Chapter Three
Carly
After finishing the lap dance for the birthday boy, and promising to not breathe a word to his buddies about him jizzing in his boxers, I left the private area to grab a drink before I had to get on stage. The main floor of the club was a madhouse tonight and I was threading my way through the crowd when some drunk asshole lost his balance and crashed into me.
Thanks to the spiked heels on my feet, I lost my balance. And found myself pressed up against a very hard, very muscular chest. My gaze lifted up and up until I locked eyes with the man who'd caught me. He was a God. That was all there was to it. Fine, chiseled jaw, aristocratic nose, dark hair that looked like he'd run his fingers through it and made me wonder what it looked like after a good fucking, and a pair of dark eyes that sucked me in. I didn't want him to let go, but much to my disappointment, he stepped back once I was back on my feet.
“You okay,Bella?”
Oh sweet baby Jesus. He was Italian. That was my kryptonite. Rico had come from an Italian family, too. That’s why, even though I was Latina and creole, my son had an Italian name. “I am now, Gorgeous. Thanks for catching me before I landed on my ass.”
He chuckled and cocked a brow. “It's too nice of an ass for it to hit the floor.”
I watched as he turned to the guy who'd knocked into me.
“You owe the lady an apology, asshole.”
“Lady? What lady? I don't see no ladies in here. Just bitches and whores. A lady doesn't walk around showing off her tits and pussy for any guy to look at and grope.”
His voice slurred as he spoke and when he reached out like he was going to grope me, for emphasis, the Italian stallion next to me grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip.
“Watch your mouth. Apologize, now, or I'll break your fucking hand.”
Whoever this guy was, he was going above and beyond being a good Samaritan.
“Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to knock into you...or insult you...or try to grab you.” The drunk's voice squeaked at the end. As soon as his wrist was free, he was rubbing it.
“Get lost. Now.” The drunk didn't waste any time in disappearing into the crowd. “Are you sure you're all right,Bella? He didn't hurt you?”
I shook my head at his question. I'd been staring at him, mouth slightly opened, but managed to close it before he looked at me. “That wasn't anything I haven't dealt with before. It's to be expected when you take your clothes off for money. Men see you and think you're a whore, ignoring the fact that a whore has sex for money, a stripper doesn't.” I had a hard time keeping eye contact at the end because, while it was technically true, a stripper just took her clothes off for money, things didn't always work that way behind the scenes. “I'm Lola. If you're interested in a private lap dance, Stallion, I'm free after my performance. Shit, I need to get backstage and get ready.” So much for that drink I'd needed.
He leaned in close and growled in my ear. “And what if I wanted something more than a dance?”
I let my gaze travel over him. I didn't fuck the customers, that was the one line I didn't cross, no matter how much Harry tried to force me to, but for the Italian stallion in front of me, I was mighty tempted to rethink that. “Sorry. If that's your thing, you'd do better with one of the other girls.” My morals might have taken a beating since I'd become a dancer, but if I crossed that line, I knew I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror.
I felt his eyes on me as I sauntered away from him. When I reached the area leading backstage, I glanced over my shoulder and sure enough, his eyes were glued to my backside. I put a little more sway into my walk, winked at him, and disappeared into the back.
Each dancer had three solo performances and at least one group performance every night. I usually waited until the end of my shift to do my group performance. For tonight's group thing, each of us was dressed as a dominatrix. As I pushed my tits up into the black leather top that wouldn't stay on for long, my thoughts turned to the Italian stallion, the Roman god, who'd gotten me wet the moment he'd called meBella. Would he take me up on the offer of a lap dance? Part of me hoped he did. Hell, not just part. The man was sexy as sin. Yeah, I wouldn't mind it a bit if he wanted a private lap dance.
Sauntering out onto the stage, I couldn't stop my eyes from searching him out. Too bad the light in my eyes made it almost impossible. The one, and only, thing I like about this job is the music. As it began, I lost myself in it. While the music played, I could forget about the shame I felt every time I took my clothes off.
Moving to the edge of the stage, my eyes locked onto the sexy as sin Italian and for a moment no one else existed. Then I turned, top gone and tits exposed with just pasties over my nipples, and the moment was gone.
