Worth It

by S. M. Shade

  Christ, these women are going to bust my eardrums. Lydia, Kasha, and I make our way through the crowd to the edge of the stage just as four too-gorgeous-for-life men stalk onstage dressed as firefighters. My heart starts to race and I feel my face getting hot while we watch the choreographed seduction playing out before us.

  Shirts are ripped off and thrown into the audience, revealing sweaty, rippled abs. Breakaway pants go next, leaving them in tiny thongs and bikini briefs. They said we could touch, right? Fuck, do I ever want to touch! Especially the Jesse Williams lookalike dancing right in front of me.

  Caramel colored skin and light green eyes. A chilling tingle races down my spine, and for a second I’m struck with a hint of nausea before a rush of sensation overtakes me. What the hell? And suddenly, I recognize the feeling.

  I grab Kasha’s arm. “Oh shit. I’m rolling!” Still dancing, she takes a break from screaming at the guys to “show her some stripper dick.”

  “What?”

  “It’s molly!”

  With her eyes still glued to the stage, she asks, “Who the hell is Molly?”

  “No, ecstasy! I took it a few times when I was a teenager. This is how it feels!”

  “Where the hell did you get ecstasy?”

  “I didn’t! Someone must’ve dosed me.”

  Now I have her attention. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes!”

  A look of realization washes across her face. “I’ve never done it. Does it make you feel sort of jumpy? Excited?”

  “At first,” I reply with a nod, and her eyes widen.

  “Shit. I think someone drugged us both. Who the hell would do that?”

  My gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the scene from a new perspective. These normally uptight pageant girls aren’t just screaming and dancing. They’re all over the strippers who have now made their way off the stage. They’re grinding on them, slapping and grabbing asses, and not just on the men, but each other as well.

  “It’s not just us.” I grab Kasha’s head and turn it toward the near orgy taking place on the dance floor. Damn, her hair is soft.

  “Why are you petting me?” she laughs.

  “Sorry.”

  “Everyone is fucked up on E?” she asks, looking for Lydia, who has taken off somewhere.

  “Oh fuck. Look!”

  Kasha follows my finger to where her mother has her hand down the back of the blond stripper’s banana hammock. Her dress is hiked up high on her thighs and she’s grinding against his leg that’s bent between hers. “Phone!” she demands, snorting with laughter. “Where’s your phone? I left mine in the room.”

  Rushing back to the table, I grab my phone and hand it to Kasha, assuming she wants to call someone to get her mother out of here. Instead, she jumps onto the table and starts videotaping. “This is the best day of my life!” she crows, filming her mother grinding on the heavily muscled man. When Monica shoves her hand down the front of his underwear, he smiles and shakes his head. Pouting, she pulls it back and goes back to kneading his ass.

  “These bitches are crazy!” Lydia cries, joining us. She looks up at Kasha. “What the hell?”

  “Her mom,” I gasp, trying to get my laughter under control. “Look at her mom!”

  About the time Monica drops to her knees and licks the guy’s bulge, the MC taps the mic again, drawing attention, and the guys retreat back to the stage. I give Kasha a hand getting down from the table. I swear I have never seen her laugh so hard.

  “Oh god. I’ve got to go before I piss myself!” she cries, handing me my phone and darting off.

  “Do you feel it?” I ask Lydia, who looks at me like I may have eaten paint chips as a kid.

  “Feel what?”

  “The ecstasy! I’m rolling my ass off.”

  Her jaw drops. “You took ecstasy?”

  “No! Someone slipped it to us… to everyone, apparently.”

  Understanding fills her eyes as she surveys the crowd of women now surrounding the stage again. “Who would do that?”

  “I don’t know. You don’t feel anything?”

  “No, maybe it’s in the champagne. I didn’t drink any.”

  “Well, have a glass! This is the most fun I’ve had in years!” I crow.

  “Uh-huh,” she agrees, a patronizing smile on her face. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as she walks off, I head toward the stage, practically elbowing my way to the front. God, it’s hot in here. Kasha returns to my side, followed by Lydia, who thrusts a bottle of water at both of us.

  “I’m good. I’m going to get another shot,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes.

  “Drink the damn water before both of you dehydrate,” she insists.

  To avoid arguing, I drain the bottle and Kasha does the same. Ahh, that’s better. Since when does water taste so good? “How many glasses of champagne did you have?” she asks Kasha.

  “Just one,” Kasha replies, not taking her eyes off of the stage.

  “Henley?”

  “Uh, three, I think.”

  Kasha and Lydia’s eyes lock and they laugh together. Great. I guess I’m the only one who’s this trashed. All concern about being too high fades when a dark-skinned stripper with a lean, swimmer’s body walks to the center of the stage with a chair.

  His smooth voice fills the room. “I hear we have a bride-to-be in the audience.”

  The crowd roars, pointing to Jane. I haven’t seen much of her, but one look at her face and I know she’s rolling as hard as me.

  “Get your sexy ass up here, sweetheart,” the guy calls, and two of Jane’s friends drag her onstage.

  Kasha smacks me, and I hand her my phone. I almost feel sorry for Jane, knowing every second of this will be caught on video. Almost.

  Jane is seated on the chair and the audience hoots and cheers when he takes her hands and starts to roll his hips, putting his bulge right in her face. She licks her lips and grabs his bare ass cheeks, nearly tearing his thong, and jerks him closer. He shifts so she ends up licking his stomach instead of her target.

  “Oh my god!” Lydia laughs. “Look at Ms. Proper!”

  Two more men walk out, one on each side of Jane, and place two more chairs on stage. They walk to the edge and their gazes sweep over the crowd, trying to decide who’s next. The Jesse Williams lookalike eyes me. I’ve never really understood the expression “my heart’s in my throat” until he grabs my hand and tugs me onto the stage.

  Kasha and Lydia are yelling and urging me on. Like I need it. I’m high as hell, and a near-naked, perfect specimen of a man is dancing on me. My hands have a mind of their own. Shut up. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. How else did they end up running over the hard planes of his sweaty abdomen?

  His skin is baby smooth and warm. He leans to whisper in my ear, pushing my temperature through the roof. “I’ve been watching you, sexy. Your eyes have been on me all night.”

  Can’t find words. My brain is frozen. He catches my earlobe between his lips for a moment before pulling back and gazing down at me with a naughty smile. All I can do is stare at those thick, luscious lips while I run my fingers over every inch of skin I can reach. Can you kiss a stripper? He ends my indecision by kissing the corner of my mouth before planting his lips on mine. The tip of his tongue traces my lips, and suddenly, the room tilts, sending a slight wave of nausea through me. What the fuck?

  “That’s enough of that,” Davis growls, and I’m carried off stage over his shoulder. What’s he doing here? Why did he grab me, and how does he always smell so damn good? I reach down and resume my night of feeling up hot men by grabbing two handfuls of firm ass.

  An upside down Kasha waves as I’m carried out of the ballroom. “Put me down!” I laugh, still squeezing his ass. His lounging pants are smooth and silky, so I start running my fingers over them instead.

  “Shut up.” A sharp smack on my ass makes me gasp.

  “The party’s not over!”

  “It is for
you. What did you take?”

  I wobble for a second, trying to regain my equilibrium when he sets me on my feet in his room. “I didn’t take anything. Someone spiked the champagne with ecstasy.”

  His face softens. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fantastic.” I know he’s done E before, since I did it with him.

  My hands sneak under his shirt, and he looks at me, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, now you want me?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I shove my hand down the front of his shorts and wrap it around him.

  A string of curses fly from his mouth, but he doesn’t stop me. “I should spank the fuck out of you.”

  “Then I couldn’t suck you,” I argue, kneeling and pulling his pants and underwear down together. I love the way his hairy thighs feel and I rub my hands up and down them, savoring the raspy tickle on my palms.

  His head falls back when I lick around the head of his cock, a pained groan echoing through the room when I take him to my throat. His hands crawl into my hair, and I love how it feels, the tingles zipping through me. The noises he makes spurs me on, and I can feel him growing thicker.

  Abruptly, he steps back and pulls me to my feet. “Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” I cry.

  “No, you’re not. It’s going to be inside you all night.” He grabs my chin and his eyes burn into mine. “You hear me, Hen? All night. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think of anyone but me.”

  “Turn around.” His voice is gruff and demanding. He unzips my dress, and has me completely naked in a matter of seconds. My feet leave the ground again—what is his thing about carrying me?—and I’m tossed face down on the bed. Strong hands grip my ankles, pulling me until I’m bent over the edge.

  His thick fingers plunge into me, and I groan. “So wet from sucking me. This belongs to me now, Henley. Do you need a reminder of that?”

  “Yes.” I’ll say anything to get him inside me.

  Apparently, yes is the correct answer.

  Chapter Ten

  Kasha

  There’s a whole lot of penis in this room. And I’m a whole lot of wiry. I want to dance, sing, and hump a chair leg all at once.

  The strippers have been into the champagne. The ecstasy champagne. Hence the reason I’m seeing a lot of penis and not a lot of thong…

  Whoa!

  My world tilts upside down. Did I fall? No, no. I’m just tucked under some dude’s arm. And there’s a naked ass right by my cheek.

  He bangs on my ass like it’s a bongo drum, as a Conga line forms behind him. I don’t know whether to giggle or hurl. If I hurl, it could end up in his ass crack. Probably not very nice.

  Oh! Balls! I see balls! Where did we get bouncy balls?! They’re huge!

  Huge balls… That has me snorting to myself.

  I wish I had my robo arm right now. Holding true to his word, Dad stopped in and got a hotel room. He also brought his tools with him to fix my baby. Jill is with him, since I dropped her off earlier to get worked on.

  So now, I’m wearing my very pretty, realistic looking arm, but it’s useless as far as functionality goes.

  I’m trying to move up on Dude’s hip, since my cheek keeps thudding against his ass cheek. It’s a hard ass cheek. Not a squishy one.

  A bruise on my cheek from a cheek… Snorting again.

  The room is obnoxiously loud, and my ass is still a drum to Gorilla Hands. It’s starting to sting a little.

  My mother is the caboose of the Conga line, and oh my damn. Is she really waving her panties in the air like a freedom flag? My brain is still hurting from what I saw her doing earlier.

  Trying to focus, I push up with all my strength, but Man Hands is still holding me effortlessly.

  I’m seriously going to puke. His ass will be forever desecrated.

  By some miracle, he finally swings me up on my feet, and I sway a little, somewhat dizzy. He grins when I glare over at him, and then he grabs my hands and jerks me to him like we’re going to dance.

  One problem: My pretty arm is not meant for being tugged. It has no harness. There’s nothing keeping it in place if pulled hard enough.

  So… he rips my arm off, and then stares in horror as I fall down to my ass.

  Screams erupt, and all the intoxicated/drugged partiers start scattering away from him and me, as he starts shaking, eyes widening more and more. Sheesh, those things are going to pop right out of their sockets if his eyes get any wider.

  Things can get a little awkward or super awkward from here.

  I go for super awkward.

  “My arm!” Insert dramatic scream of faux agony here. “You ripped off my arm! How could you!”

  The look on his face is priceless as he drops the arm like it’s on fire, and staggers back while turning a precarious and concerning shade of pale. You’d think he’d notice there’s no blood or anything. And I’m not even close to being a good actress.

  I feel bad when he suddenly turns and hurls… all over the floor… and on one girl’s bare leg. It sets off a chain reaction, because the girl who gets some on her leg turns and heaves like she can’t stop. From there… total ripple effect. It’s like a group exorcism orgy has just spontaneously combusted, complete with mass projectile vomiting.

  I’ve got to get out of here before I cave to peer pressure and join the new cult of lost guts.

  Scrambling to my feet, I start to run, but turn around and grab my arm. Leave no body part behind, and all that.

  After tucking it under my armpit, I run away from the brutal upchucking session, and rush right into the hallway. I’m looking over my shoulder like a stream of vomit is going to chase me around the corner. Just as I turn around, I slam into the body of a surprised Anderson. Who is with Roman. And about five other guys.

  I stumble backwards, glaring at him like it’s his fault for being in my way. No doubt I look like a crazed madwoman on the loose, given their curious expressions.

  Suddenly, it’s like a synchronized game of eye tennis. They all look at me, then up to my hair that is probably a hot mess, then down to my missing appendage, then over to where the fake appendage is nestled under my armpit, then back to my eyes.

  Roman is the only one who looks like he wants to laugh. Everyone else looks like they’re so lost and confused.

  “There’s ecstasy in the champagne,” I blurt out randomly. I have no idea why I felt like spewing that juicy morsel. “At least I think that’s what it is.”

  Anderson’s eyebrows hit his hairline, and the humor in Roman’s eyes dies as he steps closer.

  Anderson barrels around me, and Roman tugs me closer, inspecting my eyes. It’s really hot in here. I need water. So thirsty. So hot.

  “Shit,” Roman says under his breath, taking my good hand and tugging me along as my fake arm stays wedged under my armpit.

  The other guys shuffle toward the ballroom as well, and Anderson runs back out of the ballroom just as we reach it. He’s gagging. Oh no. It’s going to happen all over again.

  Roman’s nose wrinkles as he peers in.

  “Ecstasy makes you puke?” some guy asks.

  “That… is a whole other story,” I tell them. Then my eyes widen. “Is your sister in there?” I ask Roman, horrified.

  “She had to leave early because of a work thing,” he says, shuddering as he walks back over to my side.

  Good. She can’t tell him I started all that craziness in there. Morbid arm-losing theatrics are usually something that gets a few chuckles or major crickets. Projectile vomiting epidemic is actually a first.

  “Come on. You need water and… a shower.”

  I sniff myself, but all I can smell is stripper sweat and not puke.

  Then… Then I get dizzy. The last thing I remember is Roman scooping me up, and my world goes black.

  ***

  Groaning, I sit up, looking around at the hella bright room… Not my room.

  My eyes widen as I dart up, panicking. I reach down, feeling my lack of underwear under—Hey! Whose T-shi
rt am I wearing? Please let me be in Roman’s room. This is his room, right? Did I have sex—

  “No, we didn’t have sex.” The masculine voice has me snapping my eyes over to the doorway where an amused Roman is staring back at me. I hope I wasn’t rambling aloud.

  “What time is it?” I ask, so confused.

  Oh! Oh no! Champagne, Puke Gate Scandal, Stripper palooza… It’s all coming back to me now.

  I totally witnessed my mother touching a penis. Ewwww.

  “It’s a little after three.”

  Roman’s words break me out of my horrifying, scarring, traumatic memories. Losing an arm was easier to cope with than remembering my mother’s nails grazing stripper penis.

  “Wait… What?” I ask, looking around again like I’m magically going to hear him differently. “In the afternoon?”

  He grins over at me before walking toward me. He pauses and grabs a bottle of water that looks chilled, and he hands it over after removing the cap. I guzzle that thing like I’ve been in the desert for eighteen years, while he climbs onto the bed, coming to sit next to me.

  “Yeah. You didn’t go to sleep until after four this morning. I think you should just say no to drugs in the future.”

  Slowly, I shake my head. “No. No. Last thing I remember is you taking me away from the… madness.” I choose my words carefully. I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for the time being.

  He looks like he’s barely holding back his laughter.

  “Well, I carried you out, and I thought you’d be down for the count. However, when I got you back to the room, you were still awake. After forcing you to drink a bottle of water, I got to hear you chat about the strippers and your mother—”

  “I’ll be sick if you continue with that line of conversation. My stomach isn’t that tough.”

  His grin spreads, and he chuckles lightly while getting closer, running his hand over my shoulder and up to my neck.

  “Then you stripped and got naked,” he says, clearly loving the way I get confused.

  “I thought you said we didn’t have sex.”

  “Really glad we didn’t, since you obviously don’t remember this. How could you forget making my cock sing I Will Always Love You to your vagina?”