just a fantasy. For whatever comfort that offered. She opened the red leather-upholstered door to the VIP room, steeled her nerves, and stepped inside.
Deuces’ upscale ambience extended to the private rooms. Dark colors and low lights called to mind a gentleman’s study. But rather than shelves of books and a desk, the room boasted mirror-paneled walls, a comfortable leather chair, and a small table for holding drinks. Tucked in a shadowy corner sat a utilitarian wooden stool for the bouncer.
Benny stood in front of the client, reviewing the VIP room etiquette. When he stepped to the side, her heart stuttered in her chest. Trevor sat in the chair, enigmatic eyes fixed on her.
Benny glanced at her and tipped his head. “We’re on the clock.” With that, he retired to the corner and literally faded into the background.
She stood rooted to her spot by the door, unable to move.
“Hello, Stacy.” Trevor’s low greeting sent a tremor down her spine. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I’m guessing you need to come a little closer.”
…
Stacy marched over to him, eyes flashing. The energy coming off her in waves announced one thing. She was ready to rumble. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her furious whisper reminded him of an alley cat trying to intimidate a pit bull. Her coconut-vanilla scent reminded him of sex on the beach, somewhere tropical and isolated, preferably deserted, except for them.
He shoved that thought aside and smiled up at her in his best impersonation of an eager client—a disturbingly easy role. Through his teeth he said, “I’m getting a private dance, just like any avid customer.”
“You’re not a real customer.” She kept her voice low, but her temper came through loud and clear.
“I’m as real as they come. I’ve paid the money, I’ve agreed to the rules. And now”—he leaned back in the chair like a guy about to enjoy a private dance—“I’m ready for my performance.”
Ready might have been an overstatement. Her plain man’s button-down, striped necktie, lace-trimmed stockings, and shiny black heels fucked with his head, not to mention a few other things.
She stared a hole through him for a long second, and it occurred to him she might refuse. But then she reached behind him for the stereo programmer. Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby” moaned from the surround sound. Music selection complete, Stacy took her position straddling his lap and slowly rolled her hips in time with the music.
“Anything particular on your wish list tonight?”
Tons, but this wasn’t about him. He needed to keep his mind on the investigation. “How’d you dance for Carlton?”
“Carlton liked a sensual dance, if I remember correctly.”
God bless Carlton. “Okay. Give me what you’d give him.”
She lowered her lashes, which he couldn’t interpret. Was she afraid? Resigned? Sleepy? Nimble fingers undid the knot on the tie at her throat. She swirled the strip of silk around her shoulders, down her arm, and let it fall to the floor. The collar of her shirt draped open, revealing and abundance of smooth cleavage nestled in a lacy black bra.
He wanted to drag his own tie down and tear open the top few buttons of his shirt. The damn thing choked him. He couldn’t concentrate.
She moved her hips over his lap, barely brushing him. His cock immediately sat up and took notice, reminding him control and self-discipline had their limits. But her reaction surprised him a lot more than his own. Pink invaded her cheeks. She raised her hips slightly and focused her attention in the vicinity of his mouth.
“How’d you get this?” she murmured, tracing her index finger lightly along his upper lip.
His tongue itched to follow the path of his finger. Most people never noticed the thin, almost invisible, white scar, but whenever someone did ask, he usually dismissed the question with a bullshit answer.
“Domestic disturbance call, back when I was a
Deuces’ upscale ambience extended to the private rooms. Dark colors and low lights called to mind a gentleman’s study. But rather than shelves of books and a desk, the room boasted mirror-paneled walls, a comfortable leather chair, and a small table for holding drinks. Tucked in a shadowy corner sat a utilitarian wooden stool for the bouncer.
Benny stood in front of the client, reviewing the VIP room etiquette. When he stepped to the side, her heart stuttered in her chest. Trevor sat in the chair, enigmatic eyes fixed on her.
Benny glanced at her and tipped his head. “We’re on the clock.” With that, he retired to the corner and literally faded into the background.
She stood rooted to her spot by the door, unable to move.
“Hello, Stacy.” Trevor’s low greeting sent a tremor down her spine. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I’m guessing you need to come a little closer.”
…
Stacy marched over to him, eyes flashing. The energy coming off her in waves announced one thing. She was ready to rumble. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her furious whisper reminded him of an alley cat trying to intimidate a pit bull. Her coconut-vanilla scent reminded him of sex on the beach, somewhere tropical and isolated, preferably deserted, except for them.
He shoved that thought aside and smiled up at her in his best impersonation of an eager client—a disturbingly easy role. Through his teeth he said, “I’m getting a private dance, just like any avid customer.”
“You’re not a real customer.” She kept her voice low, but her temper came through loud and clear.
“I’m as real as they come. I’ve paid the money, I’ve agreed to the rules. And now”—he leaned back in the chair like a guy about to enjoy a private dance—“I’m ready for my performance.”
Ready might have been an overstatement. Her plain man’s button-down, striped necktie, lace-trimmed stockings, and shiny black heels fucked with his head, not to mention a few other things.
She stared a hole through him for a long second, and it occurred to him she might refuse. But then she reached behind him for the stereo programmer. Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby” moaned from the surround sound. Music selection complete, Stacy took her position straddling his lap and slowly rolled her hips in time with the music.
“Anything particular on your wish list tonight?”
Tons, but this wasn’t about him. He needed to keep his mind on the investigation. “How’d you dance for Carlton?”
“Carlton liked a sensual dance, if I remember correctly.”
God bless Carlton. “Okay. Give me what you’d give him.”
She lowered her lashes, which he couldn’t interpret. Was she afraid? Resigned? Sleepy? Nimble fingers undid the knot on the tie at her throat. She swirled the strip of silk around her shoulders, down her arm, and let it fall to the floor. The collar of her shirt draped open, revealing and abundance of smooth cleavage nestled in a lacy black bra.
He wanted to drag his own tie down and tear open the top few buttons of his shirt. The damn thing choked him. He couldn’t concentrate.
She moved her hips over his lap, barely brushing him. His cock immediately sat up and took notice, reminding him control and self-discipline had their limits. But her reaction surprised him a lot more than his own. Pink invaded her cheeks. She raised her hips slightly and focused her attention in the vicinity of his mouth.
“How’d you get this?” she murmured, tracing her index finger lightly along his upper lip.
His tongue itched to follow the path of his finger. Most people never noticed the thin, almost invisible, white scar, but whenever someone did ask, he usually dismissed the question with a bullshit answer.
“Domestic disturbance call, back when I was a
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