It makes my skin prick with fear, knowing that this is exactly the kind of customer I was hired to entertain. He's the kind of guy who will have the information we're trying to find, or he knows where to get it. Either way, my dance isn't just for fun anymore. I'm officially on the job.
“She's better than any of the bitches you offered me,” Dean chuckles darkly. “It's a shame I had to ride two towns away to find a piece worth hitting twice.”
I don't let his words sting. He warned me to expect this. His crass words. His cold persona. So, instead, I preen with the compliment it's meant to be. I exaggerate the roll of my hips, drawing both men's eyes to my bare waist.
“She for sale?” the stranger asks as his fingers twitch like he's imagining what he could do to my body.
“No,” Dean barks before clenching his hands into fists as he says, “You can pay for a private dance, but you can't touch.” When the man scoffs, Dean shrugs. “Club rules. Take it or leave it.”
Before he can respond, another man with a different logo on his vest joins them in front of me. He's bigger than the blond man, but not as big as Dean. He has a red military haircut and a deep scar along his jaw making him look intimidating, but for some reason, he's not as scary as the other man.
“This is some place you've built,” the redhead says as he watches me dance.
“Too bad it's the middle of a shithole,” the blond scoffs, making the other man whip his head around Dean to glare at him.
“We're taking up real estate where my dancer could be making me money,” Dean says as he takes a step back, urging the bikers to follow him. “So, if you assholes ain't gonna break bread, take your asses back to the bar to watch the show.”
Dean's eyes meet mine and he winks as the other two men stalk off in the direction of the bar. He retakes his seat at the center table just as the song ends and the stage lights go dark.
By the time the first notes of my final song chime through the sound system, I'm in position, looking out at the fully packed club. It's not the packed auditorium I used to dream about when I was a little girl. But the woman I've grown to be appreciates the diverse crowd. That hint of danger I crave is in abundance, and I can feel the tension between the opposing gangs even as they watch the stage.
The club is open for one hour after my performance and the other dancers will alternate the stage like they did earlier in the night, while the rest of us work the floor to engage with the customers. I choseNasty Dancerby Kilo Ali as my final song because I want the men to want me. I want them to imagine me doing whatever they want me to do. I won't even pretend that I'm not excited about driving Dean a little crazy as I offer lap dances to other men.
I end my performance dancing on the VIP table as Dean watches me with a mixture of lust and pride. When the song ends, Dean stands and grabs my waist before sitting with me straddling his lap as he takes my mouth in a heated kiss, clearly marking his territory.
“Don't forget who you belong to while you’re dancing for these fuckers,” he rasps when he breaks the kiss. “You'remine!”
“I'm yours,” I say, knowing he needs to hear it.
“Good girl. Now, go make me some money.” He gives me that evil grin as he stands to set me on my feet before smacking my ass.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dean
It's a good thing Mac was here to keep me in my seat after Sloan left the stage. Watching her bounce around the club, dancing for those fuckers was every bit of the hell I deserved.
She was enthusiastic and sexy as she mingled with each table. While she didn't outwardly show any preference, I could tell she was more at ease when engaging with members of the Forged Soldiers than she was with the Hell Hounds. Like she knew they were the lesser of the two evils circulating through the club.
I knew her intuition would make her perfect for this job. Just like I knew her outgoing personality would put the customers at ease enough to hopefully spill some secrets. Her lips didn't stop moving any more than her body did as she navigated the floor, offering lap dances and conversation as the otherdancers entertained the masses from the stage. I just hope she got something we can use to solve the case my department is working on.
By the time we close and the last dancer is escorted to her car, I'm over sharing my tiny dancer. I pull her into my lap and nip her ear before whispering, “Did you have fun torturing me tonight?”
“Uh huh.” She giggles as I run my nose under her jaw. “Would you like a lap dance, Sir?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum as I run my hand up her thigh and under the silk skirt that barely covers her ass. “You didn't get to use any of the private rooms tonight. I think that would be best.” I stand and carry her down the hall opposite the bar, where the private rooms are located before setting her on her feet in the first room.
She uses the keypad to select her song and lighting before turning and pushing me back until I'm sitting on the leather sofa. Then, she starts her dance asTiny Dancerplays through the speakers. It's not the same routine she did yesterday since she's not wearing pointe shoes. It's more contemporary, and it amazes me how she can bend her body to the notes, making a song from over fifty years ago seem brand new.
It occurs to me that this is the kind of dance she could be doing on stage in front of a packed auditorium instead of a private room in a seedy strip club. I robbed her of that when my torment sent her running back to Thorngrove instead of accepting the offer to join the dance company in Cherokee Falls. I can't change the past, but I can damn sure make sure she gets the future she deserves. Before I can voice what's in my head, the song ends and another song begins to play.
Sloan sways her body to the bluesy, sultry melody ofLove is a Bitchby Two Feet. She stalks toward me and climbs onto the sofa to straddle my lap, rolling her hips the way she did when she rode my cock this morning.
I feel my cock thicken as I watch the wave of her body move as if it's part of the music. When my hands come up to her waist to pull her down against me, she shakes her head with that sly grin.
“Customers aren't supposed to touch the dancers,” she scolds playfully before letting out a whimper when I thrust my hips up.
“I'm not a customer,” I remind her. “I own this club. I ownyou,” I growl as she continues her dance with our groins now touching.
