Ilay in the guest room at Lennon’s house. I had too much to drink to drive home, and besides, it’s two in the morning. I’m just in my bra and underwear laying on top of a fluffy white duvet. It’s cool enough in here, but ever since Killian’s low, growly words in my ear, my internal body temperature has been set to volcano-level heat, and I’m so restless I want to crawl out of my skin. Such an asshole. I close my eyes and think about his words. “I have plenty of ideas how to keep that sassy mouth busy…” And the way his eyes darkened with lust. I don’t know how my panties didn’t burst into flames.
I groan, my hand drifting down my stomach to slip into my underwear. God, I’m soaked. Well, that’s a first. I obviously drank too much, and my intoxication has kicked the gate to horny town wide open. Good thing I’m alone, because the mistake I’ve made with the male species is big enough to last two lifetimes. There will be no more letting my guard down with a man.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t use one for fantasy fodder. My fingers slip easily over my swollen flesh. As my middle finger moves in tiny circles, I imagine his tongue between my legs, that silver ball working my clit. It takes only seconds for my orgasm to build. My fantasy escalates to those beautiful, masculine hands, long fingers with silver rings… he works one then twoinside me, his mouth closing around my clit… and I stifle a scream as the orgasm hits me like a meteor strike.
I’m panting and stretching out my legs as I come down. Holy fucking atomic fireball. I have a good enough understanding of the female anatomy that I’ve never had a problem making myself come, but that has to be a record. Masturbation has always been enough. Since I didn’t have time for dating and then Michael drove the nail in the coffin of my sex drive, I’ve never needed a man attached to an orgasm. But tonight, I’m still restless, still needy and still obsessing over one infuriating hot Irish mobster. I pull the pillow out from beneath my head and hold it over my face as I groan in frustration.
The next morning, I check on Mac, who’s able to walk alone with a cane now. As soon as Sandro finds out who the target is, Mac’s planning on going back to Chicago. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss our time together. I never knew my father, but I fantasize about him being someone like Mac. Not the head of a violent mob part, but the smart, intuitive, great-sense-of-humor and fun part.
I have a few hours before I go work with the dancers on The Lucky Sinner. We’re not going to get much done, but I want to get to know them, check out their talent, see if any of them have an interest in more advanced tricks.
The fact that I’m going to see Killian has nothing to do with the flutter of excitement in my chest. No, I love everything about dancing, the way I feel strong and sexy, the fantasy aspect of it. It’s both an ego boost and escape from reality. I’m looking forward to meeting the other dancers, too.
When I was dancing in New York, I didn’t have time to socialize. But now I have nothing but time and a need to distract my brain. Plus hanging out with Lennon and Sloane last nightmade me realize what I’d been missing. Having friends, not just coworkers.
I step into the dressing room, and there’s already a dozen girls in there changing among the bright lights and scent of hairspray and body lotion.
They turn to me with curious stares. I straighten my spine and offer a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Sam.”
A curvy woman who’s a dead ringer for a young Halle Berry shoots me a wide smile in return. “Ah, so you’re the hottie who impressed Mr. D. with your moves.” She gives me a once over and winks, extending her hand. “I’m Alba, and ready and willing to learn.”
The other girls introduce themselves, a few more wary than the others. One in particular, Vega, a petite dark-haired, dark-eyed stunner, glares at me with open hostility. Noted. I know they’re all here for different reasons, but I hope they don’t see me as competition.
There’s conversation, ribbing and laughter until we all move out to the stage. I glance around but don’t see Killian. A wave of disappointment catches me off guard. Irritated with myself, I push it aside. The only other people here are two bartenders lining up liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar, a few of Killian’s armed guards, and the two men he was with at the club—Pat and Shay—who are seated at the bar with lunch plates in front of them.
Pat and Shay give me a wave and nod, then their eyes scan the dancers with interest.
“Okay.” I clap my hands and motion to the sound guy to change the music. “Today is just for me to get to know you all. Why don’t you each take five minutes on the pole and just havefun, show me your favorite moves.” I pull out my phone to take notes.
Three hours fly by, and I have a pretty good handle on what the girls know. There are seven girls, including Alba who already have the strength and natural talent to progress to more advanced moves.
I grin at the sweaty, smiling women. They truly look like they had fun. “All right, I’m going to show you some strength training exercises you can do on your own time that’ll help get you ready for more challenging flows. But remember, passion over technical perfection. Seduction over precision.”
Sully walks up and stands beside me, arms crossed. “How’d they get on?”
I smile up at the rugged man who looks like he’d be more at home in the mountains then on a yacht. “Great. There’s some real talent here.”
He winks at Alba when he catches her eye. “Grand. Killian wants you to pick three girls to work the rooftop VIP stage tonight. The rest will stay here on the main deck.”
I haven’t checked out the rooftop stage yet. “Does that stage have a pole?”
“Aye.” His gaze still tracks Alba as she gathers her things.
I rest a hand on my hip and follow his gaze. “Well, definitely Alba for the VIP stage. You know, the one you can’t take your eyes off of.” I chuckle as he shrugs in concession. Then I survey the other girls. “And Crystal.” She’s the opposite of Alba with a lithe dancer’s frame, long blonde hair and an innocent smile. I tap my lip. They’ll need a girl for different appetites. Waverly catches my eye. She’s the least experienced but hasnatural, soft curves, rich dark skin and a smile that could start world wars. “Waverly.”
He shifts on his feet beside me. “Let them know. And…” he waits until I meet his gaze. “Killian also requests your presence for the launch tonight. Paid, of course. We depart at 7 PM.”
With one last glance at Alba, he leaves me and heads over to chat with Pat and Shay.
I’m confused about why Killian wants me here if he doesn’t want me to dance. Guess I’ll find out because if he’s going to pay me, I’ll be here. I head home to shower and change with a growing feeling of unease in my gut.
Chapter 16
Killian
I’m in my private suite on the lower deck, standing in front of a full-length mirror while I knot my black silk tie. I hate sticking on a suit, but tonight calls for it. The manifestation of a silly teenager’s dream, though I have to admit that young lad had a great idea.
An exclusive gentleman’s club with high-end lasses who could whet a crowd’s appetite, lower their guard, and get them dreaming. Then a trip out to international waters where the slot machines can run while the law politely fucks off. They’ll drink, they’ll gamble, they’ll fantasize and feel indestructible for an evening, while they lose track of how much money they spend. The best part is they’ll have so much bleedin’ fun, they won’t care their bank accounts are a good bit lighter.
