The deep beat of the song vibrates around us. And Clara’s red lips glisten.
They're too inviting.
Too magnetic.
I sweep in, wanting a kiss, yet pulling away less than an inch before I remember where I am.
“I want to kiss you so fucking bad right now,” I say into her ear as I put her hands on my chest, letting her feel the hammering of my heart.
It’s all for her.
She darts her pink tongue out, wetting her lips.
“I really need to kiss you.” I lean in and suck on her earlobe, making her moan while her arms wrap around my neck.
“Then why don’t you?”
I take her arms and move them back to my chest. “You’re killing me, Clara.”
She smiles wide. “Kiss me, Ben.” The way she says my name makes me want to say fuck the rules of Big Willie’s.
Always be attainable.
Don’t be attached.
Don’t kiss the patrons.
And a million others that aren’t coming to mind right now, because my mind is entranced by this rockin’ hot body grinding on me.
“I can’t kiss you here.”
“Where can you kiss me?”
I pull back, gazing into her eyes, studying her. “Do you know what you’re asking me?”
She bites her lower lip, giving me a tentative nod. “Yeah,” she breathes out.
I lean in closer, breathing her in, my cock ready to burst free from my shorts. “I can kiss you at your house when I get off work.”
She blinks, not saying a word. Most likely contemplating on what we’re both saying to each other. Before I can outright beg her to let me come over and rock her world, she whispers a little, “Ok.”
Chapter 11
Clara
“Oh, that was something special,” Maureen says, fixing her lipstick in her compact mirror.
“Have a good night, ladies.” Rick smiles, slinking off.
I blush, having forgotten Maureen and Rick were even right next to me. Ben’s lap dance still has tremors running through me as if my body’s already addicted to him. Him leaving has caused me to start going through withdrawals.
“How was your lap dance?” Maureen asks, snapping her mirror shut with a deafening click.
“It was ok,” I say, my voice still shaky.
“Just ok? God, Clara. You need to learn how to let loose and have fun. I mean it. Just try to have fun for once. Leave it to my prude stepsister not to have fun when a sexy man rubs up on her. I should’ve had the Trifecta if you weren’t going to enjoy him. It sucks I have to wait until my wedding to get him.”
“Maureen,” I start to tell her off, but stop when I see three women approach us. A sinking filling hits my stomach. My gut tells me to get up and walk away from the vapid bitches coming toward us, but I’m afraid to get up, not trusting my legs to hold me steady.
“So you’re the lucky one for tonight?” one of the women says, flipping her hair off her shoulder.
“Yeah, I guess we can go home now,” another one says.
“Well there’s always tomorrow,” the last of the three women says with a wicked smile.
“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I try to stand but the three won’t back up. I don’t want to rub against any of them, so I stay put. Their perfume gives me a headache, and I don’t want it on my clothing.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” the first one I dub the leader says.
“I really have no idea what you’re talking about. Honestly, I don’t even want to know.” I lean back wanting to escape the awful perfume wafting off of them.
They giggle and it makes me sick. I want to plug my ears and hum until they get on their brooms and fly away, but I guess their brooms are parked out back.
“You don’t think you’re special?” the leader asks.
“You’re so cute,” the second and third titter. The screeching against my ears is almost more than I can take.
“Listen, Ben chooses one girl a night. It’s how the Trifecta works. He doesn’t do repeats. So you better get your fill for tonight because that’s all you’re going to get.”
“But don’t worry I’ve heard Ben gives you more than enough to cuddle up to on lonely nights.”
“I’ve actually already cuddled with him.” I don’t go into the whole story about how I was drunk and such. But, anything to watch their faces make the look they’re giving me right now.
It’s priceless. Like they all three just sucked a sour lemon into their mouth.
“She’s lying,” the redheaded woman says, pointing her red-tipped nail in my direction.
“I’ve been to his house. His comforter is maroon.”
They stare at the redhead in the bunch, and her face tells me she knows I’m right. Obviously she’s the only one who’s been in his room. She tries to speak.
“It’s ok. I don’t expect you to understand,” I say, smiling up at them.