Stroke (A Miami Lust Novella Book 2)

by C. M. Lally

  “Well, no matter,” I say, waving my hand like I’m brushing her apology out of the thin air. “I’m kind of new in town myself. It’s not an easy city to maneuver, but you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

  “Gawd, I hope so. I can’t keep being late for places I need to be,” she drawls again. I blink, mesmerized by the sound of her voice. I could sit and listen to her talk all day long, but I’ve got dancers and patrons to attend to.

  “Well, it’s getting late and Georgia and Lindy are expecting you to work tonight,” I explain, looking at my watch and tapping it for emphasis. She visibly relaxes a little bit, now that all of the dancers have cleared the area for the full number that’s about to start. “I think Lindy will need you in about five minutes, so you’d better hurry.” I walk her over to the changing room and pretty much shut her inside it in an attempt to hurry her up. “Just find anything to wear in there. It doesn’t matter for what you’ll be doing.” She may be beautiful, but I can’t have a show go on late. That would be completely unacceptable.

  A few minutes later, the door creaks open and I turn to escort her to the aerial silks area, but stop dead in my tracks. I’m breathless again, and there goes my heart fluttering wildly. She’s in a matching hot pink and black bikini with those fake pink diamond accent strings as straps and trimming on the bottoms.

  Cassee, Cassee, Cassee. You are perfect. She’s tanned, trimmed and toned, just like you would expect a dancer to be, but on her — it’s simply sensuous. She’s got delicate curves in all the right places. As I stand and stare, I watch a dark, rosy blush creep up her skin, starting at her feet and making its way up her legs and across her belly. It seems to be following the same trail as my eyes. I notice her trying to cover herself to stop the blush from moving any further. My brain starts wondering if her pussy blushes, too.

  The other dancers start venturing back into the lounge and...”Fuck, we’re late!” is all I can manage to say. I quickly grab her hand and head towards the stage, pulling her through the back walkway behind the curtain. Every touch of her skin has sparks arcing from my fingertips. I can physically see the blue electric arcs as our skin collides in brief nanoseconds of touch. Every other zap of electricity sends a zing to my dick, making me uncomfortably hard from seeing her in this bikini. As we come to the end of the curtain area, we run into Lindy. “Hey, I found your new girl,” I say, exhaling the air I was holding while running to get here. “Cassee, this is Lindy, but you already know that.” Both girls are looking at me like I just introduced them as long lost sisters.

  “Mat. My new silks dancer is Jessie, and she’s already on stage,” she laughs nervously under her breath, pointing her out to me over on the far left. “I don’t know this girl.”

  Oh, shit. I turn to Cassee, and see her nervous smile. It only lasts for a moment, before she attempts to cover herself again with just her small hands. Now it’s my face that turns pink in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were one of the new dancers, but apparently I’m wrong,” I explain.

  “No worries. I’m actually flattered that ya’ll even think I can dance,” she chuckles and it sounds like fairies laughing. It’s sweet and melodic. “I’ve never been able to dance, but I can sew their outfits for them. I’m a seamstress, not a dancer.”

  Fucking Christ, I’m in deep shit now. Thiago’s gonna kill me, and he’s already in a pissy fucking mood for some unknown reason.

  “Please accept my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding. When you didn’t show up for the interview and didn’t call, I thought that was it,” I say, stumbling over my words too fast to even make sense it seems. I grab a sailor’s jacket hanging on the prop stand and hand it to her. “I’m so embarrassed. Here, put this on to cover yourself. Why did you not say anything when I told you to change and threw you into a room with nothing but stripper clothing?” She puts the jacket on slowly working her way up the long row of gold buttons. There. Now she’s covered and I can think clearly.

  “I’m fresh out of college. I thought it was a test, or some kind of crazy hazing scheme to work here. I may be self-conscious of my body, but I never turn down a challenge — I always play to win,” she says with a stiff set of her jaw and fire in her gorgeous eyes.

  I completely believe her. She’s definitely got a fire in her, but I don’t see anything to be self-conscious about. Not one single thing. She’s perfect.

  The side stage is getting crowded with dancers coming on and off it every few moments. “Let’s go to the lounge and get you changed back into your own clothes,” I point the way and follow behind her, watching her curls bounce again as she walks. It’s mesmerizing. There are little flecks of red, beaming out of them as we pass different sets of backstage lights. My fingers itch to pull on one of the tight curls, straightening it out and watching it spiral again. I’ve already dug a pretty fucking deep hole here with her. There isn’t any need to push my limits further by pulling her hair.

  We arrive in the lounge, which seems to have become even more chaotic at this point with the shows ending and a few of the girls getting ready for private lap dances. The minute Cassee sees more skin than she’s used to, her blush returns to her face, blooming her cheeks the most charming shade of pink. It reminds me of the Peonies my mother had planted in front of our house. As soon as the heads would get too big and fall over, I would run out and cut them off presenting them to her. She would put them in a vase on the table for dinner. I’ll never forget that color, or the way she loved them.

  I look up from getting lost in my thoughts and notice Cassee has disappeared. Probably to change, so I wait. Suddenly, I can’t find the need to interview her for the job. After the way I humiliated her in that bikini, I have to give her the job. It’s the right thing to do.

  In the meantime, I pick up the box of props and clothing in need of repair and carry them over to a far corner near the sofa. Sorting through them and making small piles of varying issues, Cassee approaches me slowly and takes a seat, picking up a few things to inspect them for damage. “Ya know, these are all minor fixes. Is this typical of the job that you need a seamstress for?” she asks. Her accent washes over me, and for a brief moment, I forget to answer her. My eyes pop open and she’s staring at me with a curious look in her eyes.

  “Yes, this is pretty typical of what you’ll find here for the ladies. The male dancer’s pile upstairs may be a little different. Hell, I’d be scared of that pile actually. God only knows what’s in it,” I confide in disbelief. She laughs again and it still sounds like fairies to me. It’s almost like little chimes tinkling together. Fuck...I’m in serious trouble here with her. My dick is bulging in my pants.

  Chapter 2 – Cassee

  What has my life turned into? I’m sitting here sorting through unmentionables with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I mean, WOOOW! They don’t look like that back in Eclectic. Shoot, they don’t even look like that in Savannah. He puts the whole male species to shame.

  He seems genuine in wanting to get to know me. Most of the boys from college hated my shyness. After a few conversations or texts, they’d drop off in frequency or altogether. One even noted that I was a lot of work in trying to talk to. I haven’t really re-covered from being told that. Maybe it’s a little twisted on my part, but it’s the only way I know they’re interested in me. If they’re willing to pull the conversation outta me, they like me.

  And speaking of shame, I’m gonna have to find a church to attend tomorrow for all these naughty thoughts floating around in my brain. Surely, Gramma and Pappy are rolling in their graves if they’re lookin’ down from Heaven and see me sitting in a strip club. My gramma is probably writing a letter to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, reminding him what a good child I was up until their untimely death.

  “So, where are you from with your accent, and how did you end up in Miami?” I hear a voice ask, but I don’t register that he’s talking to me. Fingers wave in front of my face, snapping me back to the present.

&nb
sp; “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I apologize and give him a small smile to make up for my lack of manners.

  “I asked where you were from with your southern accent, and how you came to find yourself in Miami, of all places. I mean, the only accent here is Hispanic...except for mine and my brothers, which is clearly New York-ish,” he chuckles under his breath. That must be a private joke I’ll have to ask about.

  “I’m from a small town in Alabama called Eclectic. There’s a thrift shop, a restaurant, and lots of churches. That’s about it. But I went to college in Savannah. It’s a much larger city,” I explain, slapping my forehead for that last statement. Cassee, you idiot. Of course he knows Savannah is much larger than Eclectic. I forgot his other question, and now he’s really gonna think I’m an idiot. I’m so nervous. He’s distracting. Too distracting, and I can’t think. I don’t even know if he still wants to interview me. I’m too afraid to ask.

  “And how did you end up here in Miami,” he asks again. Jeez Cassee. Focus.

  “Umm, my grandparents have a condo here. Sorry...had a condo here. They retired here when I went away to college, but they died recently and I’m here to settle their will and belongings.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your grandparents,” he says in a low voice. “Were they both sick?”

  “No, they both passed away—drown actually, in that boating accident out near Tortuga Bay a few months back. They were on a tour of the Galapagos Islands and hit rough seas capsizing the boat. Neither could swim very well, and their age didn’t help,” I concede.

  I watch his eyes fill with sorrow, instantly knowing he’s experienced a deep loss too. “So, you don’t plan on staying in Miami?” he asks, clearing his throat and continuing to sort through the props, leaving me the dainty little pieces of cloth that cover private parts.

  “I, uh, I’m not sure. I just graduated with my degree in Fashion Design. I guess if I want to make it big I should probably go to New York City, but that idea scares the daylights outta me,” I take a look at him through my lashes, and he’s just staring at me. Like he’s listening intently to every syllable I say. His eyes are on my lips, and just as I think about that, I lick them subconsciously and hear him groan. “I mean, I don’t even know what kinda clothes I want to design, much less have a career plan. They don’t always guide you in college, ya know. I need to come up with one.” Okay, Cassee. Play it cool. Now you’re talking too much.

  “So, you don’t know how long you’re going to be in town?” asking point blank, like he needs clarity.

  Jeez. Now I get it. I wipe my hands on my skirt because they’re sweating bullets. “I’m sorry. You’re wondering if I need this job, aren’t you?” I ask, and he nods for assurance. “I’m sorry for not understanding. I’m really nervous.”

  “Why are you so nervous? I’m harmless. I promise,” he smiles sincerely, easing some of the butterflies in my stomach.

  “Well, I’ve never interviewed for a job before. This is my first one. Job interview, I mean, not job. I used to babysit, but that doesn’t really count. Or does it?” I ask, raising my eyes to his for some sign of hope that this is going well but don’t see any. “I’m sorry. I also get nervous around good-looking men. So, I talk a lot. Am I driving you crazy yet? My pappy used to say I get diarrhea of the mouth when I get nervous. I can shut up. You know, I’ll do that. I’ll just shut up.”

  He laughs and shakes his head at me. We’ve come to the end of the pile with nothing else to sort through. I continue to hold the purple lace thong in my hand, afraid to let go of it for then I’ll have nothing else to do with my hands. They’re also absorbing the sweat from my palms, so I’m holding on to them tight, desperately trying not to think about where they’ve been or who wore them last.

  “Well, if you shut up, then how am I going to finish this interview?” he smiles really big, showing me his full lips and straight white teeth. The thin mustache and well-trimmed beard he sports is doing this crazy, throbbing thing to my private parts, making me squirm in my seat. I’ve never been this attracted to anyone before. This is crazy, because all I want to do is lean over and stroke his beard and lips with my fingers.

  I search his eyes for any signs of teasing me, but again, can’t find anything. “I didn’t think you were going to interview me, after I was late and all. I figured you were just being nice to me after the whole bikini fiasco,” I blurt out, not looking at him. Just mentioning the bikini again has heat rising up from my nether regions.

  “Now it’s my turn to apologize for not officially warning you that this is, indeed, an interview. Would you like to start all over again? Now that you’ve been notified, of course,” he asks with an earnest look on his face and a peculiar softness to his voice.

  “Yes, please,” I respond, excited to get to start all over again.

  “Okay, let’s go to my office,” he invites, standing up and leading the way. I stand as well, grabbing my bag and remembering to toss the purple thong back on top of the sorted pile before scurrying to catch up to him.

  We wander through the maze of backstage halls scattered with props, lights, and people everywhere. It’s kind of chaotic. The dancer helpers are sorting through the discarded clothes and props, while handing new props out for the next set, the music coordinator has a line of dancers behind her, while the rest of the dancers are talking amongst themselves or applying makeup and glitter, or are fixing their hair in the row of mirrors.

  He takes my hand and pulls me through the dense crowd of people, like he’s afraid he’s going to lose me. I’m pretty sure I’d stick out like a sore thumb since I am fully clothed and not nearly as gorgeous as these women. Several of them try to get his attention, a few even call his name, but he ignores them tugging on my arm to move faster. I’m so embarrassed that my palms are sweating in overtime mode now, and I almost lose my grip on his hand twice, but he simply secures it again as we move through the area. He doesn’t let go of me until we reach his office door.

  He sweeps it open and ushers me in, placing his hand on my lower back as I cross the threshold. Fireworks shoot up my spine and my legs go weak. I grab onto the back of the visitor chair inside before I tumble forward, hoping and praying that he didn’t notice. I take a seat before he can say anything, and he takes his behind the massive wooden desk. Now, it feels like I’m officially interviewing for the job, because the butterflies in my stomach just went into overdrive with their fluttering.

  “So, your degree is in fashion design, but you have no clue what you want to design or where you want to design. Correct?” he asks, peering at me over the top of his laptop screen.

  Wow. His words hurt and make me sound like a complete loser when he describes my future like that. Come on, Cassee. You’re tanking on this interview in the first five seconds.

  “I wouldn’t necessarily put it like that,” I respond with a quick smile, clearing my throat, rolling my shoulders back and straightening myself up higher in the chair. Don’t slouch, Cassee. It’s not polite, and looks lazy. “The fashion industry, and the world for that matter, has so many opportunities for a new college graduate that it takes more than a month to consider them all.” There, great save! Whew.

  “I agree. Please, tell me what your dream job looks like through the eyes of a new college graduate,” he begs to know, moving to the edge of his seat, waiting intently for my response. He’s staring at my lips waiting for the words to pour forth, and I squirm again in my seat.

  “Umm...okay. I’d love to have my own clothing line that makes a woman feel beautiful and strong, confident and sensuous, but comfortable as well.” I thrust my hands under my thighs and sit on them, as I realize I just delivered that whole spiel talking with my hands. I watched his eyes follow them around as they danced in the air to emphasize my points.

  “See. Sounds like you have the start of a vision. Now go from there, expand on those thoughts. See what works and what doesn’t. Get feedback. Gain support and make your dreams happen,” he says,
cheering me on. “And just when you think you’re done and the dream is polished, dream louder and brighter than you ever thought possible.”

  I’ve never had anyone do that for me. It’s not that my people don’t support me, they do. But they’ve never actively cheered me on, or encouraged me to dream bigger and bolder. Where’s he been the last four years of my life? I needed him in college. “Thank you. That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” my soft voice replies in awe at his words. “I’m a little overcome with emotion right now. I’d love to do that; all of that, actually. I promise to work on it.”

  “Well, good. You can work on it here, starting tonight. I can get one of the guys to carry the broken pieces and props to your car so you can get started. What do you say?” he asks. He’s got the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re twinkling with genuine excitement, which makes my insides all mushy. I’m so warm in his presence, I just might melt right here. Or combust, he’s so hot. Stop it, Cassee. He’s your boss now!

  “Mr. Solis, I don’t have a car. I got lost taking the bus to get here.” I remind him. Now it’s his turn to blush. His cheeks stain with a little pink as I refresh his memory.

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. I got caught up in your vision and completely forgot the beginning of our meeting,” he apologizes. “How about I take you home then, since the metro bus system probably wouldn’t appreciate stripper clothing being carted on and off the bus? Heaven forbid you drop an undergarment or prop.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I can’t help but laugh out loud. He’s so cute, but he’s hands off I remind myself. Somewhere there’s an unwritten rule that you shouldn’t get your meat where you get your potatoes. I’ve heard my uncle tell my cousins that time and time again. For the first time in my life, I’m gonna have to apply that little tidbit of knowledge to my life. Surely my gramma and pappy are rolling in their graves right now.