“I don’t do private dances,” I insist, while in my head I’m busy trying to figure out what in the world I’m going to do. I can’t risk him getting rid of me.
“You explain that to the boss. I’m just the messenger,” Joe says, and it might be my imagination but I think the man is avoiding looking me in the eye. “Come on, Ana. It’s not like he’ll force you to do something against your will. You work for him. He’s entitled to make sure you can dance.”
“So he does this to all of the dancers?” I question, knowing he doesn’t.
Big Joe pulls the door open and waits for me to walk past him. “You’re the first dancer we’ve hired in a while.”
I can’t argue with that, but I think we both know what’s going on. In fact, I think the entire room knows what is going on. It’s not my imagination that the other dancers and people in the backstage area get quiet. I reach the door and glance behind me. Every dancer here who’s putting on makeup or just taking a cigarette break have stopped to stare at me. The room that was crazily busy just a minute before is now deathly still and quiet.
“Hurry up, Ana. Mr. Anthes doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I pull my robe tighter around me. I’m annoyed enough that I will give him his dance, one he won’t forget any time soon.
Nerves are trying to get the better of me as I stop by the small rack that contains my costumes. I grab one that makes me laugh. I think it fits Roman. Then, I grab the royal blue G-string and ignore the way it reminds me of Roman’s eyes. Right now I have one goal in mind: make Roman see what he’s missing and leaving him with his jaw dropped. I can do that. I mean, it’s just tempting and teasing. That should be easy enough.
I waste no time getting dressed, then make my way to the private room closed off from the rest of the club. I stop at the door and inhale. Then, I push onward. My entrance is a side door that’s designed for the bouncers and dancers only, completely closed off from the dancing area and surrounded by one-way glass that allows you to see into the room. Safety. It allows the dancers to see who they will be performing for first, a precaution that Roman himself put in when one of the girls had trouble with a crazy stalker-fan. Back when Big Joe was trying to convince me to dance, he told me everything, thinking it would make me more comfortable. It’s not about the dancing, though. It’s boundaries. Dancing for someone personally feels like I’m giving a piece of myself I shouldn’t. This job already does that little by little. Still, Roman thinks he can take what he wants when he wants? I’ll let him know that goes both ways. I thumb through the preloaded music and pick the one I want. Normally there’s someone controlling the music, but Big Joe said Roman wanted privacy. Bastard.
The music starts pouring out of the sound system. That’s my cue. The moment of truth. I walk out.
“You’ve kept me waiting, pet.”
I inwardly grit my teeth and ignore him. In fact, I give him my back, trying to gather my nerves. I let my body loosen up, sinking into the music and getting lost. My hips start moving to the beat and I admit I give my ass a little extra kick when I move it in rhythm to the music, knowing it’s mere inches from his face.
I can’t help but wonder if he likes my costume.
Chapter Seven
Roman
The fucking tease!
Ana comes in the room and my dick instantly comes to life. I thought she would wear one of the sequined costumes that the dancers usually wear. Ana surprises me by wearing a school girl outfit. Long white sleeved shirt, buttoned low and revealing the valley of her breasts. The plaid mini skirt barely covers her ass. Her hair is pulled up high on her head in a ponytail and she’s wearing these fake glasses. About the only diversion from the normal costume are the stiletto heels. She’s so fucking hot that I want her right now. When she turns her back to me and starts dancing, rolling her ass in a slow groove, I nearly groan.
I make a living owning strip clubs. I run one of the biggest underground gambling casinos around. I have cage fighters, betting clubs, women for select clientele, and even a bail bonding business. I have my fingers in all kinds of pies and each one is different and offers something useful. It’s all business. I keep it entirely separate from anything personal. That being said, not once have I ever been tempted to taste the merchandise involved in any of the businesses. Not until Ana. She has me breaking my own rules. And with all the women who work for me, there hasn’t been one until now who can turn me on by the sway of her hips.
When she turns around, pulling one leg up high and moving it over mine so she can straddle it, it takes all of my self-control not to pounce. The reward comes when she puts both hands on my shoulders, continuing to circle her hips. She bends into my ear and says nothing, but I can feel her hot breath. I need more. I thought men who came here for this kind of thing were pathetic. Why waste your time on a fantasy when you could have the real thing at home?
Not only am I seeing the error in my thinking, I’m wondering just where I might play with Ana again.
Now that she’s turned, her stomach is in front of me, I want to watch the way the muscles move and tighten as she grinds. I need that. “Take the shirt off, pet,” I order her, my voice thick and hoarse.
She ignores me. Something she will learn in time not to do; in time. She does some kind of movement with her legs and easily turns back around so her ass is begging me to grab it. I manage to resist, barely. She puts both of her hands on my knee and fuck, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve seen, the way she’s moving. A man could lose himself like this. When she bends and touches the floor and her stomach and breasts graze against my leg.
She spins again, stepping between my legs this time and putting herself exactly where I want her. She places a hand on each leg, bending so her face is in front of mine. She’s flushed and her violet eyes are aroused—I can see it. This dance is getting to her, too. My eyes go down to her breasts and the stiff peaks of her nipples, finding them pressed against the sheer shirt. She drops down to her knees, dancing with her whole body. My breath almost stills in my lungs as her face comes so fucking close to my crotch that I want to take over. She slithers and stretches back up, somehow getting closer. She’s so close I swear I can feel her breath against my balls, even through my slacks. Ana somehow goes back, then lets her arm support her as she gyrates her ass to the floor. She sits back while extending her leg straight up, the skirt falling back and giving me a peek underneath, but not near enough. She stays leaned back, but thrusts her hips out toward me. It’s a challenge to keep my face impassive. It’s more than I can do to hide the giant erection currently tenting my pants.
Like a snake, she slithers back up between my legs. I watch every hypnotic roll of her body. Somehow she manages to stay in perfect time with the music. She might have not given lap dances here at the club, but she’s damn perfect at them. She doesn’t need to give any fucker the show I’m getting except me. And as often as I want. That thought only solidifies when her hands move up to the shirt and slowly starts unbuttoning. She gets two buttons undone, enough that I can see the mounds of her breasts before she turns around. She takes off the shirt with ease, but the white material blocks my view of her body. When she tosses it on the ground, I want to scream “Yes!” like a little kid.
This time after teasing me, she gives me her back, but sits down on my lap. I know she can feel my dick pressing up against her. The bastard has forgotten every hard lesson I’ve taught him and is practically begging. She pushes down against my dick and I know it’s not my imagination that I can feel the heat from her pussy. She reaches behind her and takes my hands, sliding them up until they rest just under her breasts. She leans against me then, her arms going up and hugging around my neck. Her face is resting close enough that I can feel a gentle kiss against the pulse point of my artery. She’s smiling. The tease knows she’s getting to me. Then again, she’d have to be stupid to not know it. She glides back down to the floor, using it to thrust out like she might crawl. Jesus. I want her crawling to me
. Would she freak out over that? I might have to train her awhile, before she would understand. She curls back around and there goes that one leg up again, giving me a glimpse of heaven. When both go up, I’m almost at my end. She hooks each leg on mine, using it to suspend her ass in the air, her body bent so much it looks like a fucking piece of erotic art. Her hands slide along her thighs and against the small covering on her pussy—silk, deep blue with small glimpses of the treasure beneath. I watch as she kicks her legs back in the air, her ass still suspended until she somehow flips over. She stands back up and this time as I watch her hips circle, she takes off her skirt a little at a time. Oddly enough, I’m glued to her face. She’s definitely smiling.
Her breasts are jutting out, screaming her excitement. Her face is flushed, and I know if I touch her, I’ll find her wet. Is it because of the dance? Would she be this way with anyone? Or is it me? It could be either—or both. Another reason her stance on no lap dances will continue.
She places those stilettos between my legs damn close to my dick. She stands up on the couch and dances like a pro before her legs bend and she comes down onto my lap. Her hands are behind my neck and she pulls my face into her breasts while her lower body grinds against my cock.