Page 54

Chapter 10

Richard

Iparked across the street, killed the engine, and stepped out.

Nothing in this shithole had changed, and that’s exactly why it kept pulling in the same crowd. Same flickering bulb over the door, same sorry line of guys outside acting like they had no better place to be, and the same heavy bass leaking through the walls, thumping straight into your ribs.

This is where I met her.

That’s the only reason I was here tonight. I hadn’t called in weeks. She was probably pissed as hell, and I figured showing up in person was better than letting that silence stretch any longer.

The second I pushed through the door the sound slammed into me. The low, steady beat crawling up from the floor and settling in my chest. The air was the usual cocktail of sweat, cheap perfume, cologne and spilled booze.

I didn’t bother looking around. I already knew exactly where she’d be.

She was already on stage when I walked in. The opening notes of “Is This Real” rolled out, wrapping around the room like smoke.

She moved like she’d been waiting for that exact moment. For me. She made goddamn sure of it.

The bra she chose was a deep, blood-red satin number edged in black lace, stretched obscenely tight across her breasts. The cups fought a losing battle, barely containing her full tits. They spilled over the top and glistened with sweat and glitter, her hard pink nipples clearly outlined and pressing against the sheer fabric like they were begging to be freed. Lower down, the matching red thong was nothing but a cruel tease. Thin strings riding high on her hips, the front panel barely covering her smooth mound while the back disappeared completely between her firm, rounded ass cheeks, framing that perfect peach.

Her fair skin glowed under the pulsing stage lights, slick and sparkling with oil or sweat that caught every flash of purple and pink neon. Long, platinum blonde hair cascaded wildly around her shoulders and down her back, messy from the heat and movement, strands stuck to her neck and collarbone. When she spun on that pole, one arm raised high as she gripped the cool metal, her blue eyes lined sharp with heavy eyeliner locked straight onto mine. Those glossy, cock-sucking red lips parted slightly, hungry and unashamed, like she knew exactly what she was doing to every man in the room…especially me.

She didn’t miss a beat. Her hands gripped the pole tight as she pulled herself up in one smooth motion, body stretching long and taut before she hooked a strong thigh around it and spun. The descent was agonizingly slow, her legs spreading just enough to flash the thin strip of fabric barely covering her pussy as she slid back down.

I was already rock-hard watching her. My cock strained painfully against my pants, throbbing with every controlled flex of her body. The way her thighs clenched around that pole, muscles rippling as she lowered herself inch by torturous inch, back arched so her tits thrust forward and her ass pushed out—fuck. It was pure, calculated torture, and she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

She didn’t rush anything. Her timing slipped for just a second on the next turn and I spotted it immediately.

She was high. Of course. Coke. She doesn’t dance without it anymore.

I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, letting the rest of the room blur while my dick pulsed in time with her movements. Men crowded the stage like desperate dogs, leaning in, hands reaching, bills waving. They thought they actually had a chance with her. She danced for them, but her eyes kept coming back to me, holding longer each time, letting me see every filthy detail.

She dropped to her knees at center stage, hands pressing flat as she crawled forward, hips rolling. Her ass lifted and swayed with the beat, cheeks jiggling slightly, the thong string pulled tight between them. She stared straight into my eyes like she was fucking me from across the room.

The crowd lost it. Bills rained down. Hands reached for her. She ignored them all, rolling her hips harder, grinding the air like she was riding an invisible dick, thighs flexing, back dipping into a perfect arch that made her ass pop.

When the song darkened, she was back on the pole, pressing her spine against it and sliding down again spreading her legs wide. She ground against the metal, hips circling, tits bouncing with the motion. Her eyes never left mine.

The music cut and the room erupted, but she stepped off with that same cool control. An older guy reached her first. Tips heavy, his hands already greedy. She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear, letting her breasts press against his chest while she whispered whatever he needed to hear. Then she led him to the chair, straddling his lap with practiced ease.

Her hips rolled slow and deep, grinding her barely-covered pussy against the growing bulge in his pants. His clumsy hands slid up her thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, pushing higher until his fingers dug under the edge of her thong. She didn’t stop him. Instead, she arched her back, pushing her tits into his face while she rode him to the rhythm still playing in her head. Her eyes found mine again. She ground harder, ass flexing, body moving like she was seconds from coming on a stranger’s lap just to test me.

Jealousy and raw lust twisted together in my gut until murderous rage boiled under my skin. I wanted to rip that worthless prick apart limb by limb, paint the floor with his blood for daring to touch what’s mine. She was putting on a show for me now, measuring how long I’d let her keep teasing this pathetic fuck before I snapped.

She finished the dance without breaking eye contact. Then she slipped into the back room. Minutes later, she came back out, she was fully clothed with her duffel bag in hand. The man leaned in, whispered something in her ear, and slipped her more money. She let him claim her arm like he’d won something. They walked out together.

I waited just long enough, then followed into the night, already knowing exactly how this ended and how hard I was going to fuck her when it did.

I reached down and adjusted my throbbing dick in my pants so it wasn’t jutting forward obscenely as I walked to my car. I got in, started the engine, and followed far enough behind them that I stayed unnoticed.

The drive was quiet. I kept my distance, watching their car, tracking every turn until they pulled into the lot of her apartment on the edge of town.

I parked down the street, killed the engine, and sat in the dark watching them disappear inside the apartment. I waited. Long enough for him to get comfortable. Long enough for him to think he’d won.

I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the smooth, black faceless mask. I slid it over my head, adjusted it until the eyeholes lined up, then pulled on the thin black gloves. The gun was already in my pocket, the knife in the other.

I got my key and unlocked her front door. I moved through the apartment quietly. I reached her bedroom door and pushed it open without a sound.