threat.
Who?
Jared McKenna? The elusive, semi-hero billionaire who happens to own the nicest strip club in Seattle?
I look at Ty, a.k.a. Thorn again, and wonder who could leash that pit bull.
“I'm not sure what to do...” If I don't say something, he'll hear about it from a pissed client. This isn't working my sore muscles against a pole in front of men from a safe distance. It's different.
Intimate.
Thorn grins, his white teeth an eery slash against his dark complexion. He strides over to where I stand, and I barely hold my ground, gritting my teeth.
He towers over me even though I'm 5'9” in my stocking feet.
I pull away and he frowns, gripping me tighter. “Chill out, it's a tutorial. I'm not going to rape you.”
Right . My body remembers and locks up, fights for air, for reason.
He looks at my face and gives a dark chuckle.
Thorn moves the swivel chair and sits down on it, slapping his lap once.
I die inside. If someone had told me I would be this close to Ty the creep manager, I would have laughed.
'm not laughing now.
I gingerly lift one knee and place it on the outside of his thigh, his dark eyes watching as I do. The other knee follows, and I force myself to grip his shoulders for balance or I'll fall against him.
I shiver, and he takes it for arousal instead of loathing.
Thorn grips my hips, and I hiss and try to pull away.
“That's not going to work on the dudes we have coming to enjoy this body of yours.” He jerks my hips forward, and I feel his erection against my upper thigh.
“Move.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I rub against him over and over. His hands move to cup my ass, and suddenly I'm not moving on my own. He's shifting my body against his stiff penis. My breasts are safely encased inside a nude bra that brushes his face as the friction of our clothed coupling intensifies. Thorn pants and gives a whispered shout that's somewhere between a hiss and a yell.
I feel sick as I climb off him, a wet patch at his crotch spreading to his muscular thighs.
I back away, shaking. The fine beginnings of a bruise blossom high on my thigh, and I shudder in revulsion.
I wrap my black trench coat around the underwear he insisted was all I wear underneath it.
Thorn asks softly, “Got it?”
I nod. I so have it.
And I never want it again.
I flee as though the devil's at my back.
~ 5 ~
Monday
I watch the blinking cursor as it flashes above send. My finger hovers, my will along with it. I clench my eyes and tap the mouse with a decisive click. My RSVP floats into the ether to be received by Thorn or one of his lackeys.
Tonight's my first night on the job. My new job.
One grand per night whispers through my head.
I'm exhausted. I worked a full day mending the wounds of others, forcing them toward wholeness. I paid for Mom's care for the first time in cash. I pretended not to notice as the receptionist paused when she took the rolled up money.
Her eyes met mine. “Cash?”
I still have the receipt in my purse. I think I'll frame it when this whole thing ends.
If it ever does.
I slowly walk to the “party room.” I know I've done all that I can to make myself desirable. Ty impresses on me the importance of the “mingle” period. These are men with tastes, he'd emphasized.
I walk in, my ice-blue dress barely covering my rear. Little strings that end in silver beads sway and tickle the tops of my thighs. They cup my ass as I move in four-inch stilettos. The neckline is so low the top of my belly button peeks in and out like a teasing divot.
The men turn as a new girl enters. I imagine their response is as instinctive as flowers turning their collective heads toward the sun. I know I've hit the mark when their conversation stops. Eyes greedily move over my form, missing nothing. Some eyes linger at my breasts, some my long legs, some caress the burnished gold of my hair under lights turned down so low they barely illuminate.
One man never looks at my body but my
Who?
Jared McKenna? The elusive, semi-hero billionaire who happens to own the nicest strip club in Seattle?
I look at Ty, a.k.a. Thorn again, and wonder who could leash that pit bull.
“I'm not sure what to do...” If I don't say something, he'll hear about it from a pissed client. This isn't working my sore muscles against a pole in front of men from a safe distance. It's different.
Intimate.
Thorn grins, his white teeth an eery slash against his dark complexion. He strides over to where I stand, and I barely hold my ground, gritting my teeth.
He towers over me even though I'm 5'9” in my stocking feet.
I pull away and he frowns, gripping me tighter. “Chill out, it's a tutorial. I'm not going to rape you.”
Right . My body remembers and locks up, fights for air, for reason.
He looks at my face and gives a dark chuckle.
Thorn moves the swivel chair and sits down on it, slapping his lap once.
I die inside. If someone had told me I would be this close to Ty the creep manager, I would have laughed.
'm not laughing now.
I gingerly lift one knee and place it on the outside of his thigh, his dark eyes watching as I do. The other knee follows, and I force myself to grip his shoulders for balance or I'll fall against him.
I shiver, and he takes it for arousal instead of loathing.
Thorn grips my hips, and I hiss and try to pull away.
“That's not going to work on the dudes we have coming to enjoy this body of yours.” He jerks my hips forward, and I feel his erection against my upper thigh.
“Move.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming. I rub against him over and over. His hands move to cup my ass, and suddenly I'm not moving on my own. He's shifting my body against his stiff penis. My breasts are safely encased inside a nude bra that brushes his face as the friction of our clothed coupling intensifies. Thorn pants and gives a whispered shout that's somewhere between a hiss and a yell.
I feel sick as I climb off him, a wet patch at his crotch spreading to his muscular thighs.
I back away, shaking. The fine beginnings of a bruise blossom high on my thigh, and I shudder in revulsion.
I wrap my black trench coat around the underwear he insisted was all I wear underneath it.
Thorn asks softly, “Got it?”
I nod. I so have it.
And I never want it again.
I flee as though the devil's at my back.
~ 5 ~
Monday
I watch the blinking cursor as it flashes above send. My finger hovers, my will along with it. I clench my eyes and tap the mouse with a decisive click. My RSVP floats into the ether to be received by Thorn or one of his lackeys.
Tonight's my first night on the job. My new job.
One grand per night whispers through my head.
I'm exhausted. I worked a full day mending the wounds of others, forcing them toward wholeness. I paid for Mom's care for the first time in cash. I pretended not to notice as the receptionist paused when she took the rolled up money.
Her eyes met mine. “Cash?”
I still have the receipt in my purse. I think I'll frame it when this whole thing ends.
If it ever does.
I slowly walk to the “party room.” I know I've done all that I can to make myself desirable. Ty impresses on me the importance of the “mingle” period. These are men with tastes, he'd emphasized.
I walk in, my ice-blue dress barely covering my rear. Little strings that end in silver beads sway and tickle the tops of my thighs. They cup my ass as I move in four-inch stilettos. The neckline is so low the top of my belly button peeks in and out like a teasing divot.
The men turn as a new girl enters. I imagine their response is as instinctive as flowers turning their collective heads toward the sun. I know I've hit the mark when their conversation stops. Eyes greedily move over my form, missing nothing. Some eyes linger at my breasts, some my long legs, some caress the burnished gold of my hair under lights turned down so low they barely illuminate.
One man never looks at my body but my
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