by Sadie Grubor
"Hey, Jackson, how are you tonight?" one calls.
"Jackson, give us a shot," another demands.
Keeping my head down, I slip my hands into my pockets so I won’t flip them off or punch someone. Fucking leeches.
A slow, steady beat fills the air of the extremely packed club.
"Jack!" Red's call pulls my attention to the VIP table.
I sit in the booth and one of the busty servers sets a drink on the table.
"Thanks." Grasping the cold glass, I bring it to my lips.
"You feeling okay?" Red examines me through narrow eyes.
I nod, setting the glass down on the table.
"What's with all the commotion tonight?" I ask, lounging into the booth and stretching an arm over the back.
"It's time to publicize this place." He grins. “I have a guest performer tonight that will draw some buzz."
"A guest, already?"
Completely unlike Red, he stays silent, a mischievous smile on his face.
The lights dim and a man's deep voice fills the room.
"Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, let's give tribute to rope, paddles, chains, blindfolds, and handcuffs. Please welcome special guest, Kristyna Molvic, for your viewing pleasure."
My lips part, chest tightens, and anger boils my stomach. What is this bitch up to now?
The flirty music fills the room, curtains part, and Kristy steps forward, asking to be spanked and for hanky-panky. She doesn't really sing, it's more of a rhythmic talking.
She's got nothing on the other girls and sure as fuck, not my snake charmer.
Kristy's eyes lock on to me. Sitting straighter, a flash registers from near the bar.
Damn, paps!
In a silky, pink corset, short shorts, white fishnets, and other accessories, Kristy struts off the stage through the crowd. She reaches our table and hops up, leaning back on the black lacquered surface. Pulling herself up to end the song, she spins and lands into my lap. Her big finish is straddling and kissing me.
Instinctively, my hands clasp her hips, but I feel the urge to toss her off. Another flash from a camera stops me. I don't need any more damn press involved in my life. Going lax, I let her finish the act.
She pulls back, her look telling me she's pissed by my lack of reaction. Another camera flashes and she's quick to put her practiced smile in place. Slipping off my lap, she soaks in the applause and accolades from the audience as she returns to the stage, disappearing stage left.
"You're one lucky fucker," Red boasts.
"You think?" I narrow my eyes at him, my mouth tight.
"What, man? I thought you two were together. She wanted to surprise you," he explains.
"Ah." I nod, now understanding. "She's a psycho, man. I've tried to drop the bitch twice now, but I can't get rid of her."
"Why would you get rid of someone so ready to ride you?" His eyebrow quirks in curiosity.
I close my eyes and rub my face, fighting not to say the three words that will make it perfectly clear. So, instead of "she's not Liza", I say, "She's like single-white-female meets Jigsaw."
Red's brow furrows in confusion.
"She'll do whatever it takes to get where she wants to be and her games are fucking twisted and bloody."
Before he can react to my explanation, every light goes out, including the ones over the tables. The lights flicker in synchronization to the beat of Tainted Love, until her voice deliberately ear fucks everyone with the first verse.
In a black and gray striped corset, lace bottoms, sheer black thigh-highs with fuck-me-now bows, and black stilettos, she slinks to the edge of the stage. A large, black pole in her hand, she stabs it into the stage, singing and grinding. Her blood red lips push the words out to the audience. This version is harder, edgier, like Manson's but slowed to a sexier tempo.
Stepping to the extended runway part of the stage, she struts, dragging the pole behind her. Two backups dressed in red follow. Once she stabs the pole into the stage floor again, they dance around it.
Leaving the dancers with the pole, she enters the crowd. Moving like a panther on the prowl, her body curls around the tightly packed bodies.
I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, my cock painfully hard. It knows exactly how slick and hot she feels, and he wants more.
Chest rising and falling, I inhale hard as Liza puts a foot on some asshole's chair between his legs. She unclasps one thigh-high before swaying her torso forward, pushing the sheer stocking down.
Gripping the table, I hold myself in place. She fucking transforms on stage, giving the audience a glimpse at the naughty charmer I know intimately.
No one else should see this. It's mine, damn it!
With a small shake of my head, I remove the thought like shaking a fucking Etch-A-Sketch.
It's not mine. She's not mine. She belongs to another fucking guy.
She pushes away from the guy, giving him her back, and shimmies, releasing the clasp on the other leg. The douchebag reaches his hand out.
I start to stand, but Red puts a hand on my arm, and mouths, "You don't want to leave now." Grinning, he points to Liza.
I look back, seeing she's tied the asshole's hands behind his back with a napkin before walking away. Smiling, I start relaxing until she pulls another guy from the crowd onto the stage.
The backups quickly strap the guy to the pole and Liza plucks at the fingertips of her gloves before shoving one in his mouth. The man bites and she pull her hand from the glove.
After repeating the action with the other glove, she kicks away her heels. The backups remove her stockings and then Liza practically crawls up the guy's body. When the dancers start loosening her corset strings, the whooshing sound of my heart ricochets in my ears.
The corset hangs loose, her hand holding it to her chest, and bare back against the dickhead I plan to track down later and kill. She finishes the song almost on a whimper, begging for him to take her tears and lets the corset drop. My heart stops, starting again when the backups move their heads in the way before anyone actually sees anything but black X pasties.
Darkness falls around us again. The roar of applause is deafening. She's brought every man and woman to their knees, or possibly to orgasm.
My fucking snake charmer. One night was supposed to be enough. I'm not supposed to care about you flirting with the audience, revealing the seductress I'm intimately acquainted with, or…fuck, I'm not supposed to care at all, to want you the way I do.
The lights in the booths and on the tables fade back to dim.
"I fucking love that girl," Red boasts, proud and impressed.
I grunt. If I speak, not only will I lose my shit on Red, I'll find those douchebags out in the audience and show them what a spanking with a fist feels like.
"Don't worry. I'm not making a play for her," Red laughs.
My eyes meet his.
"I thought you were just looking for a distraction, but it looks like she may have gotten to you, huh?" He puts his beer bottle to his mouth.
"Nah," I shake my head, "she was just a distraction."
I reach for my glass and toss back the watered down JD. Red's boisterous laugh draws other people's attention.
"Dude, you were ready to go Captain Caveman when she was performing." His big hand slaps the table.
"I was not." I lie my fucking ass off. "In fact, she's just like the rest who have someone at home, but still fuck around."
The server appears with fresh drinks, clears the old, and disappears.
"That girl is good." I point to the retreating server but look at Red.
He nods, taking a pull from his new beer.
"Liza's got an old man?" Red's question annoys and amuses me.
"Old man? Really?" Furrowing my brow, I'm a little surprised by the label he chose.
"Yes, really, fucker," Red responds. "Anyhow, I swear Bethany said she's single. Lives with her sons, or brothers…or something. Fuck, I'm not sure. She was naked and I got sidetracked." He shakes
his head.
"Well, that didn't take you long," I taunt, changing the topic to him.
"Actually, she took a couple weeks to break down. Even then, I had to be pretty persuasive since I'm the new boss. She was all worried about fucking her boss and how it would look," he snorts.
"She has a point." Raising my brows, I sip my drink.
"No, she doesn't. I'm not fucking everyone who works for me. And I wanted her long before I bought the place. Though, she doesn't seem to like when I call her my little signing bonus."
The lights dim again while we're laughing. A spotlight pierces the dark stage. Liza stands center in a pair of golden silk underwear, gold mesh belt, and a thin, gold, chain metal top. The top clings to the curve of her breasts, hanging exquisitely from the peaks of her nipples.
I lick my lips, the memory of her taunting my taste buds.
The beat of the song is familiar. One of the first I heard her perform, but tonight, it's darker…dirtier, somehow. She opens her mouth, and sings, "If I let you in, let you deep inside."
I've been inside and somehow you got deep in me. What the fuck did you do to me?
An ache fills my chest, while warning bells resonate in my head. And, just because he doesn't like to be excluded, my cock presses painfully against my zipper.
Without a word, I leave for the bathroom, patting my pocket for the small vial.
Liza
"Jesus, Liza, I haven't seen you go so deep into Miz Liz in a while." Jennifer stands in the open dressing room door, watching as I slip my red robe over my bare torso. The silky material is much more comfortable than the rough mesh top.
"Really?" I play it off, hanging the chain metal top in its place and cleaning up my vanity. The last thing they need to know is seeing Kristyna all over Jackson, in front of the crowd and cameras, hurt.
It shouldn't hurt. I dip two lip brushes into cleaner and scrub with a paper towel. He's not mine. It was one night. Placing the brushes in their case, I move onto the foundation brushes. I'm jealous over something I could never have. Why did I watch Kristyna's performance? You said you'd stay in the dressing room, but no, you just had to see how she would do. I snort.
"Liza?" Bethany asks in a small voice.
"Yeah?" I respond, keeping my attention on the brushes.
"Are you okay?"
Taking a deep breath, I look up at her.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just tired and ready to get out of here." I force a smile.
She nods, but there's a look of pity in her eyes. A look I don't want.
"Tonight was amazing. Thank you so much for all your help." Kristy breezes into the room. "I'll just get my things. Jackson's waiting."
"Jackson?" Bethany asks, spinning around in her chair.
"Yeah," Kristyna's reply is quick, obviously in a hurry.
I look up from under my lashes, catching Kristy's smile reflected in my mirror. Before she catches the scowl I now wear on my face, I drop my gaze.
Damn karma. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Closing my eyes, I breathe deep and fight a shudder.
"Well…" She pauses. "Thanks again."
The click of her heels silences behind the closing of the door.
I dip my chin to chest, my hair falling around me like the stage curtain, and release the breath, swallowing the emotions clogging my throat.
"Liza, I—” Bethany starts.
Putting one hand up, I silence her.
"I just want to go home," I say, my words a broken whisper.
"Sure," she replies, resignation in her tone.
I allow myself one more moment to marinate on things before raising my head. The reflection of the painted face in the mirror stares back with raw hurt glittering in her eyes.
Get over it. You saw trouble written all over him from the start. Grow a vagina and move on.
"Can you help me with the laces?" Bethany's question pulls me away from the mirror.
I straighten from my chair, pushing down my unreasonable feelings.
"Yep." I reach out and slip my fingers through the silky strings, loosening them enough for her to shimmy out of the corset.
"Are you sure you're okay?" She doesn't allow me to answer before continuing. "If this is about…if it's about him, Liza, you didn't know. And even if you did, just forget about it."
I turn my head and open my mouth with the intentions of telling her I’m good, but I burst out laughing instead.
"Beth, can you put the girls away? They're pointing at me," I snort, covering my eyes.
We've obviously all seen each other naked. In our line of work and quick changes, it happens. However, being eye level with her hard nipples and trying to talk is just too much. Her arm comes around her chest.
"Sorry," she apologizes on a laugh.
The dressing room door slams against the wall and Bethany screams, rushing to cover her nudity with a robe. Spinning around in the chair, all air leaves my lungs.
His predatory gaze sends my heart racing. I stand, straightening my shoulders.
The fluid prowl of his body knocks all defiant strength out of me. I retreat. One step, two, bumping into Bethany's chair.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bethany yells, tightening the belt of her robe. "You can't just burst in here because you feel like it," she says, continuing the lecture. The screech of a chair pulls my attention back to him. He's shoved my chair over.
Damn it, Bethany. Your distraction cost me.
He's gaining. Pushing on the chair behind my legs, I put it between the predator and me.
His eyes narrow on mine. The left side of his mouth twitches devilishly. My hands tighten on the chair just before it disappears, slamming to the floor next to Bethany. She shrieks, hurrying out of the room.
Long, too familiar arms wrap around my waist. He lifts, carrying and pressing me against the wall.
"Jac—”
One arm untangles, his hand cupping my chin and thumb pressing against my lips, silencing me.
I grab his wrist.
"I don't care about him." Jackson's voice is thick and unsteady.
"Kristyna," I say the words in a muffle against his thumb.
"I sure as fuck don't care about her," he sneers.
The pad of his thumb presses and swipes my bottom lip before his mouth crushes mine.
Squeezing my eyes shut, my left hand tight on his wrist, I fist my right hand at my side.
Don't give in. Fight against it.
All my senses fill with Jackson—the sound, scent, and feel of him. His lip ring pinches my unresponsive lips.
Christ, I want him.
He pulls back and his fingers slip into the hair at the back of my head, fisting. My head tilts in response and lips open on a gasp. He captures my mouth, plunging his tongue inside. The arm around me loosens enough so his hand can slip over my ass and squeeze—hard.
The sound of my heart beats between my ears. The rapid rise and fall of my chest against his through the silk robe hardens my nipples. I moan, sliding my tongue against his. A salty, chemical taste hits my taste buds.
What the hell?
The flavor isn't Jackson. It's wrong. Slipping my hands between our bodies, I place my palms against him and push. He doesn't move, so I push again, harder, and turn my head away from him. The pull of my hair stings my scalp.
"Stop," I pant.
"Never." His mouth moves against my cheek and over my jaw.
Pushing even harder, I bring a leg up and dig my knee into his thigh, separating us.
"Stop, Jackson," I growl.
Hands fisted at his sides, chest heaving, his eyes grow hard.
"Now you care?" His brows raise in amazement.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I blurt. "But I know Kristyna is here for you, with you, or whatever. Pretty hypocritical, aren't you?" I only hope he doesn't hear the tremor in my voice.
Pressing forward again, he traps me against the wall with an arm on either side of me. He leans in, his face coming t
o the side of my head.
"I don't give a shit about Kristy." The husky words warm my ear. "And if you gave a shit about him, we never would've happened. Yet, you let my tongue and cock between your legs." A shiver runs down my spine. "So, I don't give a fuck about anything else. I've had you."
I jump when his fingers touch my bare thigh.
"And now, I have a taste for you."
His hand slips under my robe.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. My body surrenders, but my head spins. His “taste for me” comment hurts, like an insult. His touch moves higher up my thigh, burning my skin. Flames lick their way between my legs, my need for him becoming consuming. But not like this. Something is wrong. Bringing my hands up, I press against his chest again.
"I fucking want you, Liza."
Jackson's head dips, his mouth claiming the skin of my neck.
"What the fuck, man?" The boisterous question snaps me from the lust-filled cocoon Jackson's created. "Get off of her!"
I stiffen and press on his chest.
Jackson sighs against my neck. Without moving away, he looks over his shoulder.
"Christ, Jackson, you can't just barge into the dressing rooms." Red's lecture comes from directly behind Jackson. "Look, man, you gotta go."
His muscles tense against me.
"Don't give me that look. You're the one who created this goddamn problem. Bethany is freaking out and Kristy isn't going to be distracted by those cameras for much longer."
It's my turn to tense. Kristy. He had a taste for her once.
With Jackson focused on Red, I duck under his arm and out of his trap. Red's eyes look me over before meeting mine with unspoken concern. Jackson stands to his full height, watching our exchange before locking eyes with me.
"You should go," I say, my voice low and more composed than I thought possible in this moment. I turn away from them and move toward my dressing table, giving both of them my back.
"Come with me," Jackson states.
"Can't." Sitting, I pull my bags out from under the table.
"Come with me," he says, his voice deeper, harder, demanding.
"Jackson, you—” About to tell him he has the wrong idea about Kel, drama enters the room.
