Fuck, Natalie, stop it.
He was against me again. His fingers slid down to my thighs, and I cringed as he touched the slippery wetness of my arousal. With an expert’s touch, he slipped one finger into me, and I expected more, but he stroked my clit, as though he knew my body for decades. I shuddered. Most guys are so stupidly klutzy with your body you’d rather they didn’t bother, but this guy stroked me and I thought I would come with one more touch.
But he didn’t give it to me. His finger traveled back down, dragging my juices up to the hole of my ass.
My face went hot again, because I squirmed. I couldn’t help it. From my chest a moan threatened to escape, so I bit my lip.
“I will be watching you,” he breathed onto my neck. “And I don’teverwant to see you here again.”
His hand was above me as he untied the straps holding my hands, and I fell forward when they were loose, because he pushed against me. I was so dizzy with arousal, fear, and confusion that I lay on the plastic tabletop, and he pushed my hair up so that my cheek was bared toward him. His touch with my hair was delicious, even though he loomed behind me like a demon.
I could still feel his thigh against mine, and I was frozen with fear and desire, both hoping that I would hear his pants unzipping and feel that obviously large cock against my wet thigh, just before he filled me up with it. My pussy throbbed; I wanted him inside me, just one more touch like the one before, and I would be screaming in ecstasy, I knew it.
It seemed like a long time passed like that, and it was pure torture. I no longer felt my throbbing ass, until he placed a hand on it again. “Next time,” he said, his hand moving over my hot, welted skin, “I won’t be so gentle.”
And then, just like that, he walked to the door. I saw the glow of his phone in his hand. I stood up, dizzy, looking for my panties, completely disoriented.
“Get dressed,” he said, without looking back at me.
I fumbled for the bottom half of the costume and put it on shakily. I almost fell again in those ridiculous shoes.
The door opened.
Andrej was outside. He looked at me, and the mystery man said something in Russian in a low voice and walked through the door.
Andrej followed him, after giving a final look back at me.
I looked around the room, stunned. I don’t know how long passed, me standing there, wondering what the hell had just happened. My eyes fell on the stage, where a pile of cash was stacked. I hadn’t seen it. I blinked at it stupidly. My ass throbbed.
The door opened again, and Andrej was red-faced, angry, glaring at me. “What are you waiting for?” he yelled, his accent stronger than ever. “Get out of here. Out! Get out of my club. Never to be coming back!”
Well.
Like I said, I was a realist. I did some quick calculations: the door was open, I was leaving, and I was broke. Never mind the rest of this shit, I’d think about it later.
I grabbed the cash, and I hurried past Andrej and into the dressing room. I was sure he, and anyone else who looked, could see my red ass, so a wave of humiliation rolled over me, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I grabbed my clothes, not even changing out of the stripper costume, except to peel off those stupid shoes and put on my own flats.
Then I walked as calmly as I could down the stairs, everything happening in slow motion. Two girls were on stage, doing the handcuff routine, the men staring at them like zombies. A redhead named Renee smiled at me and then frowned as I walked past her without saying anything, and I thought I heard her say “bitch” as I walked away. I continued right to the back door, which I figured was a bad choice as soon as I got there, but I wasn’t going back in. I was almost out.
The alley was dark but empty. Some lights were on in the buildings on either side of the place; at least someone would see me if I died here.
I walked fast, almost running, my breath ragged.
When I got down the alley, I gave one look back as I hailed a cab. It was pretty much a miracle there was one on Brighton at that time of night.
I saw an expensive black sedan parked right behind the door I had exited. It was tinted so dark the sun could have been inside and I wouldn’t see it.
The lights came on just as I looked at it.
And I justknewhe was in there. Watching.
The wind picked up my hair and I was frozen again. Frozen by that same feeling—half-fear, half-dark, pulsing attraction.
“You want a cab or not, sweetheart?” the driver yelled, breaking my trance.
I opened the door. Did I?
The cabbie looked skeezy, but it was a real cab, and yellow. I sank into it, giving the sedan one last look. I think I wanted Mystery Man to know I was pissed off.
