But that’s just my fantasies again. He hasn’t once acted like he wants me. So I’m doomed to lust after his perfect body until the end of time. Or at least as long as we share our apartment.
“Get back to work, Whitney.” My boss’ words snap me out of my fantasies, and I rush back to the bar to pick up the drinks waiting to be delivered to the club’s patrons.
I finish my shift, knowing the way these men look at me in my tiny skirt and even tinier top will be amplified a hundred times over tomorrow. When they’re looking at me naked.
After I change from my heels into some comfy sneakers and throw on a hoodie over my uniform, I walk out the back entrance.
“Hey, princess.”
I jerk my eyes up at the voice.
“Dax.” The words come out a little breathier than I mean for them to. Probably because I’m already gearing up for the session with my vibrator, my mind already thinking about the man standing right in front of me.
It’s not unusual for him to meet me after work and take the 6 Train home together. He’s a partial owner of a bar just down the street. But tonight it feels weird. I’m not sure if it’s because I was just fantasizing about him or because I feel weird knowing that this will be the last time he picks me up from this job. The next time, I’ll have just spent the night taking off my clothes for a bunch of horny assholes.
We fall into step beside each other. Should I tell him? I don’t think I want to. Even though he doesn’t look at me the way I really want him to, at least I know where we stand. That could all change if he knows.
He pulls me out of my internal debate when he laughs. “You won’t believe what I saw on my way over here. That girl who strips at your club—Poppy?”
I nod, unnerved at where this conversation might be going.
“She was all wrapped up in one of my other partners that owns the bar. Dominic. Small world, huh?”
“Yeah.” I force out a laugh as we make our way underground, but he doesn’t seem to notice how strange I’m acting.
“If I’d known Dom came to your club, I might have come with him.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “Maybe the two of us will hit up one of your tables sometime. Though I don’t know that I want him checking you out in that sexy outfit you wear.”
I look over at him as we wait for the train. Is he serious? I want to believe he thinks I’m sexy. Then I catch the joking smirk that’s nearly always plastered on his face. Nope. Not even a little bit serious.
I swat him on the shoulder. “You better not come in there. I won’t be able to focus on my job if I know you’re in there distracting me with those muscles and dirty smiles.”
Dax laughs, knowing I’m teasing. It’s what we do. Trade flirty jokes, often full of innuendo. But that’s all it ever is. Joking. Teasing.
That doesn’t mean I wish for once he’d mean it. But right now him staying out of the club is not a joking matter. The last thing I want is him and his friend coming in to pay a little visit to me, the cocktail waitress. Because as of tomorrow I’ll be up on that stage. And the idea of taking my clothes off in front of Dax is the last thing I want to imagine.
Except I do. Over and over again that night when I get in bed and grab my vibrator. All I can think about is him, hard and needy, his eyes glued to my body as I strip for him. His hand going to his cock. Dax coming hard while watching me.
And that’s all I see as I make myself come, wishing it was him and not my favorite toy getting the job done.
Yeah right. If only.
Dax
The music pouring from behind the bathroom door thrums in time to the fantasy going through my head. Each heavy beat mimicking the brutal pounding I wish I were giving Whitney right this minute.
Her under me. Her on top of me. Her on her knees while I give it to her from behind. Or up against the wall. Or on the kitchen counter. Anywhere really. Or everywhere, if I’m being honest. All I want is to fuck that girl everywhere and every way possible.
I grit my teeth and try to focus on the game on TV, but it’s really fucking hard after what I saw earlier.
Whit didn’t know I was home. I came out of my room and headed to the bathroom, only to see her fucking dancing in her room. In nothing but her bra and panties. It took everything I had not to barge in there and throw her on the bed and show her what I’ve wanted to do since the moment she moved in.
Raking a hand through my hair, I debate for the millionth time if it would really be such a bad thing. People do it all the time, right? Friends with benefits.
Added benefit here is that we share the same apartment. Except that’s probably the very same reason I haven’t done anything about this near constant hard-on she gives me. If I were to fuck it up, I’d be out roommate. Even worse, I’d be without her.