Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Good evening, Mr. King,” Benjamin said and rose from behind the desk. “How are you tonight?”
“All good,” I replied. “Benjamin, this is Riley Robinson. She’s going to be taking a tour of the club with me tonight. Please make sure no one interrupts us. We’ve got very important business to attend to.”
“Of course, sir.” He bobbed his head then gestured to the doors. “I believe Cassidy is about to take the stage. She’s a showstopper. You won’t want to miss it.” He directed that at Riley, who didn’t respond.
She was still star-struck, which kind of made me swell with pride. I wasn’t as tied to these clubs as I’d once been, but I had tried to create a different atmosphere. One that set aside the stigma around stripping. I’d succeeded, and I couldn’t help my pride in that, even if a new business venture was well overdue.
“Come,” I said and drew her close to my body, tucked her right up against my side. She didn’t melt into me this time, she was too inquisitive, but that suited me fine—I didn’t need a boner in here.
I opened the door to the performance area and guided her toward my booth at the back—it was clean, untouched. No one used this particular booth but me. It had everything I needed, a view of the stage for critiquing dancers during tryouts, curtains for privacy—which I’d never used—and comfy leather chairs.
My spot was special, but each table in the club was laid out to afford maximum privacy without hindering the view of the stage.
The stage was currently empty, but covered in glitter and confetti. To one side, a DJ stood behind turntables in an alcove set into the wall. The stage had been given the royal treatment—scuff-free, polished marble, a glistening stripper pole, lights glinting on a thick matte velvet curtain at the back.
People sat at the tables, men or women, shielded from view by thin gauzy curtains or partitions. The separation helped them pretend that the woman on the stage danced only for them.
Riley slid into the booth first and rested her elbows on the circular tabletop—sturdy for private dances—and I joined her, placed my thigh against hers, looped my arm around her waist.
“It’s not sleazy,” she said. “It’s different.”
“So, you wouldn’t mind if I took your studio and turned it into a place like this?” I asked, softly.
Riley faced me, pressed her lips together and released them slowly. “I think I would.”
“Why?”
There was another reason. One she didn’t want to speak out loud.
“I don’t belong in a place like this,” she said. “Maybe, I—”
“Coming to the stage,” the DJ’s voice interrupted her, thick and low. “Welcome our very own, Cassidy.”
No one applauded, but the music fell silent. The curtains at the back of the stage twitched, and Riley switched back to watching them instead of talking to me. I only half-focused on what was happening up there, and then only because if shit didn’t run smoothly, heads would roll.
Riley was beautiful in this lighting. Shit, she was beautiful in every kind of lighting, but here most especially.
A blue spotlight focused on the curtains, and the slow thud of music started up. A song I didn’t recognize nor care to identify. Riley wound her hips once, however, as if she wished she could dance to it and leaned in.
“You’ve never been to one of these places before, have you?” I asked.
“No,” she replied, still focused on the stage.
The curtains drew back, and Cassidy stepped out onto the stage. She wore one of the bra and G-string sets Maurice had picked out—I trusted him with that shit because I knew nothing about fashion—with her hair loose around her shoulders in blonde waves.
“Wow,” Riley said. “She’s beautiful.”
I chuckled. She was nothing compared to Riley. She was just a woman who danced for a living, and Riley should’ve been the same to me, except she was so much more than that.
Cassidy strutted her stuff toward the pole at the center of the stage, bouncing on her heels in time to the beat. She whipped off her bra and tossed it to one side, tits on display, and grabbed hold of the cool metal.
Riley dragged her teeth across her bottom lip and shifted against me.
I focused on her and only her, on the elevated pulse beating in the base of her throat, the way her teeth left little indentations on that plush, reddened flesh. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table, worrying the wood, even though she couldn’t make a mark on it.
She loved it. Every breath told me so. Watching Cassidy dance made her fucking hot.
I glanced up at the stage as Cassidy twirled around the pole, back arched and tits up. Behind her, the curtain at the back of the stage shifted, and Cherry Vanilla poked her nose out. She scanned the crowd, the booths at the back, lips pursed.