Longing: Club Inferno (13 page)

The good thing was Clint wasn’t hungover. The bad thing was he forgot he had a shift at Ceili’s. He managed to get there for the lunch crowd. The bar was hopping for a Wednesday afternoon. Clint had to help the waitstaff with orders. Most of the drinks were beers, so it let him off the hook.

“I’ll have a Bloody Mary.” Rita climbed up on the bar stool.

That figures.
Clint didn’t let his aggravation show, just got the celery, the lemon, and the rest of the condiments from the kitchen.

“My boyfriend and I liked the video you shot of me.” She wore a tight sweater dress that just barely covered her ass. Coming close to doing a Sharon Stone, Rita crossed her legs and hiked her skirt up so Clint could see her tattoo of a devil holding a pitchfork. It seemed appropriate.

“Rita, shut up,” Clint said in a lowered voice while he rolled the tomato juice–and–vodka mixture back and forth. “I’ve got a bar full of vanilla clients that don’t need to hear about how the other side lives, if you get my drift.”

“I get you, hot stuff. I’d like to get you.” She leaned across the bar and whispered, “What’s it going to take?”

He got in her face and said in a harsh whisper, “I told you last night. I’m a stripper and a Dom. You want to get laid? I can arrange that. It’s not going to be with me.”

She pouted, which reminded Clint that they should probably put in an order for some more cod for the fish and chips.

“Didn’t you get off at all watching me ride that sex machine?”

Clint weighed his answer and decided honesty was the best policy even though it would probably cost him a tip and any return business in the dungeon. “No.” He put the finishing garnishes on her drink and slid it over to her.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” She licked her lips and took a big sip of her drink. “Here you go, baby,” Rita said in a loud voice. “Thanks for everything.” She slid a hundred dollars across the bar to him. “See you later.”

“Not if I see you first,” Clint muttered, and cashed her out, pocketing the $80 change. They hit a lull around three
P.M
. and he texted Anya, but she didn’t respond. He had enough time to jump in the shower and change before driving over to Tricky Ricky’s.

“Hello, baby,” Marta said, slapping him on the ass when he walked into the dressing room. “You’re booked in the VIP room already.”

“I just walked in,” Clint said.

“Get your G-string on and get into room B. The lady wants an hour of private dance and she’s got deep pockets, so make it look good.”

“Fine.” This shit was really getting old. But he couldn’t beat the tips. He was getting $250 out of the $500 this rich chick paid to take up an hour of his time.

“Think about the tequila,” he told himself. “Nah, think about Anya.”

Checking his phone one last time, he was bummed she hadn’t called or texted him back. Hopefully, she’d gotten his message to meet him in Club Inferno around two
A.M
. for Truth or Dare. He guzzled a 5-Hour Energy drink and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. He was dressed in a zoot suit with tear-away pants. He had been planning to dance to “Zoot Suit Riot” by Cherry Poppin’ Daddies tonight. Looked like he’d be doing the whole album instead.

“What a day,” he groaned. Loading up the playlist on his iPod, he went to private room B. The lights in the room were dimmed but he could see an outline of a woman sprawled on the chair. She had her skirt pushed up and her fingers already stroking her pussy. It was going to be one of those nights. Normally, he’d have been getting hard right now, but he just felt tired. Turning on the music, he lost himself in the rhythm and shed his clothes to the beat.

In the silence between one song and the next, she spoke. “Very nice. But this isn’t
Dancing with the Stars
. Take off the G-string and come rub your cock all over me.”

Clint turned the iPod off during the opening lines of “The Ding-Dong Daddy of the D-Car Line”—which was a shame because he could rock the hell out of that song. “Rita, what the crap are you doing here?”

“I want to fuck you and I’m willing to pay for it. Five thousand dollars. Right here. Right now.”

Clint blinked at her. “Prostitution is illegal,” he told her, just in case she was setting him up.

“I’m not a cop and I’m not wearing a wire.” She ripped her shirt open. She wasn’t wearing anything under her blouse.

“Why me?” he said, crossing his arms. She had teacup-shaped tits. He knew a few Doms who would put caning stripes across them. That would teach her.

“Why not you? I like your body.” She got up and slunk over to him.

He threw her back down into the chair and she giggled. “Oh yes, get forceful with me.”

“Look, Rita. There are plenty of other Doms who would dance this dance with you. Give you the beating you deserve and then bang the shit out of you. I have a girlfriend.”

Rita sneered. “Anya? Please. She’s just easy.”

Clint huffed. “You and I have different definitions of ‘easy.’ Now, do you want me to dance or do I leave?”

“What if I make it ten thousand?”

“I’m not a whore, Rita. I’m a stripper. I take off my clothes for a lot of money. Before I met Anya, if I liked a chick enough, I would rub my dick all over her. In the dungeon, I’m employed to assist you in getting off. Again, pre-Anya, if I felt like it, I’d fuck whoever I wanted. Right now? I just want to fuck my girlfriend.”

“I paid for an hour,” she said. “You can damn well dance and I’ll get my own self off.”

“Or you could go back to Club Inferno and get laid with a bunch of guys who are more than willing to play by your rules. I’m just not one of them.”

“Dance,” she ordered.

He walked back to his iPod and put on “Shake Your Lovemaker.” Ignoring her when she pulled a vibrator out of her purse, Clint concentrated on the music. If he were dancing for Anya, this night would end a little different. He danced as close as he dared to Rita, making sure to stay out of her reach. Her little moans and cries sounded too artificial to tempt him, but he gave her two more songs because she’d paid for it. But after she came, he decided to call it quits before things got ugly.

“Did you like the show I put on?” Rita purred, fixing her clothes.

This time, he decided it was probably in his best interest to lie. But he couldn’t bring himself to say yes, so he shrugged.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Cesare? He’s trying to get into your girlfriend’s panties even as we speak. Maybe he’ll have better luck than I did. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Bring that big cock over here and I’ll suck it.”

“Go to hell,” Clint said, and walked out on her.

At one
A.M
., he was done dancing and almost asleep on his feet. At least Rita had left after their session. He had two ensemble dances. They did the requisite “You Can Leave Your Hat On” and “It’s Raining Men.” The only other private dance was for a pretty young thing celebrating her twenty-first birthday. He treated her to Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” and she spent the whole time with one hand over her eyes. It was actually cute.

He stretched and his back cracked. If it weren’t for Anya—who still hadn’t called him back—he’d have passed off the Truth or Dare to Steve or Dante. He wondered if Rita was yanking his chain or if Cesare was putting the moves on Anya.

“You made a killing tonight, baby,” Marta said, handing him a fat bankroll.

Clint grunted. One more step to opening up his bar. He wanted to have a year’s rent and operating expenses to give him some float. Most places didn’t last their first year. He’d be damned if he’d worked this hard to become another statistic. When his phone rang, Clint answered it thinking it was Anya. Who else would be calling him after midnight?

“Hey, baby,” he drawled.

“Clinton,
mijo
.”

Oh God, it was his mother. “Ma, it’s late. What are you doing up at this hour?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning. We’re in Kiev.”

He winced. “I thought you were coming back to more friendly countries.”

“Nonsense. Everybody loves the circus. Your father says hi.”

“Hi, Pop.”

“How are you? Is New York treating you well?”

“It’s great,” he said, getting inside his car. He bit back a sigh. He hated lying to his parents. But the truth wouldn’t ease their minds. Once he got the bar going, he could just tell them he’d left the city.

“Are you eating?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Have you met a nice girl yet?”

“Actually I have. Her name is Anya. She’s a model.”

“Oh, honey, watch out she doesn’t break your heart.”

Clint gave a half laugh. “You’d like her.”

“Would I?” His mother sniffed. “What are her people like?”

“I don’t really know.” Clint scratched the whiskers growing in on his chin. One o’clock shadow. “She’s from Las Vegas.”

“Really?” She perked up. “Was she a showgirl?”

Clint almost lied again but sighed. If he didn’t stop it, he’d forget what stories he’d told. “She worked all over. She’s up for a part in
Some Like It Hot
.”

“I loved that picture. Is she going to be Marilyn Monroe?”

“I think so.”

“For your girlfriend, you don’t seem to know much. What are you doing with your time? I’m not going to have grandbabies, am I? You need to be married first.”

“Ma,” he said. “We just started dating. We both work a lot of hours. In fact, I’ve got to get going. It was nice talking to you.”

“You take care of yourself,
mijo
. There’s always a job here with us.”

“I know. I love you. Tell Pop I love him too.”

“I will. We are so very proud of you.”

Christ, if that wasn’t a dagger in the chest. “Thanks,” he said. Hanging up, he tossed the phone on the passenger seat. The way his day was going, Anya wasn’t going to be in Club Inferno. She’d be out with her Italian count. Cesare was probably fucking her right now. Rubbing his hand over his face, Clint forced those thoughts out of his mind. That’s what Rita wanted him to think. Anya hadn’t been kidding when she said Rita was a ballbuster. There was a good reason why Anya wasn’t picking up her phone and he’d damn well get it out of her tonight.

He drove back to Couture playing music by Disturbed at top volume. It fit his mood. Storming into the dungeon, he leveled a few black looks at a couple of submissives who might need a stronger hand. Busting into the room he reserved for Truth or Dare, something in his gut eased when he saw Anya sitting up on the table. She was wearing a white leather skirt—bless her—and thigh-high white boots. If she was going for angelic innocence, she’d blown it with the lace tank top she wore under a diaphanous white shirt. He could see the outline of the nipple clamps he’d given her, and it almost brought him to his knees.

Aside from Anya, there were six other people in the room. He put them in pairs and kept Anya for himself.

“Hello,” he said, his hands on her thighs. “Missed you today.”

She placed her hands on his and squeezed. “You’re not going to believe the day I had.”

“We’ll talk after class,” he said.

“Aren’t you tired?”

Clint was afraid his neck muscles wouldn’t support his head, that’s how tired he was. “I’ve got some life left in me.”

And this group wasn’t going to run itself.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to play a little Truth or Dare with your partners. You know how this works. We’re going to do a round of truths as a group and a round of dares, and then you’re on your own. We’ll start it off. Anya, what do you want first, truth or dare?”

“I’m playing it safe,” she said. “Truth.”

“Who else thinks the truth is safe?” He eyeballed the crowd and the laughter was half nervous, half anticipatory. Clint could be a real bastard with this one. But he wanted to be on Anya’s good side more than he wanted to Dom her in class. That was a switch for him. If she had been anyone else, he would have asked her one of the forbidden questions, like “How old are you?” or “How much do you weigh?” But weight was a trigger for her and he wouldn’t shame her in public. So he asked the question that had been on his mind all day.

“Why the fuck didn’t you return my texts or calls?”

She frowned at him. “My phone never rang—oh shit, I never turned it back on from last night.” Fishing around in her clutch purse, she showed him the phone. It was turned off.

“Good answer.” He rewarded her with a kiss. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

He considered saying dare, just to see what she’d do, but he wanted to give a good example to the group. “Truth.”

“Did you film Rita naked and having sex?”

Clint blinked. She pulled no punches. “Yes,” he said, and then held up a hand when she went to follow it up. “Next group.”

An older woman with shoulder-length white hair turned to her partner, a much younger man who was naked except for a sarong and his nipple piercings. “Truth or dare, Alex?”

“Truth,” Alex whispered.

“Who do you want to fuck the most in this room?”

There were murmurs of appreciation. Clint was impressed. This was going to turn out to be more interesting than he’d thought. “Still think the truth is safe?” he asked Anya, who was scowling at him.

The man pointed to a redheaded woman down the row from him. She was wearing a collar and her partner held the leash that was attached to it.

“Truth or dare?” Alex said.

“Truth,” the older woman spit out, obviously not happy about his answer.

“How old are you?”

Anya winced.

“Fifty-three,” the woman said proudly.

The next four couples also chose truth and the questions were banal. What do you like during sex? Which actor would you fuck if you could? Clint had to force back a yawn. And then it was their turn again.

“You don’t have to say ‘dare,’ ” he said to Anya. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” She leveled a warning glare at him.

The Dom in him wanted to push a soft limit, maybe the nudity-in-public thing. But he was feeling possessive. He didn’t want anyone to see those nipple clamps until he got to enjoy them. So what could he send his darling off to do? He checked his phone; it was past two
A.M
.