“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly.
Fear races through my veins. He’s already hurting me, by holding me here when I want to leave. “Then what do you call this?” I whisper.
“Keeping you. For a little while. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
God. He makes it sound so reasonable. But it’s not. I know it’s not. If it were any other man, I would have twisted away and run out of the booth. I would have been calling for Blue. We’re a long way from the man who told me about poetry and childhood dreams, but I can’t forget that he did. He’s the same man, light and dark, petal and thorn. “Let me go,” I say, my voice wavering, unsteady.
“Hands or mouth,” he repeats.
I close my eyes. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I don’t want to cry. It’s like waving a red flag at men like him. But the hands sliding down my body are surprisingly gentle. Over my abs and down to my…
“What are you doing?” I jerk away, but he’s got one hand on my hip.
His eyes are dark, knowing. “If you won’t decide, I will.”
“I’m not going to blow you,” I say, feeling small, like I’ve lost all control of the situation.
“I didn’t tell you to,” he says, one hand between my legs. The backs of his fingertips brush over my pussy. The thin strip of fabric over my pussy. “I want to fuck you with my fingers. I want to play with your clit until you come. Or maybe I’ll slide my tongue over your pussy until you’re crying loud enough for the whole club to hear, hmm? Your choice, Honey.”
All the air rushes out of me. I don’t know why it’s so shocking. A blowjob is way dirtier than what he’s asking for. But I’ve never had a man want to get me off. Typically they’d fumble around with my breasts, then come in my hands. I should tell him no again, like I did before. Blue would back me up. Ivan would protect me in this.
But there’s a part of me intrigued by what he’s offering. “Why?”
Amusement glints in his eyes. “The usual reasons.”
It’s so crazy I laugh, and my laugh sounds crazy too. “I’m not going to come, you know.”
He considers this as he turns his hand and cups my pussy. He isn’t waiting until we’ve negotiated a price. He isn’t waiting for permission. And I’m letting him. Oh God. He finds my clit with his thumb and gently circles.
He trails callused fingertips down my pussy and back up again. Slow. Focused. He seems to be making a study of me, mapping out my body. I’ve never had anyone go this slow, this careful. Never had hands so large be gentle.
“I wanted to touch you since I first saw you walk onto the stage. Whether I have to pay or not, whether you return the favor or not, I don’t give a fuck. I’m going to finger this pretty cunt until you gush all over my hand. I’m going to keep going until you’re slick with it, until my jeans are damp with you, until the scent of your sex is in the air.”
I stare at him, somehow shocked, as if I’ve never heard these dirty words or witnessed these dirty acts. And I haven’t—not the words in that order. Not with my body reacting, getting tight and wet for him. I think I actually might come for him.
“No,” I whisper.
His fingers don’t stop stroking me. If anything they slip in deeper. “That’s what I want around my dick. Not your hands or your mouth. I want the juice from your pussy. When you’re wet and coming, I’m going to dip my fingers inside your pretty pussy. I’ll cover my dick with your juices, just like it would be if I fucked you bareback.”
I could imagine him then, cock heavy with arousal, glistening with my wetness. His cock would be large, like his hands and his whole body are large.
In the end it isn’t his blunt fingers against my clit. Not even the dark, possessive gleam in his eyes. What pushes me over is the clean, earthy scent of him. I lean close, pressing my nose to his neck and breathing in deep as I come.
I stay there, pressed into every hollow place in him, somehow finding solace in the hard angles of his body. He is a mountain, and I am the shadows that fill every nook and cave around him.
Reality comes back to me, along with embarrassment. And confusion. I’ve never come in this room. Never in this building. God, I haven’t even masturbated in forever—so worn down from hiding, so shamed by the place I’m hiding in, this strip club.
I’m hiding in him now.
How did he do this to me? One hour ago I had never seen this man, never imagined getting turned on in this dank room. Never sought comfort against rough, whisker-ticklish skin. He’s changing me, teaching me to want more than survival.