Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) (18 page)

Bennett’s finger rubbed around her clit and gained pressure.
The rhythm of his swirling was easy to follow and soon Tatum rocked her pelvis
in tempo to each heavenly rotation around her sensitive nub. The harder he
circled and pressed, the lower her mouth crept down his magnificent erection.

They worked together at their unique sexual positioning,
each giving as much as taking. When Bennett altered his routine to place two
fingers in her drenched pussy, a strangled cry ripped from her throat. From out
of nowhere, her orgasm hit with incredible force. She threw back her head while
powerful waves of pleasure rolled through her. Already sore from dancing, her
legs collapsed beneath her.

At the same time she heard Bennett release a groan so low it
had to start from his toes. Cum, hot and creamy, leapt from his cock in spurts,
covering his rock-hard abs. His cock jerked and spilled his milky essence
multiple times before his tensed body relaxed and sank into the mattress.

For several minutes they both lay still, catching their
breath and allowing the flush of sex to wash over them. Never before had a man
taken her higher and higher still using only his fingers. What manner of man
had she fallen for and whom had he practiced on to become so skilled?

Not wanting to think of the possibilities, she raised her
aching body from the bed, padded into the master bathroom and brought out a
hand towel she’d wetted with hot water. Bennett watched her clean him from
beneath hooded eyes. The poor, drugged up man looked as though he could barely
keep his baby blues open.

“Thank you,” he said when she returned from dropping off the
towel in the bathroom and carefully snuggled up against him. “For everything.
You were there for me tonight, not only in spending the night, but in the
ambulance and at the hospital. You’ll never know how much that means to me.”

He sounded so sincere, the urge to weep nearly overtook her.
Of course she was there for him. He was her hero, her friend, her lover. Where
else would she be?

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re important to me.”

She hadn’t said that she loved him, though she hoped he
could somehow divine her feelings. He may have asked, no, begged her to stay
and they may have just had amazing sex, but Bennett Truitt’s feelings were as
much of a mystery to her as was the chupacabra. Earlier in the evening she’d
thought he didn’t care for her and wanted nothing more than for her to leave
his condo. Now…who knew?

So much time passed before he spoke again, Tatum was certain
he had fallen asleep.

“I came to Texas to prove myself to Lyle. We’ve never had
what you might call a typical father-son relationship, and I never felt good
enough in his eyes.”

Her heart stopped. He’d answered the question she’d asked
before getting it brushed off for sex.

“You are good enough. You’re a wonderful man.”

He stroked her hair and let out a long breath. “I doubt
you’ll always think so.”

If she hadn’t been there to see the spectacle for herself,
Tatum never could have believed so many women would willingly come to an old
warehouse on Austin’s East Side to judge a group of men vying to become Iron
Rods strippers. Every sorority president she’d contacted showed up for the
event, as well as the female editors of the local weekly magazines, disc
jockeys and concierges from some of Austin’s more popular hotels. Any one woman
who might be instrumental in passing along the word of the new and improved
Iron Rods
en masse
had been asked to join in the fun. From the looks of
things, this was the social event of the season.

Tatum glanced around the makeshift studio. With Heather’s
help, they’d transformed the space into a dream of white and pink. Soft
indirect lighting cast an ethereal glow on clouds of sheer material the color
of a rosy baby’s cheeks that covered each and every wall from floor to ceiling.
The elegant chandeliers chosen for the Iron Rods renovation were temporarily
hanging in the room, adding the right amount of shine and glimmer. Four long
rows of sleek leather settees placed end to end flanked a wide runway leading
to a stripper pole, giving the men who auditioned plenty of room to show their
stuff while the judges sat in comfort. And dozens of fresh-cut flower
arrangements in white and varying shades of pink made the room smell like a
heavenly floral shop.

On the far side of the room, Zeeda checked in the guest
judges and handed them clear clipboards and sparkling silver pens, along with
goodie bags filled with Iron Rods swag. Nearby, a smiling T poured free drinks
into crystal glasses from behind a pink leather bar with deep tufting and a
glass top. In the corner, Alonzo prepped a state-of-the-art sound system, while
his twin Miguel and newly hired waiter Gavin Adams, the former Gangsta G,
assisted the ladies to their seats.

Heather had designed an updated logo that proudly displayed the
words Iron Rods Strip Club in an arch over a Western hat. Beneath the brim,
she’d added Austin, Texas. All the Iron Rods staff wore pink tuxedo shirts with
the new business logo embroidered on the front pocket. White tuxedo pants
topped off by magenta cummerbunds completed their ensemble. Mixed in the sea of
loud, excited judges sat Lyle and Annie. Lyle, dressed in a dapper white sports
coat and stiff jeans, gave Tatum a thumbs up and waggled his bushy gray
eyebrows.

The only person missing from the soiree was Bennett. Since
she’d stayed the night with him at his condo, she’d once again spent precious
few moments with the slick New Yorker. But with all the madness going on to
prepare Iron Rods for opening night, the meals, conversations and hook-ups she had
with Bennett were welcome respites. Although her head continually reminded how
impossible their relationship was, she’d treasured every second with him.

They had chemistry, no getting around that. And he seemed to
genuinely care for her. Yet despite the interest brewing between them, there
were times when he seemed more distant than he’d ever been.

Instead of being at the stripper audition, Bennett was back
in the Big Apple for some kind of important meeting. The day before he left,
he’d been particularly anxious, with mood swings fluctuating from outright
grouchy to distant and sad. When she’d asked him what the meeting was about,
the big galoot had brushed her off with some nonsense about taking care of some
personal business back home.

Was he running? Possibly. A man who lived his life without
love wouldn’t know how to deal with those powerful emotions and all that came
with them. Would he be afraid of love? Considering no one else had made room
for Bennett in their lives, why should he think she would?

Heather walked through the door from the hallway, a
sparkling pen poised on the side of her lip in a thoughtful look as she
searched the crowd. The white leather folder she carried perfectly matched her
elegant knee-length dress. Her roommate might be prone to accidents, but she
could coordinate her outfits, as well as big events, like nobody’s business.
When she lit upon Tatum, she waved. Apparently the time to start the strip-off
had come.

Twenty-three men had shown up for the twelve available
slots. Surely with that many dancers to choose from at least twelve would be
decent enough to hire for the team. After the selections were made, Tatum would
work with each man to perfect two individual routines, then create three small
group routines. At the same time, she and Heather would help solidify the
strippers’ stage identities and costumes. Although the process of making the
stripper selections was a big chunk of the work needing to be done before the
grand opening at Iron Rods, pages of tasks on her to-do list had yet to be
completed.

Clutching her own leather folder against her chest, Tatum
took in a deep breath and mentally reviewed the welcoming introduction she’d
prepared. She was nervous as a virgin in a whorehouse, but she was ready.

Tatum gestured at Alonzo to cue up the first dancer’s music
and turn down the lights. Shoulders back, chin up and her folder brimming with
the names of the auditioning strippers, she strode confidently through the rows
of seated women. When she arrived at the stripper pole, she smiled and slowly
took in the crowd, making eye contact with as many ladies as possible. Women of
all ages, colors and sizes, most dressed to kill, sat expectantly on their
settees. As Tatum brought the wireless microphone to her mouth, a hush fell
over the room.

“Ladies, welcome to the Iron Rods auditions. Thank you all
for being here this evening.” Her audience enthusiastically clapped or held
their drinks high in her honor. She relaxed just a little. The hardest part of
her introduction was over. As much as her mouth and brain had wanted to blurt
out
Thank all y’all for being here
, she’d kept her language professional
sounding. Damn hard thing to do for a girl born and raised in West Texas.

After reviewing the forms with the judges and explaining the
scoring system, the time had come to send in the first stripper from where he
waited in the hallway. The remaining dancers were sequestered in the other side
of the warehouse, awaiting their turns.

Tatum glanced at Alonzo and gave a quick nod. Music instantly
filled the room, enlivening the already charged atmosphere. Deciding the
occasion called for a little Texas flair to stir the local ladies even more,
Tatum threw on her thick Southern accent.

“Y’all ready to make a little Austin history tonight?” she
asked, walking around the makeshift stage. The ladies hollered back. Though
loud, the response wasn’t good enough.

“I said,” Tatum raised her voice, “y’all ready to make a
little Austin history tonight?”

The rambunctious crowd screamed and bounced on the settees.
Some of the women in the back row stood, clapping their hands and hopping
around on their high heels.

“Then let’s get this party started by welcoming dancer
number one, The Gladiator!”

A roar of excited shouts and shrieks erupted when Miguel and
Gavin opened the hallway doors for the first stripper to enter the room. The
Gladiator stood, hands on hips, in the middle of the doorway. With blunt-cut
bangs and a well-groomed mustache and beard, the stripper looked like an
ancient Roman who had miraculously spirited through time. His wide forehead
ended at thick, nicely trimmed eyebrows, which rested over narrowed, dark eyes
that both intimidated and beckoned in an extremely sexual way.

The Gladiator wore a simple blue tunic beneath an intricate
cuirass fashioned from bands of black leather strapped around his shoulders and
torso. Overlapping flaps of leather trimmed with silver studs hung on the
bottom of the flexible armor. On his forearms and shins he’d tied leather
gauntlets with silver trim that caught the light and flashed as he advanced
into the room.

Tatum looked on, too stupefied to move off the stage. The
man marching through the doorway simply overpowered her senses. She remembered
taking his name and contact information earlier that afternoon when he’d come
in to register. At the time she’d thought he was a big, handsome hoss much like
a lot of the other big, handsome hosses coming in to audition. Now that she saw
him in full costume, one he’d brought himself, she was thunderstruck. He’d transformed
into a sexy warrior no woman could resist.

Ok, big guy. Now let’s see if you can dance.

And dance he did. When Tatum vacated the stage, The
Gladiator strode through the throng of women on his trunk-like legs to the
infectious beat pumped in through the speakers. Hitting the main stage, the
stripper came alive with slick moves, hip thrusts and footwork totally
unexpected for such a big man. Though the women were asked not to tip the
auditioning men, they all stood up and crowded the dance space, not wanting to
miss a second of The Gladiator’s performance, especially as he smoothly removed
the pieces of his costume and proceeded to share his thong-wrapped goods.

For the next four hours, the judges viewed each and every
one of the auditioning strippers. As more and more men hit the stage and
comparisons were made, sorting the dancers based on their degree of skill
became simple. Some clearly had talent and some did not. Luckily for Steele, he
had a fabulous routine and had put in the practice to shine before the women.
No doubt his scores would come up high.

One dancer of particular interest to Tatum was the Masked
Man. Tall, well-built but not overly muscular, with hair as black as coal, the
Masked Man had walked into the registration area that afternoon already wearing
a black mask. When she’d asked about the disguise, he’d said with a Scottish
accent that he needed to protect his identity and asked that his real name,
Mack Garner, never be made available to anyone other than her, the Iron Rods
manager. To everyone else, he wanted to be known simply as McKenzie. She’d
agreed, but he’d definitely piqued her curiosity. Though Mack wasn’t as tall or
as broad as Bennett, he definitely wasn’t hard to look at and his foreign lilt
was to die for.

Intrigued by the Masked Man, she’d waited with great
anticipation to see if his dancing ability equaled his mystique. Still in his
mask, he’d come out of the hallway in a tuxedo suitable for James Bond. When
the music started, time stood still. The man could dance, and not just a
little. From the time he stepped into the room, he owned it. One minute
gyrating, then popping and then sliding, he moved his body as though it were a
finely tuned instrument. His dance steps were controlled, and boy howdy, did
they hypnotize.

By the time he’d finished his routine and stood before the
female judges in a silky red thong to accept their thunderous applause, Tatum
knew she had her lead stripper. The Masked Man would absolutely steal the show
the nights he performed at Iron Rods. He’d need to change his stage name—the
Masked Man didn’t have the right kind of star power to it that he deserved—but
she’d work with him once the staff practices started. One of these days she’d
make it her business to find out more about who he was and why he had to hide
his identity. But that was a story for another day.

At the conclusion of the competition, the chosen strippers
were announced. One by one the members of the dance team strutted in tiny
thongs to the stage and took a bow, leaving the heated judges panting for more.
Then the entire ensemble paraded a final time through the crowd, waving and
blowing kisses to everyone in the room.

“Only three more weeks, ladies,” Tatum announced, taking
back the stage. “Can y’all wait that long until you see my men again?”

The barrage of whoops and claps from the stirred women shook
the large studio. Someone from the crowd shouted, “Tatum! Tatum!” Soon the
entire raucous group joined in.

Tatum swept her hand from high above her left shoulder down
to her right foot and curtsied as she had so often in her college dance
performances. After a moment, she stood and bowed to each section of the room.

“Thank y’all again for coming out tonight. And a big thanks
to the Iron Rods staff who helped this evening.” She bowed again at Zeeda, T
and the rest of the employees who had lined up next to the stereo equipment in
the corner. “I hope all y’all tell your friends, your readers and your
listeners about the great time you had and the wonderful Iron Rods team.”

As the herd of women moved like cattle through the doors
from the studio into the hallway, Tatum overheard their excited conversations.
Phrases such as, “I can’t wait until Iron Rods is open,” “Those guys are
great,” and “I think I’m in love,” were spoken over and over again.

Pride and satisfaction fizzed like sparkling water
throughout Tatum’s veins. She had done something truly spectacular that
evening. Her marketing ploy had worked even better than she could have
imagined. On Iron Rods’ opening night, she’d slay the crowd of women once again
and then every night after. The window she’d been looking for since the door
slammed on her professional dancing career had finally appeared.

Steele approached from the now quiet hallway holding a tote
bag, a contented smile etched on his tanned face. He stopped before her, placed
his bag on the floor and put out his beefy hand. She smiled back and gladly
shook it.

“Thanks,” he said with genuine warmth. “I owe you a lot.”

“You’re welcome, but you deserve most of the credit. You
worked hard and it paid off.” Hoping Steele would become one of the stripper
team, Tatum had come prepared. She reached into her leather file and pulled out
a business card. “Do me a favor and call Nicko to thank him too. I’m sure he’d
appreciate it.”

The big guy took the card and shook his head. “Consider it
done.”

He picked up his bag and turned to leave, then took a step
back. “And thank you for helping my daughter and her friends. They had their
dance team tryouts this past week. The results were posted on Friday. They all
made the team.”