“We barely know each other.” I repeat the same excuse I told Blaire earlier.
“You know me better than most.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, as I consider what he said. I know him better than most? My mind goes back to Kelsi and them losing their baby. How hard it was for Ethan to tell me about them, but he still did. He let me in, and it explained a lot about him and the way he is.
“Move in with me,” Ethan whispers again, brushing his lips against mine. I open my mouth to tell him yes, but quickly stop myself, instead blurting out another excuse.
“You’re only asking me to move in because I’m in danger.”
Ethan sighs, but I continue before he can argue. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I need to know if or when we move in together it’s for the right reasons, and not because you feel bad for me or have some white knight complex going on.”
Ethan laughs softly. “You have all the excuses, but I can see it in your eyes, you want to live with me. You’re just scared of what you’re feeling. And I get it. I’m scared shitless, but I’m not about to let it stop me from having you in every way possible. And we both know damn well, I’m not a white knight.”
He dips his head and kisses my top lip and then my bottom. “I’m going to make you safe, and while I’m doing that, I’m going to make sure we get to know each other on every level possible.” He deepens the kiss, flicking his tongue into my mouth. He tastes delicious, like the perfect mixture of scotch and Ethan.
“I’m going to make sure the next time I ask you to move in with me, you’ll have no reason to say anything but yes.”
We spend a little while longer at The Warehouse, while Ethan conducts whatever business he needs to conduct. Blaire and I have a few more of those delicious fruity drinks and dance until we’re both glistening with sweat. The club seems to be crazy busy for a weeknight. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I imagined it being dead since people work during the week. Apparently this crowd has no problem drinking and dancing until early in the morning and then getting up to go to work.
A couple hours later, Ethan shows back up at our table and tells us he’s ready to go. With my head fuzzy from drinking, I forget about my suggestion of going to the strip club next door, so I’m confusedwhen, instead of heading to the parking lot, Ethan steers me next door, Blaire and Victor following behind.
Ethan steps up to the bouncer and shakes his hand. “Marlene will show you to your table,” he says. “Benjamin is sorry he couldn’t be here to personally escort you, but he’s made sure you’re in VIP.”
Ethan pats the burly gentleman on his shoulder and thanks him. Then interlacing his hand with mine, follows Marlene into the club. Unlike The Warehouse that has loud, fast-paced dance music pumping through the speakers, Assets has slow, seductive music blaring from theirs. The walls are white and the floors are marble. There’s a huge stage in the center of the room with two winding staircases on each side, leading upstairs. There’s a bar on the back wall with mirrored shelves filled with liquor. The tables are a thick expensive looking wood, and the chairs are surprisingly comfy looking, reminding me of a reading chair. Soft pink and silver fluorescent lights cover the entire area, lighting up the room, yet keeping it dark and seductive.
As we follow the hostess, my eyes dart around the club. There’s a gorgeous woman gracefully dancing on the stage, using the pole as her prop. She’s topless, and her breasts are perky and perfectly tanned. Her hair is pin-straight and her makeup is on point. She smiles seductively at the crowd of men who are sitting around the stage as she peels herself from the pole and removes her panties. The men, who appear to be deep in conversation, look her way occasionally, but aren’t salivating over her like I imagined.
I saw a movie once about a stripper. The men were standing close and throwing dollar bills onto the stage. But here, the men are dressed in suits with drinks in their hands, talking to one another.It’s as if the dancer on stage is nothing more than a back drop. If the stage wasn’t front and center, I would think this club was a men’s lounge of some sort.
We walk up the winding staircase to the right of the stage, and once we’re at the top, Marlene shows us to our table. In order to get to it, she has to open the black velvet rope that has a sign hanging from it, indicating this is VIP. The table is a half-moon shape, similar to the ones downstairs, but instead of the comfy reading chairs, there are two two-person love seats. Next to the table is a standing bucket of ice with a bottle of alcohol nestled inside.
Unlike downstairs, this floor has several different mini-stages. I notice the stage in front of our area is empty, and when I glance around, I see each area has their own stage. Apparently VIPs get their own personal show. There are no less than three bars up here—one in each corner. And then in the back corner, there’s a hallway. I’m not sure what’s back there. Maybe the bathrooms?
“Your dancer, Christy, will be out in a few minutes. Naomi will be your server and she will make sure whatever you need is taken care of.”
Ethan nods once and pulls me onto the loveseat with him. It’s leather and plush and I sink into Ethan’s side comfortably as he drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Dom Perignon,” Blaire says, lifting the bottle and smirking at Ethan. “Impeccable taste.”
A new woman appears, introducing herself as Naomi. Blaire and Victor sit together in the other loveseat while Naomi opens the bottle and pours each of us a glass.
“To Victor and Blaire and their engagement,” Ethan says,raising his glass.
Everyone takes a sip. Unlike the fruity drinks I’ve grown to love, this is bitter with a hint of sweet, and I can taste the alcohol in it. I would prefer a fruity drink, but I don’t want to sound ungrateful, so I keep my comments to myself.
“And to Nevaeh and her first time at a strip club,” Blaire adds with a giggle.
Everyone takes another drink, so I forcefully swallow another gulp. When I set the drink down, having no desire to finish it, Ethan shakes his head and laughs.
“What?”
“You’re just so damn adorable. You prefer a blueberry martini over a bottle of Dom.”
Because he’s not wrong, I just shrug and snuggle into his side. When Naomi walks over, Ethan, despite me telling him that’s not necessary, orders me my favorite drink.
The music and lights lower, and then a new song starts up. The stage lights up and a beautiful raven-haired woman steps onto the stage. She’s wearing a gorgeous white leather outfit with matching heels. She makes eye contact with us, and her smile is as beautiful as she is. We watch quietly as she performs solely for us. I’ve never seen a woman dance erotically before, let alone strip while she’s doing it, so I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect. And I don’t think even in my wildest dreams I would’ve expected to feel… aroused. Turned on. But as I watch her slowly remove her clothes while dancing on stage, I find myself squirming in my seat. Her dancing isn’t just sexual, it’s sensual and intimate, and I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s nothing like what I imagined. She’s classy and obviously knows her way around the stage. She’s doing more than stripping, she’s performing.
“If I pushed my fingers into you right now, would you be wet?” Ethan whispers into my ear. I tighten my thighs, seeking relief, and Ethan chuckles. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’re completely fucking turned on right now.”
“Are you?” I ask, a bit too harshly. Being pleasured is new to me, but ever since Ethan gave me my first real orgasm, I find myself craving them—craving the release, the closeness.
