Southern Seduction

by Alcorn, N. A.

  And then…the music stops.

  The song ends and ice-cold realization is poured over both of them. Daniella surprises herself by climbing off his lap and searching around for the clothing she scattered around the club floor. Her heart pounds furiously in her chest as she begins to realize what just happened. Instead of showing him a dance routine, she straddled his lap and grinded herself all over his body.

  Cryin’ all night! she mentally screams, her Southern roots dominating her word choices.

  Penn stays rooted in his seat, unable to move due to the uncomfortable throb in his pants. He averts his eyes from watching her bend over and pick up articles of clothing. He can’t stand to have the curve of her ass teasing his brain. Once he regains a semblance of control over where his blood flow is directed, he stands up. His blue eyes find her dressed and sitting on the edge of the stage, nervously biting her bottom lip. That full, perfect lip. His focus locks on to it, his mouth desperate to bite it.

  His fuck-or-flight response kicks in and he decides that flight would be the best-case scenario in this situation. No way in hell is he going to fuck her in the middle of his club—his strip club. And to his shock and her dismay, the words, “You’re not ready, darlin,’” spill from his lips. Her brow rises in disbelief as Penn strides away towards his office.

  Yeah, it might be an asshole move, but right now, it’s the only move he can manage. Otherwise, his traitorous body would have stripped her down and proceeded to fuck her brains out.

  He throws himself down in the leather chair behind his office desk and his head thuds against the hard surface with a loud bang. She wanted him. He knows this. Her puckered nipples, flushed skin, and evident moans were proof. She was lost in the moment, and when she threw her head back and ground her pussy against him with hard, deep movements, he lost all control.

  How many more dances like that can he take before he actually does something?

  Zero.

  No way in hell can he handle another striptease from Daniella. He knows with absolute finality that his cock will revolt if he has to sit through another dance like that without being able to do something about it. He needs a new plan. A plan that ensures her tuition is paid for and will put an end to her working at Wild Nights.

  Fuck, he wants her.

  Everything he felt for her three years ago is still present and stronger than ever.

  He refuses to walk away. He had to last time out of desperation. He was in a bad fucking way, but this time, it won’t happen. Things will be different. Things will be better.

  He just needs her to get on board with this plan…

  Another week goes by, and Daniella still holds on to the anger she’s been harboring for Penn. He left her slack-jawed and shocked to her very core after he told her she wasn’t ready to dance. She knows he was turned on, more than aroused by her body, yet he said she wasn’t ready.

  Isn’t that the point of stripteases? To turn men on?

  She refuses to let that awkward situation get to her. She’s bound and determined to prove herself to him and will do everything in her power to get on that main stage by the weekend. As she leaves class, she sends him a text message.

  Daniella: I’m ready. When do I get a second chance to “prove myself”?

  Penn: I’m too busy this week. I’ll be out of town. Wait until sometime next week.

  Daniella: I can just do a routine for Grant and he’ll let you know if I’m ready or not.

  Penn: NO. Next week.

  She scowls at his immediate, obnoxious refusal.

  Daniella: I’m not a fucking child.

  Penn: Oh believe me, I know this better than anyone.

  What in the hell is that supposed to mean?

  Daniella: Then let me fucking dance! I need the money, Penn. I have to pay for my tuition

  by next week!

  She has already made a decent sum of money from cocktailing, but she still hasn’t made enough to pay her tuition bill. Time is running out, and the only person standing in her way from solving her financial dilemma is Penn Wilder.

  Penn: Daniella, I promise your tuition will get paid. Trust me, okay?

  Daniella: Trust you?!?

  Penn: For Christ’s sake, woman. Calm down. I care about you too much to let a stupid

  tuition bill screw up your plans, okay? All I’m asking for is a little trust.

  Cares about me too much? Her brain tries to decipher what he means. Her silly heart tells her that it means he really cares about her, her rational, logical brain telling her that he means it from a purely friendship, big-brother kind of perspective. She chooses to forget about both options and find another way to get her ass on that stage.

  Daniella: Okay.

  Penn Wilder might think her response is the end of that discussion, but it’s not.

  It’s far from over.

  Penn follows his longtime friend and lawyer, Nate Hudson, into the abandoned warehouse just outside of San Antonio. He already has three other locations lined up to begin his future business venture of night club establishments all over the continental U.S. The inheritance he received after his parents passed away left him with enough money to start his business, and the funds he’s made from Wild Nights in Houston has given him the capability to start a less risqué business endeavor under the Wilder name. Opening a strip club was probably not his mother’s idea of doing something amazing with his life, but it has opened up a lot of opportunities.

  He’s run a tight ship, and he prides himself on the fact that his strip club is as classy as they come. He’s monitored his girls closely, and the usual scene of drugs, alcohol, and free sex acts in the champagne rooms has never occurred under his watch. All of the staff members at Wild Nights are drug tested on a monthly basis. Some may call this over the top, but Penn sees this as a necessary evil.

  His strip club is exclusive and his employees conduct themselves in the utmost professional way. If there is one thing Penn Wilder doesn’t tolerate, it’s drama and bullshit. Fuck up once and consider yourself done. No questions, no excuses, no nothing. There are strict rules that the employees of Wild Nights must adhere to and there are no exceptions. No free passes, no get-out-of-jail-free cards. He expects the best and refuses to settle for less than that. His high expectations and exceptionally perfect record as an entrepreneur have proved to a lot of future business associates that, despite his young age, he is fully capable of running a successful business. And now, he’s more than ready to change his priorities.

  Penn checks his watch and sees that it’s half past three. They’ve yet to meet with the property owners to discuss contracts. He doubts he’ll make it back in time to man the club tonight. He grabs his cell and texts Grant.

  Penn: We’re running late here. Can you man the floor tonight?

  Grant: No worries. I got it.

  Grant has been by Penn’s side every step of the way. And now, his general manager will soon own the entire club. The deal is already in process, and Penn has no doubts that Wild Nights will run smoothly once Grant officially takes over the reins. Over the next six months, he already has three night clubs opening up. Reno, Tucson, and Santa Fe, plus the very likely addition of San Antonio. Reno will be the next to open, and it will get him one step closer to Vegas, which is his ultimate goal. A night club in Vegas will obtain him the ultimate profit, and once Penn sets his sights on something, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. This includes a certain brunette with the biggest brown eyes he’s ever seen, but his brain refuses to head towards that very confusing territory at the moment.

  Nate glances over at Penn, his brow furrowed as he takes in the disheveled appearance of the abandoned warehouse just outside of San Antonio city limits. “What do you think? Definitely needs work,” he says as he runs his fingers across the rusted over walls inside the enormous space.

  Nate Hudson has been with Penn since the beginning. Since the very first signature on the very first contract that eventually turned into his first establishme
nt. He met Nate when he transferred to USC three years ago. And the man took him under his wing, showed him the ropes, and they’ve been tight ever since.

  Penn’s eyes take in the building. Yeah, it’s a shithole right now, but his mind is already visualizing the future. He can picture the sleek bars lining the ends of the space and a large dance floor encompassing the center of the room. It’ll be a challenge, but he can’t pass up this perfect opportunity. With a little blood, sweat, and tears, this warehouse will be home to a sleek, classy night club under the Wilder name.

  “This is it,” Penn replies with certainty.

  Nate runs a lone hand across his buzzed head. “You sure?”

  Penn nods with one resolute motion.

  Nate shrugs his shoulder and lets out a chuckle. “All right, I’ll go grab the owners and see what kind of deal we can work out.”

  Perfect.

  Another location to add to his pocket, another establishment that will undoubtedly be successful, and Penn couldn’t be happier.

  He never saw himself as a night club entrepreneur per se. As a kid, he figured he’d follow his father’s wishes of becoming a successful lawyer or doctor, but law school and med school weren’t his thing. Actually, college in general wasn’t his thing. Penn always preferred nights out clubbing over nights in studying. He’s always had the certain charm and swagger that make people take notice. And this is what led him into the entertainment industry. It’s the perfect match for his personality. And now he’s going to have nearly five night clubs across the United States. Amazing.

  Several hours later, the time is a little past eight. Penn and Nate hammered out most of the details with the warehouse owner’s lawyers. The condition of the abandoned building allowed them to get a steal of a purchase on the property. They paid pennies in comparison to what was shelled out for the Reno location. But it’ll all be worth it. A little hard work will pay off in the end.

  “Let’s grab a bite to eat before we get back on the road,” Nate insists as they hop into Penn’s Range Rover sitting in the parking lot of Conner Matthews & Steel Associates.

  Penn shrugs his shoulders in response. “I could go for a steak right about now. I’m starving and practically high off that deal you just got me.” A satisfied smile crosses his lips as he puts the key in the ignition and pulls onto the main road.

  “Ruth’s Chris?” Nate asks with amusement.

  “Is that even a question?”

  Penn’s lawyer chuckles loudly, smacking his knee in two rough movements. “A dumb question, obviously. Take us to the steak, Wilder,” he says with a gesture of his hand to the road.

  Penn’s throaty chuckle fills the SUV as he hops onto the highway and heads towards steak mecca. His stomach growls at the thought of the best damn food on the planet. If there’s one thing a Southern man enjoys, it’s steak. A nice, juicy, perfectly cooked medium rare steak.

  The beats of Alabama by Cross Canadian Ragweed keep both men entertained and fill the comfortable silence. Penn is a country boy through and through. He loves country music, and this band is one of his current favorites. He’s slightly thrown off that this song reminds him of a certain woman with the most perfect body on the planet. A woman who’s got him tied up in all sorts of knots. Danny Jo.

  Yeah, she prefers Daniella these days. Her sass and stubborn personality shine through whenever she hears that old nickname, but it still doesn’t stop him from thinking it. In his mind, she’ll always be Danny Jo. His Danny Jo. A silent laugh fills his lungs as he thinks about the romantic sentiments that always seem to revolve around her.

  It’s been rough the past couple of weeks with her working at Wild Nights. Actually, rough isn’t even the word. Impossible. Excruciating. Painfully bittersweet. All of these are better descriptions of what it feels like watching Daniella cocktail on weekends in the ridiculously revealing uniform that shows off her perfect assets to every god damn patron of Wild Nights. His mind is imprinted with pictures of her curvy ass sashaying across the club. The flirtatious smiles that cross her lips as she serves customers are painfully etched in his memory. Fuck.

  And that dance… The unbelievable dance she performed for him damn near gave him a heart attack. Penn discreetly adjusts his pants, his dick wandering to less-than-appropriate territories. Normally, seeing his employees strut around in next to nothing has very little effect on him. Yes, he appreciates the female form just as much as any other man, but they are his employees. And that’s all he sees them as. He doesn’t fuck with his employees. That’s a rule of his that he’s stuck with since the very first night he opened up Wild Nights.

  Business and pleasure do not mix when you are the boss. He has a name to uphold. Even though strip clubs aren’t known for being reputable in professional perspectives, that is what has made his club different. It is classy and respectable while exuding more sophistication than any strip club in the country.

  As Penn pulls into the parking lot of Ruth’s Chris, his cell phone vibrates with a voicemail notification. He forgot he’d turned the volume off when they were meeting with the lawyers. He listens to the message as he and Nate head for the front door of the renowned restaurant.

  “Hey, man, it’s Grant. Feather and Diamond called in sick tonight. Not sure what the fuck is going on, but I had to make some last-minute changes to make sure we had enough numbers on the main stage. I added Roxie. She says she’s ready and that you were already planning on throwing her into the lineup this weekend, so I figured why the fuck not now. All right…” The line fills with sultry club music playing into the receiver. “Talk later. Peace.”

  And the message ends.

  Penn stopped mid-step once Grant said the name Roxie. Daniella’s stage name. The name he never intended for her to ever use. And she conned Grant into letting her dance tonight, giving him some bullshit line that Penn had already given her the go-ahead.

  FUCK!

  He runs one free hand roughly through his blondish-brown hair, leaving it in a disheveled mess, while his other hand fishes out his keys. Nate turns around as he’s pulling the front door to the restaurant open and recognizes that Penn is no longer in stride with him.

  “You all right?” He takes in his friend’s irate appearance. His jaw is clenched, his mouth formed in a tight line, his eyes fuming with anger.

  “We gotta go. Now!” Penn shouts as he stalks back to the car.

  “What?” Nate questions, confused as he follows—slowly nonetheless, but still following Penn’s lead.

  “Fuck! Don’t ask questions. We’re driving back right the fuck now!” He hops into the driver’s seat and slams the door shut, the key already in the ignition and revving the engine.

  “Holy shit…” Nate mumbles to himself as he sprints to the Range Rover and jumps in quickly before Penn peels out of the parking lot without him. The loud screech of tires echoes loudly inside of the cab. “What’s going on, Wilder?”

  Penn’s jaw grits several times before he can gain the ability to speak without screaming. “Grant is putting Roxie on stage tonight.” He slams his fists down onto the steering wheel continuously as he accelerates onto the highway. “Fuck!”

  “I thought… I thought strippers were supposed to go on stage?” Nate inquires as he glances at the speedometer. One hundred and ten miles per hour. Shit. Penn’s either got a death wish for both of them or something else is going on.

  “Not her! She was never supposed to go on stage. Never. It’s hard enough letting her walk around with her tits and ass hanging out for every horny bastard within a fifteen-mile radius to drool over.” His tone is short and clipped and quiet, eerily quiet. He only gets this kind of quiet when something is really pissing him off.

  He continues to demon-dial his general manager, frantically trying to get him on the line. “God damnit! Is he hiding out in a bomb shelter?!” he shouts before dialing another number. “Where’s Grant?” he asks angrily into the receiver. “What do you mean you don’t know?! Fucking find him!” His fist
slams down onto the steering wheel again, rage consuming his entire demeanor. “What about Roxie? Put Roxie on the line.” He forces air into his lungs in erratic breaths. “When you find either of them, you tell them to call me. You got it? Good.” He hangs up and throws the phone down into the empty cup holder next to his hip.

  This is bad. The worst kind of bad. Daniella was never supposed to strip. Serving drinks and food while scantily clad is one thing, but taking all of her clothes off and baring her perfect body for strangers is whole other thing. A never-gonna-happen kind of thing.

  Lap dances. Those two words make his chest heavy and his pulse race unsteadily. No fucking way will his Daniella give some horny bastard a lap dance. Just the thought of her straddling some stranger and grinding her body all over them has bile rising from the pit of his stomach.

  Penn checks the time on the dashboard. Half past eight. He’s an hour and half outside of Houston, and the first dancers go on around ten. And he can guarantee that, since Daniella is the newbie, she’ll be one of the first to take the stage. They always save their most experienced, most talented dances for the end of the night. But he’s seen her dance. He knows that she’s more than capable of being the best god damn stripper to ever grace Wild Night’s stage, but she’s better than that. Penn’s foot hits the gas pedal, pushing the two men back in their seats. His mind races with one goal in mind—STOP Daniella from stepping onto that stage.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Here’s to hoping he doesn’t get pulled over.

  What if she’s already dancing when I get there?

  He’ll pull her off the stage by her god damn hair.

  What if she’s giving someone a lap dance?

  His body temperature grows hot as his temper rises to boiling heights. The minutes tick away, his breaths coming quicker by the second. He’ll strangle any motherfucker who puts a finger on her.

  Scratch the first one: Here’s to hoping he doesn’t end up in jail tonight.