Dax
Sitting out in the dimly lit strip club where everyone is unrecognizable in the haze of smoke and lights, I can’t drag my eyes away from the stage. I have to be seeing things. I wondered at first if I was wrong and Whitney didn’t have to work tonight because I didn’t see her working the floor with her tray of drinks.
Now I know why. She’s working in an entirely different way.
And I’m about to explode from the sheer delicious torture of it. I thought seeing her dancing in her room was bad, naked in the hall even worse. Those are nothing compared to seeing her writhing onstage, clothes flying off to reveal the body that I only just learned was way beyond perfect.
Holy fucking hell. I feel like my dick is about to revert ten years and make me lose all control and come in my pants. Because every fantasy is coming to life right before my eyes.
Whitney wraps herself around the pole onstage, grinding against it like I want her to on my cock, and I grip myself through my jeans, needing some kind of friction against this building need that’s taking control of me.
I groan out load, unable to keep it in. But who the fuck cares? Because every guy in this place is probably doing the same thing. It would be impossible not to because she’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Minutes fly by, and my mind struggles to comprehend what’s going on. Thought isn’t coming easily since all my blood has currently drained south. Since when did Whitney start stripping? Is that what I saw earlier when she didn’t know I was home? Her practicing?
Fuck. If I’d known, I would have given her plenty of time to practice with a live audience of one.
When she finally leaves the stage, I spring from my seat, searching for a way backstage. I take in the bouncer and know the entrance from in here is a no go, so I toss some bills on the table to cover my drinks and head outside and around the side of the building.
The girls here know me from coming to pick up Whitney most nights, and when I see one of them exiting the building, apparently done for the day, I give her a smile and tell her I’m here for Whitney. She lets me right in. Easy. Thank fuck.
I glance around, then see her long dark waves disappearing inside what must be a dressing room. I don’t even think about it, don’t evaluate what the hell I’m doing. I just walk right over and barge in.
“Dax,” she breathes.
Every bit of wanting that is raging through my body right now is reflected in that one word. Just as it’s shining in her dark eyes. Evident in the way her tits heave with the breath that’s now coming out in pants.
And I don’t think. I don’t stop to evaluate the consequences. I just react.
“Fuck, Whitney,” I say, taking the two steps to cross to her and thrust my hands into her hair, tilting her head up until I’m staring straight down at her, our bodies pressing together.
Then I crush my mouth to hers, taking what I want. Devouring her as if I’ve been starving my whole life. And that’s how I feel. Like I can’t get enough. Can’t get close enough. Like my life depends on having this girl.
She moans against the assault, her lips parting, and I take the invitation, diving into her, plunging my tongue deep into her hot mouth.
My fingers tighten against her head, and I pull her even closer, plundering her mouth and swallowing her moans. Her hands come up between us and fist in my shirt, clutching me with the same urgency that’s rushing through my veins.
I spin her around and press her against the wall, pinning her with my hips, pushing my cock against her soft belly until she gasps.
“Need to have you,” I mumble, my hands dropping down to trace her shoulders, palming her tits, the silky fabric of her robe the only thing between me and those nipples that are still hard. Those nipples that taunted me during her entire dance, begging to be sucked and licked and nipped.
I pinch them in my fingers, and she moans more, her hands moving all over my chest, exploring, scratching as if she is trying to get more of me.
She wants more? I’ll give it to her.
I reach under her robe with one hand, sliding it up fast to cup her pussy. I groan when I find it fucking soaked.
“Fuck, Whitney, what are you doing to me? I’m going crazy here. Have to have you.”
Her head drops back with a sharp cry when I thrust two fingers inside her. I couldn’t slow down right now if I had to. I’m so on edge, so desperate for all of her. All my pent-up desire and frustration of having her so close but not being able to actually have her comes raging out of me in fast and furious kisses as I drop my mouth to her long, slender neck. All the while, I plunge into her wet pussy. Over and over and over, loving how she clenches and pulses around my fingers, getting wetter every fucking second.
Fuck, what will it feel like to have that wrapped around my cock? I have to know.
Pushing her robe open until she’s exposed to me again, I lock my lips onto her tits, sucking one and then the other while I fumble with my jeans.
I take my cock in my fist and pump it while I drive her closer and closer to the brink with my fingers. I can feel her tightening, and I bite her nipple lightly
before dropping to my knees, sucking her clit into my mouth while I keep my fingers buried deep inside her.