Get Your Sexy On
Get Your Sexy On
Kimberly Kaye Terry
APHRODISIA
KENSINGTON BOOKS
http://www.kensingtonbooks.co m
Get Your Sexy On
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
1
The Sweet Kitty Gentlemen·s Club
Downtown Washington, DC
Ś in, it·s showtime. Time to get your sexy on, girl.µ
After curling the mascara wand one last time over her naturally thick lashes, Sienna glanced away
from the mirror.
She smiled at the woman who gave her the reminder and pushed the wand back inside the mascara
tube and twisted it closed.
´Yeah, Kitty, I know,µ she murmured, throwing the woman a small affectionate smile. Í·ll be ready in
a sec. Gotta give ·em the best that I got, to get what I want,µ
she quipped.
Deloris, aka Delatta Kitty, ran her hands down the sides of her thong-covered rounded hips.
´Definitely, baby girl. And maybe after your last set, you and I can have a drink and you can show me the
best that you got,µ the older woman murmured in her whisky-toned voice, and gave Sienna a small wink.
Í don·t know if you can handle the best I·ve got. I may be too much for you.µ She rose from her chair
and glanced at her reflection in the chipped oval mirror.
´Promises, promises. Why don·t you let me be the judge of what I can handle, baby girl?µ
´Yeah, right. I value my health too much, even if I were so inclined, Ms. D,µ she said, looking back in
the mirror, checking her
makeup. Ćarmen lets it be known that if anyone, man or woman, ever tries to
step to you, they will have to deal with her.µ
Deloris had been with her lover, Carmen Delgado, one of the other dancers, for more than a decade.
Barely out of their teens, the two women had met at another club, dancing two in a cage. No matter how
much Deloris flirted with other women, Sienna knew she would never cheat on Carmen. She loved Carmen
as much as the woman loved her.
´Yeah, my woman can get a bit hot around the collar
sometimes. But still, if you·re ever lonely«µ
Deloris let the sentence dangle and Sienna released a groaning laugh. ´Girl, you·re going to get me in
trouble. If your woman even thinks I·m trying to step to you, my ass is grass!µ
Deloris returned the laugh and strolled away from Sienna, her full hips swaying.
Sienna shook her head and grinned as Deloris put more than a little bit of attitude in her walk as she
strolled away. Sienna released a small chuckle before she turned her attention to the mirror for one final,
critical assessment, pursing her crimson red lips.
She opened the tube of lip gloss on the vanity and ran the cotton tip over her full upper and lower rims.
Sinful lips. She had sinful lips.
That·s what she·d been told on more than one occasion. Her foster father had told her that her lips
were full of sin, just like she was. He had licked his thin lips; a nasty, lustful smile had crossed his pinched
features while he watched her dress for school.
Sienna thought of the other crude things he·d said when no one else was around to hear.
When no one had been around to stop him.
She shoved the memories out of her mind of what he·d forced her to do with her sinful lips. She focused her thoughts on her future, away from her painful past.
´Just one more night of this, and I·m done. Lord, just let me make it through one more night,µ she whispered out loud, closed her eyes, and sent the prayer heavenward.
She opened her eyes and
smiled, determinedly, at her reflection. Using both hands, she fluffed the
long, dark blond, curly wig around her face, making sure that none of her own dark, silky curls escaped.
Sienna turned from the mirror, leaving the dressing area as she heard the DJ start to mix in her signature song with the R&B
tune bumping from the
speakers.
As she walked, her sway
became more pronounced, her body relaxed, her small breasts pushed out,
her shoulders thrown back.
Sienna tossed her hair away from her face, licked her full lips, and smiled.
She was almost ready.
The closer she came to the long, black velvet curtain cloaking the stage, the more she shed her
inhibitions.
The less she cared.
It was showtime, like Deloris said.
Time to get her sexy on.
The slow, hot heat from the rhythm invaded her limbs and she reached back and fluffed out the
colorful feathers attached to her thong.
Her fingertips then ran lightly over her breasts, skimming her protruding nipples, making sure her
sequined pasties were secure.
With a toss of her head and a smile, the transformation was complete. She was no longer Sienna
Featherstone, part-time
substitute grade-school teacher, full-time college student.
She was Sinful Feathers,
headlining act at the Sweet Kitty Gentlemen·s Club.
And for one final night, one final time, it was time to get her sexy on.
2
G arrett McAllister sat back in the high-backed wooden bar chair and raised the shot glass of whisky to
his lips and took a healthy swallow. With a grimace, he placed the glass back on the small dented table in
front of him, and turned bored eyes toward the gyrating woman on the main stage.
Her moves were the same as all the others before her.
She shimmied and danced,
kicking her long legs out in front of her, gyrating for all she was worth.
She worked her double-D cups, grabbing her breasts and
squeezing them, dancing and twirling around the
small stage for the throng of men standing in rapt attention.
When one of the men looked particularly animated, the dancer dropped down on all fours, slid on her
back, throwing her legs in the air, and shimmied her ass in front of him.
At his vantage point, Mac could see the saliva practically oozing from the sides of the man·s lips as the
&n
bsp; dancer slid one long, manicured finger inside her thong panties.
She pushed the scrap of lace aside to give
the man an extra peek at what else she had for sale.
It was no secret that some of the strippers at the Sweet Kitty offered more than a stage or lap dance
to the men who frequented the club.
There were several rooms
upstairs where, with the right price, a man³or a woman³
could buy a ´bed
dance.µ According to club rules, all bed dances, although
conducted on an actual bed, with the customer
lying down and the dancer on top of him or her, were
conducted fully clothed.
But what happened when the doors were closed in the
bedrooms was a different matter altogether,
Mac thought cynically.
The music ended, and with it, the dancer·s set. The woman abruptly stopped dancing, midshimmy,
and gathered the tossed bills before swiftly walking off the stage.
At the curtain separating the stage from the back room, she paused and glanced over her shoulder
toward the customer she·d given a private viewing. She pointed to the back of the club with one of her
long, talonlike fingernails, where a winding staircase, leading to the upper rooms, was located.
With nonchalance, Mac
observed the exchange. He noted the man·s head hastily bobbed up and down
in affirmation and the woman left the stage area with a satisfied grin.
His gaze raked over the
clientele at the Sweet Kitty. The clientele ranged from men in beat-up jeans,
T-shirts, and yellow work boots, to businessmen wearing Brooks Brothers suits and Rolex
watches.
´Mac, ain·t nothing going on here tonight besides tits-and-ass shakin·. I don·t think our guy is going to
show,µ Kyle Hanley said,
drawing his attention from the scene on the stage. His
partner·s gaze was on the women dancing on small round up-raised stages, scattered throughout the dimly lit club.
´Patience, man. It·s his club, he·s bound to show. Besides, you have somewhere else you·d rather be?µ
´Hell yes. The luscious Tawny and her sister, Tanya, and I have plans. I thought we·d be done with
this case, and if ol· boy ain·t showing, I can sure in hell find a better way to spend my time.µ
Kyle·s restless
eyes scanned the room.
Mac released a grunt for a laugh. ´He may still show. Don·t want to take the chance on missing him.
I·m sure you lovebirds can do whatever the hell you have planned, later.µ
Mac turned back to the stage, ignored his friend·s glare, and did a quick scan of the room, hoping to
find Damian in the crowd.
Although he preferred one woman at a time, had only participated in one
ménage à trois, which left him strangely unsatisfied, Mac had no problem with his friend·s proclivity for
multiple partners.
To each his own.
He didn·t understand
male/female relationships, much less a relationship involving two women³so
what the hell did he know anyway? Although he·d been surprised when Kyle had
disclosed his sexual
preference³a need he·d said³
for two women at once, that he couldn·t find satisfaction with one woman,
it hadn·t altered his view of his friend.
Mac and Kyle had been friends as well as battle buddies throughout their career, from their first
enlistment in their Special Forces unit in Heidelberg, Germany, to their last duty station in Afghanistan.
Dating back over fifteen years, he was closer to Kyle than he was to anyone else in the world, besides his
sister. Mac couldn·t think of a better man, one he·d trust more to have his back, than Kyle.
Their latest case had been an easy one. They·d been hired to locate Larissa St. John, the missing
daughter of a wealthy couple in New England. Larissa had left home the previous year, leaving behind a
note that said she was tired of school and wanted to live her life the way she wanted.
Although she had been over the age of consent, twenty-one years old, her parents had hired Mac to
go and find their daughter.
Mac and Kyle had tracked the wayward deb to DC and found her shaking her moneymaker like a
seasoned pro. When they
identified themselves to her, and explained that her family had sent them to
bring her back home, she·d broken down in tears.
The life she envisioned ón her ownµ hadn·t turned out to be the life of glamour she thought she·d have.
They·d finished the case in less than two weeks, after having placed her on the plane to go home. The
men would have returned to their home base in Hampton, Virginia³had Mac not
discovered something far
more interesting than a runaway quasi adult thumbing her nose at conventionality, trying to prove she was
grown by stripping.
He·d discovered the Sweet Kitty was a front for a money-laundering operation, among other criminal
activities, all tied up with a Dominican named Carlos
Medeiros. Mac had first come across Medeiros·s name
during a previous investigation, another runaway case. Medeiros ran a tight operation, and Mac hadn·t been
able to tie him into the
disappearance of two young college-aged women, although the intel he·d gathered
pointed to Medeiros being involved.
Medeiros surrounded himself with a bevy of guards, 24/7, and Mac hadn·t been able to get close
enough to him to gather the evidence he needed to take to the police. When he and Kyle found the young
women in a Vegas brothel, they·d been so desperate to go home, they hadn·t given him any substantial
information about their
involvement in the brothel.
Either that, or they were too afraid to speak. Mac had
been left frustrated, knowing there wasn·t a damn thing he could do. His gut, however, told him Medeiros
had been involved.
The owner of the brothel had been just as tight-lipped about how she·d ´foundµ the girls.
Damian Marks, the owner of the Sweet Kitty, was nothing but a local hood. Trying to play with the big
boys, Damian thought he·d hit gold when he·d hooked up with Medeiros. Mac had a feeling Marks had
bitten off more than he could chew, dealing with Medeiros.
´Man, check her out. Shit, she·s fine.µ Kyle had interrupted Mac·s thoughts. Kyle nodded his head toward the stage, and Mac·s glance fell on the new dancer.
Damn, it was her. His dick thumped against his zipper and Mac readjusted himself, his eyes glued on
the woman on the stage.
The second reason Mac wasn·t ready to leave DC yet was because of her. Sinful Feathers.
Damn, she was beautiful. And she stuck out like the peacock her feathered costume
suggested³she
was all bright color in a gray lackluster world.
He adjusted his seat, to see her better. He and Kyle were seated at one of the tables to the right of
the stage. They·d picked a table giving them an optimal view of the entire club, but still protecting their
backs, so no one could sneak up on them. Both men had trained for covert operations, where that was an
essential part of any mission.
Still, they were angled and positioned close enough so Mac could catalog her beauty, along with the
graceful way she moved. His eyes narrowed against the spiraling smoke from the
cigarette he·d left
burning, unnoticed, in the glass ashtray.
She wr
apped both of her slim hands around the thick pole in the center of the stage with practiced
dexterity. With fluid ease, she flipped her curvaceous, yet agile, body upside down and slipped one long,
muscled cocoa-brown leg
around the lower end of the pole. She wrapped the other leg higher up the pole.
Her torso dangled downward, one hand casually holding on to the pole keeping her balanced, the
other arm thrown behind her.
The ends of her long hair swept the stage floor as she arched her body away
from the pole in time with the heavy beat of the music.
Mac blindly reached for his half-forgotten drink as he watched the beautiful dancer work the pole.
With a grimace, he took a swallow, his eyes never leaving the semi-nude dancer on the stage.
3
U nlike the other dancers, this one never looked at any of the men who whistled and called out to her.
She wasn·t dancing for the ogling men, but for herself.
Mac was intrigued by her
casual, absentminded sexiness.
As though she didn·t give a damn what the
ogling, horny bastards at the club thought as they watched her sinewy body wrap around the pole, dancing
as though she were alone in the room.
Throughout the two-week
investigation, Mac had
witnessed several degrees of skill from the strippers
at the Sweet Kitty. From the burgeoning, awkward attempts by the neophytes, much like the stuck-up
heiress he·d rescued, to the jaded, yet proficient, skills of those who·d danced for years.
None he had seen were like this woman. None of them had
played with his mind, had given him hot
dreams at night, cold showers in the morning, like she had.
Everything about her was
different, from her slow, hypnotic moves, to the sensual, rhythmic music
she moved her body to, or the way she never glanced at
anyone in the audience while she danced.
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