Stripped (19 page)

This is cool; Em is cat-calling me, the crowd is great, they’re really getting into it, and by the verse I’m feeling way more relaxed. So much so, I add a few audience-pleasing back flips and full body twists in midair.

I’m down to just my trousers when my eyes catch Maggie’s glare from the side of the stage. When she sees she has my attention, she lets her gaze float to the audience. I receive the memo loud and clear—
get out into the house
.

Got ya covered, Maggie,
I think and vault off the stage in a soaring somersault.

I dance for the tables closest to the stage first, moving in closer so I’m giving a dance for each woman. Then it happens—they run their hands over me—my abs, my legs, and my arse. I quickly break away and head to the next table, trying to keep it all under control.

That shit’s fucked on so many levels. Right, keep it under control, with a hundred screaming, horny, drink-lubed ladies who want cock, and now. The past couple of weeks when Emelie didn’t show up, I let them touch me—clothes on—like they wanted. That was it, no extras, like I promised her. However, tonight, she’s sitting about thirty feet away.

It’s all for fun, I remind myself. Em is cool with it. It’s just a show.

“Let me suck your dick, Dirty Aussie!” a lady with a white bride’s veil screams and shoves a Benjamin at me.

Aw, Christ. I fold the bill back up in her hand and give her wrist a peck with my lips, hoping the gesture will express my
no thank you
nicely. Club rules state guests may not solicit dancers and the dancers aren’t supposed to allow that kind of thing, but with enough drinks and sensual music sometimes those regulations are overlooked.

Maneuvering away, I don’t look back. I get to the next table and dance on the surface. I remember the night Emelie was here and I was trying to make her jealous by working sex moves with a woman at a table. I won’t be doing that again.

This table, however, is fucking rowdy and everything that can go wrong, does. Half the women sitting around me douse me with their drinks and scramble to lick the alcohol off my abs.

I get away as fast and as graciously as I can and stop at the next group of gropers. Last time, I was searching out Em’s eyes, but this time I’m avoiding them.

Not good. Gotta fix this shit.

I follow the map straight to her, offer an apologetic look for my behavior—
my mother would be sick
—and pull her up onstage with me.

Sitting her in the chair we call the throne on the center of the stage, I give her a sizzling lap dance. She laughs and throws her head back. I figure I may as well kiss her here while I’ve got the chance. Em kisses me back with feverish intent.

Huh. Maybe this stripping thing isn’t so bad for the two of us after all—maybe she’s claiming me in front of all these other women.

I’m good with that.
In fact, I’m totally down with the idea.

When the song ends, I escort her back to her table as everyone cheers and then I run off backstage.

Colin’s up.

Jason—another stripper—tosses me a towel. “Dude, you reek of appletinis.”

“Yeah, I just got showered in the shit.” We both laugh.

We all hang out in our briefs or thongs until Colin’s number is finished.

Before we have a chance to get to the dressing room, right as his song ends, Thompson pulls an all-call.

Fuck,
I mutter under my breath. It means all the strippers have to go out on the floor for a special encore.

Nickelback’s “SEX” burns up the speakers. Each of us goes out and dances in a line up—easy arse-shaking shit. A couple of the dancers bring it into the audience, visiting tables and giving lap dances or facial grinds. I lag back to avoid the inevitable groping until—

Jay, who’s obviously had Emelie in his crosshairs, gets to her fast.

Motherfucker! He saw me on stage with her earlier.

I make a straight line to the table. As I get closer, I can see her shaking her head and mouthing the words,
no thank you
while putting her hands up to halt him. It’s not stopping Jay or slowing him down in the least—he’s getting all up in her face with his junk.

In a fucking second I’ve got my hand on his shoulder and yank him back. “The lady said no thank you.”

“Fuck off, Aussie. I don’t see your name written on her.”

Jay pulls away and gets back to it. Em turns her head, curls up defensively, and squeezes her eyes closed to attempt to miss the worst of it.

I grab him by both shoulders and remove him from her. “Pick another girl.”

“Fuck’s up with you?” He shoves me back.

“The lady’s taken.” Each of my muscles is coiled and on fire.

“By you?” He smirks.

He moves in towards her again. This time, though, he won’t get a chance to touch her before I break all his fucking fingers.

Gripping his hand, I bend it back, forcing his body to follow. Off balanced, Jay stumbles over his own feet.

I slide in between the two of them and make myself a wall. “Get out of here,” I aim at him.

“Make me, fucker.”

Shoving him hard with my shoulder in his gut, I move us both away from Emelie’s close proximity. He crashes against the floor, scrambles back to his feet, and throws the first swing. He misses by a mile. I throw the second. It connects hard against his jaw.

He stays on his feet, but turns his head and spits out a mouthful of blood.

“Oh, I love the show, hot stuff!” the bride-to-be who wanted to suck my dick a bit ago and her entourage come and surround the two of us.

Their hands are all over me, running over my shoulders and chest, on my arse and abs and cock. My adrenaline is still in fight mode. I try to maneuver away, but bridezilla gets her hand down the front of my trunks and grabs hold of the anaconda.

So not cool!

“I’d love a last night fling to remember,” she croons. “I want you to fuck me, big boy.”

Before I can react, her drunken, sloppy mouth is on mine and her hands latch hard onto the back of my head like she’s giving lifesaving mouth-to-mouth.

Grasping her arms to gain control of her upper body, I try to firmly but gently extract her, but she’s like an octopus suctioned to my face!

Finally, she relents and I’m able to slip from her tentacles.

As if by some miracle, the song ends and whatever mind control it had over the female population of the club is broken.

Scanning the table where Emelie and her friends are sitting, I see Violet and Raphael are talking, sipping drinks, and laughing. Em isn’t there, but I figure—since her mates are chilled out—maybe she is too. She’s probably in the loo.

I sprint to the dressing room and have it all to myself. The guys are still on the floor
entertaining
.

Only one girl I want to entertain.

Hastily, I pull my clothes on and disinfect my mouth with several shots of Listerine, don my disguise of sunglasses and ball cap and stride back out to Em’s table. Her seat is still empty.

“Hey, guys, where’s Em?”

“Dude! You alright?” Raphael begins. “That was a sick fight.”

“Not a scratch. He’s lucky we got swarmed with guests or I would’ve pummeled him.”

“No doubt. What a douche!” Violet remarks, sipping her pink cocktail. “But you were all brave and swoony.”

How can I not smile at that description? “Where’s Em”

“Bathroom.” She rolls her eyes. “Where else?”

“She’s been in there a long time.”

“Come to think of it, she has.” Violet seems to just notice.

“How many of those pretty drinks have you had?” I ask with a grin.

She laughs. “Too many.”

“Could you humor me and check on her?”

“Oh yeah!” She grabs her purse—’cause that’s like a requirement for all women going to the loo. She adds with a giggle, “I didn’t even notice she went.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Might be dangerous for you, Dirty Aussie,” she cautions, wide-eyed.

She’s right.

“I’ll wait out the side door.” I need some fresh air. It’ll help me clear my head, especially before I have to talk to Maggie.

By the time she comes back to me, she wears a concerned look on her face. “I’ve looked everywhere. She’s gone. She’s also not answering her phone.”

Goddammit.
“I blew it.”

“No you didn’t, Stone. She knew what she was getting herself into, coming here tonight.”

I don’t think I believe her—she’s just being kind. “I’ve got to go after her.”

“You take off,” she tells me then digs in her bag and passes me the house key. “Me and Raph will hang here and take a taxi later. That way, if she does show back up, we’ve got our bases covered.”

“You’re awesome, Violet.” I about-face and jog towards the door.

“Stone!” Violet’s voice stops me in my tracks. “If she’s not in the apartment, try up on the roof.”

Her best friend was right, she’s not in the apartment, so I climb the fire escape to the roof. Before I get to the top, I hear “Pillowtalk” by Zayn playing and find her there—

Dancing.

I stay in the shadows and watch as she soars.

She looks so free, so fluid, so rapturous. Her hair is tossed with the swings of her head and the movement of her sleek, lean body. At once, she is elegant and sensual.

Em spins, kicks, sways, and tilts her head. She’s mixing up styles in a dance I’ve never seen her do before. Time stops as I watch her.

Her dance digs deep, expressing powerful emotions. It’s so stirring, my eyes become bleary and I can’t move for fear she’ll stop her performance.

Leaping into the air, she kicks to the side while arching her arm above her head. Then she immediately slows it down into a graceful ballet pose—she stands on one foot while her other leg rises slowly until she’s in a standing forward split and her lovely foot points to the night sky.

I’m lost in her.

When the chorus hits, she pirouettes en pointe! This is the first I’ve seen her up on her toes like this. In the pretty pink dress, she looks like the tiny figurine ballerina that pops up and twirls delicately when a child opens her jewelry box.

When I think she could captivate me no further, she busts out some street moves that rival my own. She’s created and choreographed an alloy of styles to near perfection.

She’s flawless.

She’s a masterpiece.

Em freezes mid-dance. “Who’s there?” She sounds frightened.

“It’s only me.” I show myself quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… or invade your sanctuary.”

Chapter Nineteen

Emelie

Stone did what?!?

(I seem to say or think this a lot)

“That was the most exquisite dance I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.” I’m quiet and can’t quite meet his gaze. I wasn’t expecting an audience.

“Emelie, I was looking for you everywhere. I’m so incredibly sorry—about everything—from Jay being a complete arsehole to getting mauled by that woman.”

“I know. Neither of those things were in your control.” I wipe my hair from my face but keep my eyes glued to the roof floor beneath my feet. “Thanks for protecting me from the guy.”

“Em, please look at me.”

“I can’t,” I whisper painfully.

“Emelie.”

“I’m not… tough,” I admit.

“I’ve been training with you. You’re tougher than you look.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

He takes a step closer.

“No, Stone, I really don’t think you do.” I still can’t look at him. “When I left the studio the other day to run out for coffee, it was because I don’t think I can keep working with you. I know I made a deal, and I don’t mean to back out, but you’re ready without me.”

“You said you wouldn’t quit me,” he reminds me.

“You might want me to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks softly as he slowly comes closer until we’re standing face to face.

“I thought I could handle it tonight. But I struggled with seeing the other women’s hands all over you. I’m embarrassed to say that, Stone! I’m not trying to change you or your life or lifestyle.”

“You already have.”

I let out a breath. “I think I’m cramping your style, and that was never my intention.”

“What is your intention, Emelie?”

The challenge makes me lifts my eyes to his. “I don’t have one.”

It’s too intense.
He’s too intense
. My gaze falls back to the ground.

“Emelie, I care… deeply for you.” His fingers lift my chin until I’m back to being lost in the blue ocean of his eyes. “I quit the club.”

“You did?” I’m not able to hide my shocked surprise. “Why?”

He chuckles. “Guess, genius.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“For you.”

“But see, I’m trying not to make you change.” Now I feel guilty.

“You don’t remember what I told you when we first started this… whatever it is we have.” He fixes me with a panty-melting stare. “I’m exclusively yours for as long as you’ll have me.”

That’s another one of those things he’s said that I don’t really understand. What does that mean, anyway? I’d ask, but I don’t possess the proverbial balls.

“I’m
very
human, Stone. I think you’re maybe a robot.”

“My dick is a robot, an evil-brain robot dick. My body, however, beats with a human heart too.”

“I’m sorry you quit.”

“No you’re not.” His hands come up to cradle my face.

No, I’m not.

“You’re a very good stripper,” I tell him in an attempt to be consoling.

“Then I’ll have to give you special VIP performances.”

I inhale a little gasp. My heart is beating so fast I think I may go into cardiac arrest. That’s not safe. I don’t have a defibrillator on standby.

He leans in for a kiss. “Wait!” I stop his descent, remembering that bride-to-be. “Did you… sterilize?”

Stone bursts out laughing. “Half a bottle of Listerine and a few swigs of the club’s strongest whiskey as an added precaution.”

“Okay then, get on with it.”

I’m so grateful my roommates aren’t home, because I’m roaring like Katy Perry.

I obviously can’t get enough of Stone’s love rocket.

He has me lifted in his hands by my thighs—he’s so incredibly, swoonily strong—my back to his chest, my legs pulled apart, and my ass tilted. I’m perched level with his waist and he has us standing in front of my full length closet door mirror so he can watch while he slides his dick over the slickness of my kitty.

Stone holds his beautiful cock in his hand and gently works it into me, stirring up our energy, then pulls it out to rub over my clit. He teases wickedly, putting it back in then pulling it back out again for another rub over my swollen pearl.

“Look how beautiful that is, baby. How erotic…” With his eyes glued to the image of our joining in the mirror, he slams his velvet covered steel back inside me hard.

A scream rips from my throat.

He grunts. “Watch it slide, Em.”

We both stare, mesmerized, at our reflection as he lifts then lowers me over his cock.

It disappears, sinking deep.

He pumps his hips and bounces me, hitting that out-of-this-fucking-universe spot.

“Oh, look at you coming all over me. You’re dripping.”

The view is spectacular. I’ve never had sex in front of a mirror before.

Stone brings his dick all the way out to the tip. “Oh fuck! I love that,” he exclaims roughly.

We can see everything—my pink kitten snuggling the hell out of his behemoth, my thighs spread to absolute face reddening glory! His balls pressing against my ass with his upward thrusts. My tits jiggling with each of his expeditions.

With a groan and the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen, he drives it in full force, burying himself into my pussy.

“Em, I’m going to fucking come!” he moans out all throaty against my ear. “Rub your clit, I want to feast my eyes on you.”

I comply. The sensations culminate, making my head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Kiss me,” Stone urges. Our tongues dance as he grinds my pussy. Then out of nowhere he huffs in a suggestive tone, “You jillaroo with that boomerang?”

I know he’s trying to ask me something—because his inflection at the end of the words sounds like a question—and that it requires some sort of response, but honestly I have no idea what he just said. Probably one of us is delirious with all of this sweltry sex because whatever he just said can’t possibly make sense in any country.

It’s obvious he’s abandoned the slow approach and has flipped the switch to Aussie Tasmanian devil speed—

You know, the cartoon, not the marsupial, because that would just be weird.

His jaw ticks. “I love… fucking you, Em!”

“Oh my God, you are so epic!” I howl.

When it’s over, I’m surprised I’m still conscious—and able to walk.

After I catch my breath, I stumble to the bathroom to wash my face, as my sweaty mascara is burning my eyes.

Stone rolls onto the bed with a cocky Cheshire cat grin, cool and satisfied and understandably pleased with himself.

Once at the bathroom sink, I paw at the facial wash and get the lather worked into my skin—especially over my eyes to remove the makeup. I rinse and then grope for a towel.

There isn’t one on the towel rack.
Shit!

Then I remember seeing—through blurry mascara stinging eyes—the pink one hanging on the wall next to the sink, which is odd because there was no hook there before. Stone must have installed one. It’s like he’s made it his mission to make this place homey.

I catch hold of it, dry my skin and—

Startled, I scream and jump backwards to the opposite wall!

Level with my face is the hugest, most monstrous flesh toned dick-dildo ever! It’s inhumanly large—like twelve inches long and three inches in circumference—and is stuck to the wall with a suction cup at the base of its balls.

“STONE!”

“Oh good!” he calls back. “You found it.”

“And…?” my mom asks, all excited.

“And… the LA auditions are in three days!” I squeal. “I’m thrilled for him! It’s so cool, right?!”

“Yeah, it is!” she agrees with equal enthusiasm.

“Thanks for not being upset with me,” I say gratefully. My mom is so amazing.

“I knew you were having fun.”

“And how did you
know
that?” I challenge. Probably the universe told her in a vision.

“Because when you’re bored or depressed you call me at least twice a day. When you’re happy or involved with your passion, I’ve learned I’m lucky to hear from you before a week goes by.”

“Really? I do that?” She stays quiet and doesn’t answer, like I’m supposed to figure it out. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“What’s he like?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Stone is easily the best dancer I’ve ever seen. He’s incredibly disciplined, has mastery in several different styles, and is now working very hard to add ballet to that repertoire.”

“Is he good in the sack?”

“Oh God, yes. The best,” I mutter dreamily then remember who I’m talking to. “MOM!”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

“Not from you! You tricked me.”

“You know, you can tell me anything.”

Yeah, right, everything.
I should tell her about the makeshift dildo-towel hook. Oh yeah, no!

“Do you like him?”

Too much. “Yes. I like him.”

“Scale of 1 to 10: 1 being platonic—he’s like the long lost brother you never had—or 10—maybe he’ll be the father of my grandchildren—where would he be sitting?”

“Nice, Mom,” I respond flatly.

“Just answer my question.”

“Stone is… complicated.”

“Sweetheart, all men are complicated.”

“He’s different from any guy I’ve known or ever been friends with,” I admit. “He’s playful, talks a lot, and jokes, and is always making me laugh…”

“That’s a great quality.”

“It is. Come on, Mom, I met him in a strip club…”

“Which he quit, for you.”

“That’s because I’m demented and strange and he wants me to keep coaching him.”

“And he’s always skipping out of work to be with you or take you on dates.”

“That’s only because he wants to show me his dancing…”

“I don’t believe that shit you’re shoveling for a second.”

“Hey!”

“Fess up! Neither do you,” she insists. “Men do
not
rearrange their entire lives around a woman unless they’re seriously invested, and from everything you’ve told me, this boy’s got it
bad
.”

Her words excite
and
terrify me at the same time.

“Alright, don’t go all silent on me. I’ll lay off the subject—for now. What about your father? Have you told him you’re working as a coach?”

“No way. Even when I try to broach the subject he won’t listen to a word I say. He wants me back in New York.”

“And with Viktor.”

“Can we not—”

“Talk about ED?” she finishes my thought. “Fine.”

“Beyond everything else, I’m really enjoying…”—I resist the urge to say falling in love—“dancing again. Not just ballet either, all of it! Stone has me doing hip hop and street. I never realized how much fun it could be.”

“I remember your ballet-contemporary performance senior year. You took my breath away.”

“Dad hates anything new or different.”

“He’s just stuck in the past. Your father’s never been good with change. Remember that time the Fry and Die went healthy and switched out his favorite ‘Cajun Bucket o’ Chicken Wings’ for the new ‘Spicy Grilled Breast Bits’?”

I did. He ranted for about it for three months—until he found that new chicken place, Clucky’s

“Except for the word
breast
in the title, he hated them—even though it was the same spice they used on the other and grilled instead of—!”

“Fried. I get it, Mom.”

“But he still loves chicken, and he still loves you,” she says.

“That’s the most ridiculous comparison in the history of comparisons.”

She ignores my comment. “You’re going to have to level with him at some point. Especially if you stay in LA.”

“You know I’ve been thinking about that?”

“You’ve been more than thinking about it. You’re seriously considering it.”

“How do you—?”

“Mother’s intuition.”

“What if it’s the wrong choice?”

“Even wrong choices can make us better and act as spring boards to our true destinies. But you have to keep moving forward… you can’t be stuck in yesterday, and you definitely can’t let the situations or people that hurt you in the past have a say or clout in your present decision making process, even though sometimes they seem to shout very loudly,” she says. “You also need to have some faith—in yourself and the universe. And, looking at your astrology chart, Emelie, all your planetary alignments are in fortuitous aspects.”

“I love you, Mom.” Deeply, along with her flakiness.