He’s right of course.
“And what happens to those girls?” I ask him. “They burn out quickly and quit. But this girl is crazy sexy. If we work her in slow, give her a chance, maybe that won’t happen to her. Maybe we’ll have a real earner on our hands.”
I’m lying my ass off. Truth is, I don’t want Damien to see that he’s spot on with his analysis of what’s going on between me and Tilly. That I’ve been bitten by the bug, and I don’t want any other men looking at her. As far as I’m concerned, she’s mine, and that’s all there is to it. This whole “training” thing is just a bunch of bullshit to get her out of the club. Keeping her away from the motel? Well, that’s not.
That place is packed full of junkies, thieves, and all-around scumbags. You couldn’t paymeto spend a night there, so the thought of her spending her money to stay has me nearly nauseous.
“All right, if you say so,” Damien replies. “Just don’t forget to send me a wedding invitation, all right?”
Flashing a dirty look at Damien, I head up to my office. Whatever song the girl is dancing to right now is annoying the shit out of me, so I’m relieved as I close the door behind me.
She’s so vulnerable—toovulnerable for a place like this, and if she’s as innocent as I think she is, the only man that’s going to take that innocence is going to be me. It’s going to be nearly impossible to hold back and keep myself from tearing her apart. I can’t stop myself from picturing her face when I slip inside her, the sounds she would make, how it would feel to have her hands clutch on to me for safety as I took her tiny little body beneath me and used it for exactly what it was designed for.
I realize I’m sweating, so I go to my bathroom and splash some water on my face to cool down. It helps…a little, but as I dry off and look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but look at the scar running down my left cheek—a massive imperfection, the likes of which Tilly has none.
I’m an idiot for eventhinkingabout her. Compared to her, I’m a monster. Once I provide her refuge, she’ll no longer have any use for me. The chances of anything happening between us are slimmer than me going to work for NASA.
Even my shirt is soaked with sweat, so I strip out of it and am slipping into a simple black T-shirt when there’s a knock at the door. “Um, Mr.…Colt, sir? It’s Tilly.”
I don’t know how many girls have come through this club during its existence, but this is the first time since I can remember that I’m actually nervous. I walk to the mirror and look at myself. I almost feel like I’m about to take a girl out on a first date. Then I call out,
“Come in, Tilly!”
3
Tilly
As I ridein the passenger’s seat of Colt’s car, I’m absolutely buzzing, only this time I’m not nervous; I’m lit up with excitement.
How can Colt be theownerof the strip club—the man in charge of that horrible, tasteless sign out front—and also make me feel so comfortable and safe around him at the same time?
How can he be the one ready to step in and stop me from basically turning into an escort for the rest of the night, and then volunteer to take care of me for the foreseeable future?
It just doesn’t make sense.
I can understand why Colt is the man in charge and not Damien.
Colt looks like a muscled, sculpted warrior from a long-forgotten era, brought forward in time. When he was holding my hand back at the club, a sense of security flowed through me that still hasn’t left me. Even now as he’s driving, all I want to do is crawl across the center console and into his arms and let him hold me like a little girl. I can’t even remember the last time my father did that with me.
I realize I’m staring at him and use every ounce of strength I have to pull my eyes off him and look back at the road.
I shift in my seat and realize there’s wetness between my legs. When did that happen? Back at the club or since we’ve been driving? Does heknowthe effect he’s having on me? The real question is does he even care?
This man must have countless girls fawning all over him for special treatment at his club—one more who can’t even dance isn’t going to make a difference in his world.
But as hard as I try to keep my eyes ahead, I can’t help but sneak a glance back over at him and his beautiful biceps, thickly veined, bulging out from beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt.
I hate to eventhinkthis, but there’s something beautifully ugly about him as a man. His face is ruggedly handsome, but then there’s the scar running down his cheek that’s impossible to miss. I’m sure he hates it, and I’m dying to know the story behind it, but it honestly doesn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of enhances his sexiness.
My heart is racing as I look back at the road. Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes more before we’re pulling into his driveway and I’m able to stand up and move around, even if it’s just to follow him to the front door, which gives me something to do to get my mind off where it has been for the last few minutes.
Colt opens the front door and goes inside. Without saying anything, I follow him and am led downstairs into a finished basement, which is nicer than the trailer I grew up in. There’s a closet, a dresser, a bed, a mirror, and even a small, attached bathroom.
“All yours,” Colt says. He’s standing close and looking at me like he wants to do something. I’m not sure what exactly, but I do know that I whatever it is, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.
But after a few seconds—seconds that feel like minutes—he turns away from me.
“I gotta hit the sack. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Good night.”