I looked around once more, confirming that Sienna was indeed nowhere in sight. And I shook my head, too. That woman blew my mind. I lost it around her. Lost all train of normal thought.
She was phenomenal. Beautiful, with deep dark brown eyes like liquid dark chocolate, long wavy blonde hair. A perfect body—slim, athletic, and bodaciously curvy all at once—and sassy and smart, too. About the only thing wrong with her was her fucking mouth, which would not quit with the cuss words.
I cussed. Fuck, I cussed a lot. But I did not like my women to cuss.
Shit. Note to self: Sienna was not. My. Woman. Fuck.
Nor would she be. I had to keep focus on the shitload of business in my face: retaliation for Manny, first and foremost. I could not believe how easily I lost track of that single most important element of my world every time Sienna was around. Man, she was dangerous.
It was only that touching thing. First time I saw her, I knew she’d be the one I’d be getting my lap dances from. The chemistry between us was off the charts, even from that first night I saw her. She obviously felt it, too, seeing as how she didn’t even need to ask me, just took my hand and led me to a back room, like we’d been doing it together forever. And even that first time, she put my hands all over her, begged for it, demanded it.
That was another thing she’d need to learn: I called the shots. Bossy little bitch, but I kind of loved that about her. I’d need to tame her. I would tame her. And have a fucking fabulous time doing it. Damn, it’s like she was made for me. Our bodies sure knew it.
Fuck! Focus, Dominic. Business before bitches. What a fucking mess.
Chapter Three
Sienna
Sitting in the dressing room, at one of the makeup mirrors bordered by bare bulbs just like every theater dressing room as seen in the movies, I tried to get a rein on my emotions. My mind was flying back and forth between Dom and misters Ronn and F.
On the one hand, I couldn’t suppress my warm hot feelings about Dom—my body still turned on from that lap dance, even after the shit Mr. F just pulled with his fucking hands all over me in such a grabby, unwelcome, nasty way. And it was like Mr. Ronn had invited it, offered me up for it, the fucker.
Enter Dom again, and the way he pulled me out of the way, then went all Rambo on Mr. F. Warmed my little heart. No, seriously. Made me feel watched over, safer, protected. There wasn’t much a girl could do in this kind of situation to protect herself, working a titty bar and the boss approving molestation by a VIP. I could have been seriously fucked.
And then I remembered his words: “I’m looking forward to taking your ass, make no mistake about that.” Jesus.
Let me be clear: I was no prude, and I was no stranger to sex. Fuck, I was an erotic dancer; selling the idea of sex was my bread and butter. But I was no prostitute, and I made the call of who I slept with and what we did. And no way was I into the idea of fucking Mr. F, in any capacity, least of all letting him take me in the ass. Truth is, I’d never let anyone in there before, and I did not plan on changing that status anytime soon. The way I saw it, we got a hole specifically designed for the cock. And that’s the only hole down there I was interested in filling, ever. ’Nuff said.
Thinking about the way Mr. F had grabbed me, manhandled me, and threatened me with anal rape, I started to shake. Damnit, where the fuck was the bartender when you needed her? I didn’t have anything back here in the dressing room to calm me down, to help ease me back to myself.
What I really wanted was Dom. Dom’s arms holding me, touching my skin, soothing my shivers. I wanted his power, his strength. I wanted him to make me forget all about Mr. F. But the Stones nailed it: you can’t always get what you want. I tried for deep breathing instead.
It was starting to work when there was a soft tapping at the door, and then it opened. I looked up sharply, but it was only Asia, thankfully. The angel had brought along a tray carrying two shot glasses filled with what I knew would be tequila, along with lime wedges and a couple of beers. She knew me well.
“Baby girl… that was not a good scene.” She set the tray down in front of me, and I popped the first of the shots. As it burned its way down my throat, I inhaled deeply and looked her in the eyes through the reflection in the mirror. I felt the hot wetness of tears build up behind my eyes and in my nasal cavity, but I wouldn’t let them go. I was not a crier, and I wouldn’t start now.
“I know. Just… give me a minute.” I took the second shot glass and bolted that one down, too, then grabbed a lime wedge and sucked it. Another deep breath, and I looked at myself in the mirror.