing at Bar Seven— that sounds like a fake brag but it was the best club in town and only accepted girls with both the looks and the experience to qualify as entertaining enough for the customers— and, quite frankly, I’d burned my bridges with clubs I’d left for greener pastures. There’s a strange loyalty system where club owners essentially say, “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out” if you leave.
I had wanted to get out of the business for a while now, before the decision was made for me— the girls who danced at Bar seven were also usually quite young— but there was the little problem of money. Stripping wasn’t really my scene but in this economy it was the one surefire way to win money.
Still, although people always laughed at me when they found out— causing me to stop telling anyone— I was a virgin. I had some traditional notions of wanting marriage and kids one day down the line. And I wasn’t fooling myself that being an exotic dancer was the best way to go about accomplishing those life goals.
I was working my way through school, albeit slowly, since stripping at night didn’t give me much time for studying. At least I had some end goal eventually in mind, though. Exotic dancing was supposed to be just a temporary stepping stone on my path to bigger and better things in life. But the money was secure and I didn’t seem to have any better prospects so I’d gotten stuck on that same damn stone for probably far too long.
My good friend Willow had come and gone from a previous club I’d worked for, and she always told me there really were other opportunities out there that I should explore. But that was easy enough for her to say, when her next great opportunity had literally run right into her life in the form of a rich, handsome customer who needed a nanny. Then he’d needed some sex from the nanny. Then he’d been unable to keep his hands off the nanny, and now they’re married, so, that was that.
Meanwhile, no billionaire knight in shining armor had shown up to rescue me or pay my bills, so off to work at Bar Seven I’d continued to go nearly every night. Until tonight, which turned out to be my last night ever working here, like it or not. I guess it was time to make some decisions about my future, whether I felt ready to make them or not.
Chapter 2 – Stacy
My gut felt like it was sinking down to the bottom of the ocean as I let Lindsey’s news settle in, and my feet grew heavy like lead weights. What the hell? He couldn’t find the decency to call us and say he was closing up shop?
Instincts told me that it was more than a one and done sort of thing. But that was none of my business. My landlord wasn’t going to care if the FBI or even God himself shut the place down; he wanted his money.
That thought only reminded me that so many people were counting on this money, including me. I had a family, and they weren’t doing too hot on money either. Good thing I had student loans for my schooling, or else I’d be screwed to the hundredth power.
Everyone wandered back into the streets, where
they began to head off into different directions. Lindsey leaned on a wall and rubbed her forehead.
“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What happened? Did the building get foreclosed on?” I was prying, and damn it, I had every right to do so. This was my money too.
“That old ass fart. He wouldn’t tell me. But I bet it’s gotta be pretty bad to get him to close the doors.”
It was over. For real. Just like that.
Lindsey and I were the only stragglers still left at the now defunct club, and a blackness began to creep up the alley, threatening to swallow us. We linked arms and went back onto the main road where the street lamps gave us a bit more safety.
“Well, I guess we could always try to go back to another club with our tail between our legs, like everyone else is probably already trying to do just about now…”
As soon as I suggested it, I realized how dumb of an idea it was, although I had a little hope because Lindsey was always everyone’s favorite, and Lindsey was also one of my best friends. But I also heard Willow’s voice in my ear, scolding me about other opportunities out there besides stripping.
“Not a fat chance,” Lindsey quickly said. “I had a friend looking to start dancing. I knew that Bar Seven wouldn’t hire her without experience, so I called every other club in town, trying to cash in favors from back in the day before I started working at Bar Seven, to help her out, you know? And they were all like, ‘Sorry, babe, we remember your fine tits but we can’t do anything to help you out even if you show ’em to us again for old times’ sake.’”
She made her voice sound like an old perverted strip club manager as she said it, and I cracked up. It was good to laugh even though I otherwise felt despondent.
“They said, ‘You should be glad you moved up and on while you had the chance because we’re really suffering around here and there’s already such a glut of dancers trying to get enough shifts and hours in between there being so many of them,’” she continues, “‘that we can’t possibly take another one— not even for you, Sugartits.’”
Even though I was upset and disappointed, I couldn’t help but laugh even more heartily at good old Lindsey. Her fake, exaggerated accent was hilarious. As was the reminder of her nickname, “Sugartits,” and how she’d earned it.
Lindsey always performed an act to Pour Some Sugar on Me in which she would literally do just that— or have someone else come up on stage and do it to her. Then she would lick the sugar crystals off her large breasts while she was up stage, sometimes right in front of the face of the lucky customer who had the honors of pouring the sugar on her.
Finally, she’d pour some sugar on her pussy and let all the guys inspect the sparkling white crystals up close as they glistened on stage under the lights. They weren’t allowed to really eat it, of course, or even touch it, but she made a big production out of acting like they could, and pretending she was literally serving up her sugar-laced pussy to them.
She made a lot of money from that act, which was entirely her invention. Guys who were regulars or who had heard about her act— some came for miles to see it— would offer up large tips to all her night long in a bid to be the one called up stage. She’d always do it as her final act so she could string along the mystery of who would be chosen along late into the night, with guy after guy buying lap dances with her and tipping better and better. The more the night wore on, the more they’d drink, and the more they’d drink, the better they’d tip, and the more excited they’d get over hoping they’d be the one she’d choose for her act, which only helped fuel the entire process over and over and over.
It was an ingenious plan and it worked so well that other girls at the club started trying to copy it. She’d go up to them and tell them they’d better knock that off. At first, they’d taunt her by saying, “Or what? Did you file a trademark? Are you gonna sue us over it?”
But then she started saying “No, actually, I’m gonna kill you over it,” while making air movements that pretended to slit their throats. I knew that Lindsey was a peaceful soul who would never harm anyone, but the other girls were scared enough by her crazy portrayal of a crazy person that they actually started to wonder if she was, indeed, crazy.
“Where’d you learn to sound so scary and convincing in your death threats?” I’d asked her once.
“From binge-watching Orange is the New Black,” she’d replied.
I’d laughed, but she’d been serious. Whatever worked, I supposed. I’d always admired Lindsey’s business acumen, as well as her confidence on stage and in every other facet of her life.
Lindsey wasn’t like me or most dancers, who claimed— but I really mean it, of course— to just be doing the whole stripping thing temporarily because we really needed money, and who also claimed to not really like it. Sure, I needed money to live and I was willing to do whatever it took to get it. But that didn’t mean I loved doing it. In fact, the opposite was true. I didn’t really like anything about it, other than the fact that it made decent money.
But Lindsey had always been the one to say, “Fuck this, I own what I do and I’m proud of it,” and she’d always meant it, too. She liked to go off on speeches about how stripping is true feminist entrepreneurship— women using their assets to profit. She would ask why she’s supposed to feel bad about taking her clothes off for money when the guys aren’t supposed to feel bad for paying her money to take off her clothes.
Now, Lindsey stopped sighing and her pretty, dark brown eyes popped back open at me. “Come on, let me drive you home. I know you need the ride.”
“Thanks.”
I supposed there was nowhere to go but home. And at least I had a friend to take me there.
Chapter 3 – Stacy
Once I was back inside my small studio, I made a bubble bath and soaked in it like there was no tomorrow. But even the soothing mango scent of my favorite bath soap couldn’t stop my mind from racing around like a cat running after a ball of yarn.
Bills here.
Bills there.
Bills everywhere.
Hell, I could look in the damn sink and find a bill there.
My income was cut clean off, and the other jobs out here as a cashier or a waitress weren’t gonna cut it. Before I’d started dancing I’d tried quite a few other jobs and none of them made anything compared to that. There was only one card I had left.
Since my mind sped up faster with worry and panic, I slopped out of the bathtub and walked over to my phone. It was like I was a zombie who had forgotten about the need for a towel until I went to use an electronic device. Drying my hands on a stray throwaway shirt, I picked up the phone and dialed Willow.
I didn’t like having to ask favors, but this was life and death in all honesty. If I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t live.
It rang a few times, and then she picked up. I gripped the phone tighter, nervousness welling in the pit of my stomach.
“Hey, Stace, what’s going on?” Willow asked, in her usual cheery voice.
“Hell. Jim just closed down the club, and didn’t even bother to tell us before we took the time out of our day to get down there.”
The soap bubbles on my body were popping and sliding down my legs as I stood in the doorway, talking to Willow.
“Oh my god?! Really? That’s insane. Do you need help finding something?”
There was my cue, like an invitation handed out to me.
“Willow, can you hook me up with something?” I pulled at a stray strand of hair that was clinging to my face.
“Sure! You’ve called at the right time.”
The worry and anxiousness that had been gnawing at me instantly subsided. Phew.
“Good. What is it?” I asked, walking back to my tub.
I was taking a risk since this phone wasn’t water proof. But what the hell, I needed to calm back down. If talking to Willow on my phone while in the bath was going to do it, then I’d do it.
“Grant Carter.”
Thos
e two words made me freeze in my steps. “Wait, the Grant Carter? Of Carter Enterprises?”
I majored in business and dabbled in IT, so his name was constantly thrown around in my classes. When I saw his face plastered in the magazines for being the world’s newest billionaire a few years ago, my panties nearly melted.
Grant Carter was a walking stick of sin and sex. No wonder he was rich.
“Yup, Darien is a good friend of his,” Willow said, mentioning her husband, “and he just had a position open up for a personal assistant. He was asking us if we knew anyone who could fill it so I was actually going to ask you. But I figured you’d just say it didn’t pay enough compared to dancing, or whatever excuse you always give me to keep doing it.”
I laughed, because she was right. Had I not been forced to find a job due to the fact that Bar Seven closed down, who knows how long I would have stayed there, telling myself that one day I would leave, and with Willow continually prodding me, or giving up because it was futile. But still, Grant Carter was so gorgeous—how could I not be interested in working for him?
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Being a personal assistant to Grant Carter? I wasn’t good enough for that. I had no experience. But the money… the money associated with this had to be good. Maybe not Bar Seven good, but better than flipping burgers.
And I wasn’t in the position to be picky. Plus, this was considered a legit job; hell, I could brag about it anywhere I went without that black cloud of shame that seemed to hang over me whenever I had to tell people what I did.
No more old ladies shaking their heads, no more lies that I couldn’t keep up with. No more thinking no one would ever want to marry me or have kids with me, or, if they did, that I’d have to skip out on making dinner because my shift at the only nudie club in town that accepted older ladies started in half an hour.
