As he dropped his gaze, she whispered, “No one sucked them like you. The girls miss their daddy so, so much.”
She started moving on him. When his gaze found hers, a shadow darkened her bright eyes, made smoky by the makeup. She undulated on him, shook her tits in his face. He sat there like a goddamn statue while his raging boner sat trapped between his legs.
The ultimate punishment.
Maybe this was just the beginning of the torture she’d put him through. Payback for how he’d treated her all those years ago. And he’d take it like a man because her torture was better than anything he’d get from any other woman.
She pushed up, her toned thighs hijacking his attention. Then she turned around and wiggled her ass at him. His fingersached to touch her soft skin, stroke his hand over the thin fabric covering her sweet, sweet pussy.
As the song came to a crescendo, she turned back around and shimmied, sending her full breasts bouncing. Before he’d caught his breath over that little move, she sat back down and mimicked gliding on him.
His balls were blue, his shaft starting to hurt from the tight confines of his pants and the way he was sitting. She shook her head, sending her hair flying in every direction, her sun-kissed mane framing her beautiful face.
The song ended.
She tied her bikini straps, removed the sarong from his neck, and stood. “Mr. Anus, that was fun. Let’s do it again sometime.” With a smile that sent another burst of heat pounding through him, she kissed his cheek, then the other, before sauntering toward the back of the club, and disappearing out of sight.
This wasn’t just another undercover job. Working with Slash had become his reason for being.
He pushed out of the chair, freeing his boner, but he buttoned his sport coat, hoping to hide the bulge. Time to find the manager.
At six-two, he could see over most everyone. When he didn’t spot her, he flagged down a server.
“Yes, sir,” said the woman.
She wore pasties over her nipples, shortie shorts, and thigh-high boots. Strange how he would normally check out her, but not now. Now, he was on a mission to lock Slash down.
“Find me the GM,” he said.
While waiting at a high table in the bar area, a dancer approached him. “You look lonely,” she said. “How ‘bout some company?”
“I’m waiting for the manager.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Her gaze lingered on his. “I gotta say… you’re killer handsome, and I’m not just saying that for a tip.” She gave him a once-over. “Those are some serious threads. I used to work at a men’s clothing store. That sport coat had to cost you a few thousand.”
Karen hurried over. “I hope you’ve got good news, Mr. Amos.”
After the dancer left, he said, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“Let’s chat in my office,” Karen said.
He followed her through the spacious club, glancing at the stages. As he walked down the corridor toward Karen’s office, Slash exited from the dancer’s dressing room and crashed into him.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close. “My apologies,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” Karen blurted.
“Hello, Mr. An?—”
“Amos,” he said. “Claude Amos.”
Her lips twitched.
She loves giving me a hard time.
