“Go ahead,” he encourages. “You deserve it after that performance.”
Against my better judgment, I take a big swig. Yes, it’s good, and, no, it still isn’t a good idea.
The door opens, and the bouncer returns. He thrusts a short satin robe at me, and I gratefully slip it on, tying it tightly around me. Like a thin silky sash would deter Diesel, whose hands could easily palm a basketball. Not.
Diesel nods to the bouncer, and he returns to his post outside the door.
I check the robe, but no pockets, and since I’m almost naked underneath, I have no place to stash the money.
“Give it here.” Diesel holds out his hand. “I’ll hold it for you till you change.”
I pause for a heartbeat, and he laughs. “Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna steal it, just gonna keep it safe.”
Truth. He probably had duffel bags full of big bills similar to the banded money she strapped to her body four times a month for Benito.
Diesel takes the money, fans through it and looks at me. “Not bad.” He folds the bills in half and stuffs them into the pocket of his jeans. “Make sure you don’t leave money laying around this place, ‘cause there’s always somebody ready to snatch it up.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“You’re kinda different.” He eyes me as he sips his drink.
“Different?”
“You ain’t a sweet butt or a house mouse, and you haven’t looked at my patches once, so you ain’t a star gazer.” He gulps down more whiskey. “I’m thinking you’re more of a ride or die chick.”
“Maybe I should’ve asked the bouncer to stay as an interpreter.”
His hard face breaks into a smile. “A sweet butt is where I’d get my dick wet, a house mouse keeps my room clean, and a star gazer is only interested in being with an officer of the club.”
Frightening explanation, but concise.
“But a ride or die chick has your back. Somebody ready to step in the shit with you, no matter what.”
“And you’re thinking I’m this ride or die one?”
“Could be, hard to say just yet, but you definitely ain’t the other three.”
I didn’t know where to put all this information, but Diesel’s honesty was both endearing and scary at the same time.
“How long have you been stripping?”
I glance at the imaginary clock on the wall. “Not long.” More like not ever.
“Where’s the last place you danced?”
“Mission Beach, California.” Spitting out my hometown probably wasn’t a good idea.
“No shit, I spent some time around there before I hauled my ass to Tijuana. What was the name of the place?”
“By the beach, I really don’t remember.” ‘Cause it never happened.
He sets his glass on the table, narrows his eyes, and I pull the robe tighter around me.
“You wanna know what I think?” He throws his thick arm over the back of the sofa.
“Sure.” Anything to delay the inevitable, when he’d throw me over his shoulder, then pin me to this couch, covering me with his muscled body. My head would tell me to resist at all costs, but then I’d feel his heat and strength surrounded by the erotic scent of leather, whiskey and male. He’d spread my legs wide, then tease my clit with his tongue seconds before he’d thrust into me, relentlessly pounding my pussy until I screamed out from the best orgasm—ever.
“Am I right?” He’s waiting for an answer to a question I missed while I indulged in my sextasy.
