Strip Me Bare

by M. Never

  Ryan: I’ll b there. 90 mins never felt like so long. Xoxoxoxox

  I JUST FINISHED my last exam.

  I have one semester left, I have one semester left, I repeat the words to myself as I trudge toward my apartment door. I’m physically exhausted and mentally drained. The last three months have kicked my ass. I’ve barely slept, I’ve barely eaten, and I’ve barely seen Ryan over the past week. And now that finals are over, I’m going to go inside and crash.

  Ryan and I took full advantage of Alex’s jet offer after he exposed us, flying off to Italy and spending a week on the Amalfi Coast. For seven glorious days, I was the only person Ryan took his clothes off for. Mmm.

  My father has yet to meet Ryan face-to-face, and I’m going to make sure it stays that way for a little while longer. Until he can’t make me choose between my love for Ryan or my love for the law. It’s still a dicey situation, but Ryan and I are so close to getting everything we want, I know the sacrifice will be worth it in the end. I put the key into the lock and hear Pitbull blasting from my apartment. I swing the door open to find Ryan having way too much fun doing laundry to “I Know You Want Me.” He has several piles of clothes separated on the couch, and he’s bopping to the music as he folds. I can’t help but stand there and be amused. The last two and a half years have been an education. I’ve learned so much about Ryan. All the little things I didn’t get a chance to the first time around. Like how he eats ice cream out of the container at 2 a.m., or that he’s a neat freak of the obsessive-compulsive kind, which he says is a result of the environment he grew up in. Apparently, his mother and brother liked to pull all-nighters with a carton of cigarettes, a twelve-pack of beer, and a fifth of vodka, leaving him to clean up the mess in their wake. It’s a tragic thought, and always makes me sad.

  He also whimpers quietly in his sleep. Which is adorable.

  It’s made me realize that we’d only scratched the surface all those years ago. Yet, even with the short time we were together, we knew we were right for each other. I roll my eyes at myself. We are frighteningly compatible, and irrevocably in love.

  I don’t know how long I watch before Ryan notices me behind him. He shoots me a cocky smile, tosses the shirt he’s folding down, and slides across the room keeping beat with the music.

  I smile at him stupidly.

  After doing the logo for my uncle’s law firm, Ryan has been taking on freelance jobs for graphic design. Usually, when I’m studying he’s working on a project. It’s beefing up his resume, but it by no means has given him the incentive to quit Culture or give up Jack the Stripper.

  Once he reaches me he mouths the words, counting in my face with his fingers, before grabbing my hand and smashing me into his body. He moves his hips, doing a little circle motion as he grinds against me.

  “Showing me your best Johnny Castle impression?” I toy with him.

  “None other, it’s where I learned all my dance moves.” He starts dancing me sinfully all around the room, singing the lyrics and rrrrrolling the R’s seductively into my ear. I laugh, because it’s so goddamn sexy and because I can’t picture him watching Dirty Dancing. He then pushes me down on the couch and really starts to move. Pulling off his t-shirt as he rolls his body, pops his chest, and surges his hips, enjoying every second of his little strip tease.

  I’m enjoying it, too. I think a little too much, because suddenly my cheeks are on fire and a flash flood of heat is soaking me between my thighs as I watch the hottest man in Manhattan move seductively in front of me.

  Ryan creeps down onto his knees, pulls me forward so I’m half lying on my back and positions himself right between my legs. He slams his pelvis hard against my mine, then pumps three times to the rhythm of the music, causing me to cover my face instinctively with my hands, part-embarrassed part-hysterical. When the song ends Ryan pulls my hands away, but I can’t stop laughing. One, because I don’t think I’ve relaxed in the last three months, and two, because I’m totally turned on.

  “Did I do something funny?” he asks with all seriousness.

  “Funny and totally hot.”

  “Now that’s what I want to hear.” He leans down and kisses me, the wet sloppy embrace sending sensations shooting straight to the starved desire spiraling inside me. I moan, compulsively grabbing for the button of his jeans. I’m dying for the release, dying for him. And Ryan totally knows it.

  He smooths his hands over my hair, kissing me sweetly and urgently all at the same time.

  “I like you like this,” he groans eagerly.

  “Half-naked?” I answer, as he yanks the pants from my body.

  “Stress-free,” he responds, running his hands down my hips, drinking my body in.

  My phone rings, but we both ignore it, too caught up in the moment.

  Still on his knees, Ryan lifts one of my legs onto his shoulder then leans forward slightly, bracing himself on the edge of the couch. He circles one fingertip around my clit, before sinking his index finger, then middle finger deep inside me. I jolt from the unhinging pressure. God, I can’t even remember the last time we did this. Never taking his eyes off mine, he pushes my legs farther apart, heightening the sensation of his touch. I become nothing but ripples of need and liquid want under the strokes and lashes of his commanding hand.

  “What do you want, Alana?” Ryan demands in a husky voice, flicking my spot.

  I can’t even reply, his touch feels so good. It’s drowning me. I close my eyes, throw my head back, and buck my hips, but he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me what you want,” he orders, his blue eyes feral, wanton, rapturous.

  “You,” I choke out, as he inches me closer to the edge.

  “Me, where?”

  “Inside me,” I pant.

  “Deep baby?”

  “Yes.” I’m unraveling from the ravenous hunger building in my core, and Ryan is the only one who can satisfy it.

  He drops my leg and pulls me farther down the couch to where my butt is barely on the cushion. He lifts my arms up, pinning them over my head, and then kisses me hard, his hips stalling an inch away from mine, tormenting me. I struggle to move, the anticipation of what’s to come exasperating.

  “Say my name.” He licks up my neck, a hot, tantalizing caress. “I need to hear you say it.” He always needs to hear me say it, especially when we’re like this.

  My heart is beating out control, and the lower half of my body feels like it’s about to detonate.

  “Ryan,” I implore, and just before I don’t think I can bear another second of his teetering torture, he slips deep inside me. The friction catapults me, and I let out a cry. Fuck. I fling my head back onto the couch as Ryan goes to work. Coaxing me with his hips, sliding his cock in and out, long and deep, over and over, scrambling my brain, feeding the fire raging inside me.

  “Ryyaann,” I moan uncontrollably as he pumps into me harder, his grip on my hands so firm it’s almost painful.

  “Deep enough for you?”

  “No.” I antagonize him, and he slams into me mercilessly causing me to scream.

  “I love hearing you, baby,” he breathes rugged and harsh. It’s so fucking hot it tips me right over the edge. All at once I’m clinging to him, digging my plum-polished fingernails into his knuckles as a blast of ecstasy shoots through me, shattering all of my senses.

  When I blink my eyes open, and remember where I am, Ryan is tensing on top of me, caught in the middle of his orgasm. It’s beautiful to watch. It’s beautiful to feel. And it makes me all warm and wanted and not so disconnected from the world.

  He drops down when he’s done, panting wildly. “Fuck, I missed you,” he murmurs as he encases my body in his arms.

  I giggle satisfied, running my hands through his messy hair. “Missed me how exactly?”

  Ryan groans lazily. “I missed kissing you here.” He plants his lips between my breasts. “And here.” He sucks on my neck. “And here.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth. “But most of all here.” He
swipes his thumb between my thighs where I’m all sticky and wet.

  “I missed you kissing me there, too.” I quiver as he sends shockwaves straight to my tailbone.

  Ryan falls back onto the floor, dragging my loose, languid body with him, positioning me on his lap. His pants are still around his ankles and his hair is a fluffed-up mess. He encircles his arms around me, as I drop my head back onto his shoulder. We just sit there quietly and bask, Ryan petting me all over. Mmmmmm.

  “I love it when you’re on break from school.” Ryan licks my neck like a lazy lion—one long, hot stroke after the other.

  “Me, too. I can’t believe it’s my last one. One more semester then it’s off to the real world.”

  Ryan freezes mid lick. “The real world,” he repeats.

  “Is there something wrong with the real world?” I ask.

  “No,” he answers and then goes back to brushing his tongue against my skin.

  “Ryan, what’s wrong?” I roll my eyes in pure bliss. That feels so effing good.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Ryan lifts his head and looks at me with big, blue vigilant eyes. I know he has something to tell me. I can see it on his face and feel it in his taut muscles enclosed around me.

  “I just don’t know if I’m ready to share you with the real world.”

  “You don’t have to share me, I’m all yours.”

  He drops his forehead to mine. “And I’m all yours.”

  “Ryan, are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I ask again, instinctively worried.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’d tell you if there was.” He shifts me off him, lowering me down onto my back. He runs his hands all over my naked body, kissing all the places he said he missed.

  “Ah!” I tense when he drops his head between my knees. And just like that, words cease to exist.

  After I get out of the shower I look to see who called, while Ryan re-folds all the crinkled clothes. He snaps my ass with one of his shirts as I walk by him, and I jump.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” I pout as I hit Emily’s name on my phone.

  “I’ll kiss it and make it all better if you want,” he promises with a salacious smile.

  “You stay right where you are,” I instruct playfully. There could be a fun evening ahead of us, but it’s Friday, and Ryan has to work.

  Movie and take-out for me tonight.

  “Alana!” Emily answers enthusiastically.

  “Hey, you didn’t leave a message when you called.” I haven’t talked to Emily in weeks, and when I hear her voice it makes me realize how much I miss her.

  “I wanted to see what you were doing tonight. It’s Jill’s bachelorette party. I want you to come.”

  I could definitely use a night out after this semester.

  “Okay, where are you guys going?”

  “Where else? Culture.”

  I immediately reconsider.

  “I don’t know, Em,” I glance up at Ryan who’s folding cluelessly.

  “Come on, I have an extra ticket to the Male Revue.”

  “Emily, are you serious? I can’t sit through that.”

  “Sit through what?” Ryan asks.

  I pause. “Let me call you right back, Em.” I hang up.

  “Jill’s bachelorette party is tonight,” I share.

  “Oh, yeah? Emily wants you to go?”

  “Yes, but the thing is . . .” I bite my lip. “They’re going to Culture. And the Male Revue.”

  Ryan holds my gaze like he’s playing a hand of poker. “And?”

  “And . . . would that be weird?”

  “For me or you?” he questions.

  “Both?”

  Ryan measures me with a contemplative expression. “I don’t have to dance tonight.”

  “You’re going to blow off work?”

  “No, not exactly, I just won’t do the Male Revue. Actually,” a light bulb goes off in his head, “I can belong to you tonight.”

  “Excuse me? I thought you belonged to me every night?”

  “Yes, I do. Every night, every day, every moment,” he reassures me. “But can you just go with it for now?”

  “Owning you?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I shrug, wondering what the hell he has up his sleeve.

  Ryan grabs his phone off the end table by the couch and punches a button, a few moments later he’s talking to Divan. “Hey, man, change of plans tonight.” He turns and walks toward my bedroom. “No Male Revue, and I need . . .” He disappears behind the door before I can hear anything else.

  A few hours later I’m looking at myself in the mirror. Ryan has already left for work, and my Uber should be here any minute. I glance at the clock, 9:30 p.m. I decided to still skip the Male Revue even though Ryan opted out. I can have a male strip show anytime I want, just look at what happened this afternoon.

  I run my fingers through my blonde hair. I blew it out so it’s pin straight, the ends touching just below the middle of my back. My bangs are styled to the side, my eyes smoked out with a black sparkly shadow, and my lips are a glossy, magenta pink.

  Dressed in a sheer, peach-colored tunic top pleated all the way around, the front hem shorter than the back with a black tank top underneath, skinny jeans and black knee-high boots I’m ready to take on the night.

  I stuff my ID, some money, and lip gloss into my black Coach wristlet, before grabbing my coat and heading downstairs to wait for my car. Twenty minutes later the white Ford is dropping me off on the doorstep of Culture. I step out into the chilly night air and immediately spot a familiar face. Lorenzo, manning his station behind the red velvet rope checking IDs. There’s already a line two city blocks long of women and a few men waiting to get in to one of NYC’s hottest social scenes.

  “Chica!” Lorenzo’s voice vibrates when he sees me and, like usual, I hear the chords to “Still Not a Player” in my head. Lorenzo’s dressed in his typical threads—black leather jacket, black shirt, black pants and derby hat. “It’s been too long, mommy. Where you been?”

  “Trapped under law books,” I impart dryly as he unhooks the rope, allowing me to bypass the line.

  “Ryan got the hookup for you and your girlies tonight.” He smiles widely.

  “Oh, really? What does that mean exactly?”

  “You’ll see.” He grins. “Have a smoke for old times before you go inside?”

  I sigh, “I quit.”

  “Good for you.” Lorenzo nudges me and then opens the door.

  I curl my lip. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Star! Alana’s here,” he yells just before I walk through the doorway. Lorenzo winks at me. “She’ll take care of you. Have fun, mama . . .” he teases.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. He has seriously piqued my curiosity. I recall the last time I was here, and my thoughts immediately dart to the semi-private room in the back of the club. The cluster of alcoves is called the dance quarter, which I later came to find out. And I can’t stop myself from wondering if Ryan and I are going to end up there again.

  I walk in and find Star sitting behind a little table with a cash register on it. She’s African American with a huge afro and beautiful almond eyes.

  “Nice to meet you, Alana.” She’s sweet, pulling up one side of the black curtain. “Everything is ready for you and your guests.”

  Guests?

  I follow Star into the club, a remix of “Troublemaker” by Olly Murs and Flo Rida is pumping through the sound system. It looks mostly the same, except now there are pedestals with stripper poles sprinkled around the floor, and half-naked men dancing systematically to the music. There’s also a new Cirque du Soleil attraction on the ceiling. Huge rings hung by ribbon, it’s a spectacle, to say the least.

  “This way.” Star leads me left.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The VIP area.” We start to climb up steps in a dark corridor lit with tiny twinkle lights. There’s a lo
ng hallway at the top with several large doors on the right hand side. She opens the second one and motions for me to step through. As I enter the room, I realize it isn’t a room at all, it’s a huge balcony with a bird’s-eye view of the entire club. There’s a U-shaped, white leather couch with purple spotlights shining over it. A large, shiny, white square table with several bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, and a small wet bar in the left corner.

  Wow.

  “The rest of your party is on their way up, and Ryan should be here shortly. Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  Um, hell, yeah.

  “Yes, please.” Without hesitation, Star pulls out a bottle of Cristal and pops it open.

  Ryan didn’t skimp, I think to myself, as I take the glass from her.

  “If there isn’t anything else, I’ll let you get comfortable.”

  “No, thank you.” I smile and she closes the door. I amble over to the railing and look out over the club. The acrobats are eye level, and I can see the entire dance floor below. People’s hot, sweaty bodies are mashed together as the lights under the DJ’s booth flicker, the colors of the strobes changing from orange to yellow to purple to red. I hear some energetic screaming coming from the balcony next door, I can’t see what’s causing the commotion, but I can definitely imagine what it could be.

  A few seconds later, the door behind me busts open and Emily, Jill, and the rest of her party come stumbling in. Jill throws her arms around me as soon as she sees me. “Ryan hooked it up!” she yells, reeking of some kind of fruity alcohol.

  “You had a good time at the Male Revue, I take it?”

  “Amazing!” she screams excitedly, grabbing the champagne bottle off the table, taking a huge swig.

  Oh, this is going to be an interesting night.

  “Not only did I have the hottest dancer in the club, besides Ryan, of course.” Of course. “But, he got all the girls in my party private dances and a bunch of guys to hang out with us all night.” She downs more champagne. “Do you know the rumors that swirl around about Culture’s VIP rooms? Only rock stars and celebrities hang out up here. This is the best bachelorette party ever!” she shrieks in my ear.