Passion And Fire (Passion #4)

Passion

And Fire

Book 4 in the Passion Series

By J.A Melville

               
Acknowledgements

I have so many people I need to thank for having faith in me despite me being plagued with insecurities at times.

To the lady who first asked me to start writing I thank my friend who is like my sister, Andrea. I thank Lorraine for always having faith in my abilities as a writer, even when I doubted myself. I can’t forget Sharon too for her encouragement and for providing me with things to laugh about when I was taking it all too seriously.

I want to thank Danielle, Debbie, Karen, Mary and Katherine who read my books long before publishing and who keep me on the straight and narrow. To my wonderful friends and PR ladies Tracy and Jess, the ladies from Sweet N Sassy Book A Holics and SNS Authors who have had to endure my endless questions given my painfully inadequate computer skills, I give a heartfelt thank you.

I also want to give a special thank you to Tasha; who has been incredibly supportive.

To the ladies from Controlled who provide hours of distractions for me and who keep me entertained when I’m supposed to be writing I say thank you.

I give special thanks to one of my closest friends, Rachael who puts up with my constant Facebook messages. Not only is she there every day despite us living at opposite ends of the planet, she happens to be a very talented author.

Thank you to all the ladies who have been there since book one; you help me far more than you will ever probably realise.

Thank you too, to the new friends and wonderful bloggers I’ve met recently, who have kindly taken it upon themselves to promote me.

I have to give thanks to another lady, a very special lady who is determined to make it so more people know of me and who very kindly took the time to make my website for me. I can’t thank you enough Lori.

I need to give special thanks to Melly, aka Ravannah, for being my fuck but seeking friend. She hunts down my fuck buts and points them out to me. Thank you so much for drawing my attention to something I had no idea I was doing. (It’s a private joke, if you’re wondering what that’s all about.)

Then of course, I want to thank my partner Roger and our three children, Bianca, Jesse and Reilly who have had to suffer through hastily constructed meals, a less than tidy home, my vague behaviour and me seemingly always having my head buried in my laptop. I'm sure they have found me frustrating on more than one occasion and I've no doubt they got sick of talking to the top of my head.

An extra special big thank you to my daughter Bianca who designed the cover for this book since she knows her mother is technologically challenged.

I can't write this without thanking all my English teachers from back in my school days many moons ago who always told me I should consider a career in writing when I grew up. Well, it might have taken me awhile, but I finally did as you all suggested, thank you. All of those people who have been there throughout my short writing career and never let me give up, I say THANK YOU.

                About the Author

From my teenage years, all I wanted to do was become a writer one day. Even now as an adult woman with a partner and three children who are not so little anymore, I've always lived with my head in the clouds, a dreamer, often amusing myself with my own imagination.

It might have taken me awhile to finally live my dream, but I did it. I hope to one day be good enough to stand beside the many talented writers out there who have kept me entertained with their wonderful stories over the years.

I live in a sleepy country town in Tasmania, Australia with my partner and three children plus our 4 cats, dog and cattle.

I've had to overcome many emotional obstacles along the way to get to this point and attempting to self-publish a book does tend to make a person feel like they've thrown themselves in at the deep end of the pool. Here's hoping some of you actually like what I write and save me from drowning in the deep end as I probably forgot to mention, I can't swim.

J. A Melville.

© Copyright J. A Melville.  2
nd
edition. August 2015

Do the right thing, don’t download pirated books.

Authors deserve to get paid for their hard work as much    as anyone else.

No parts of this book can be copied unless permission is given by the author for quotes to be used for reviews etc.

This book is fiction. The characters are fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

This book is the work of the writer's imagination.

Cover photo used under license from Shutterstock.com.

Cover image designed for the author by Bianca Eberle.

                Chapter One

Flame

“Yeah, in your fucking dreams.” I muttered under my breath, not moving my lips. It was a trick I’d learned a while ago. The ability to insult people frequently and without them even being aware I was doing it. This time the object of my insult was some balding middle aged man who sat at a table of other over forty year olds. It seemed they were desperately trying to recapture their youth by cat calling and acting like men half their age.

What was it with stupid drunken men sometimes? They thought because they were in a strip club that the women like myself who worked in one, were hot for sex all the time. Or somewhere along the way we’d lost the ability to be discriminating. Or we were blind or perhaps our taste was so far up our asses we’d fuck anything with a dick. That seemed to be the mentality at least.

“Come on darl, it’s my birthday, give us a kiss.” He called out again and as I swung from the dance pole, my thighs gripping it tightly, I sighed glaring at the table where the rowdy men were. “Woohoo, look at those eyes. Hey beautiful, fuck the kiss, come sit on my lap baby and I’ll show you how pleased I am to see you.” He called again and this time I didn’t bother looking towards their table.

I concentrated on the music with its heavy beat and continued my routine, tearing off my bra and tossing it to the side with a flourish. The cat calls from the crowd increased and I flashed a fake smile to the audience before gracefully scaling the pole again in preparation for the dramatic finish to my routine. Once I was at the top I turned so I was facing the floor, holding the pole firmly between my thighs, my arms stretched out, back straight as I defied gravity, from my horizontal position.

The cat calls and drunken yells began again, as I hung there, waiting for that one particular change in the music and as it hit its crescendo, I suddenly dropped, plummeting towards the stage floor. I heard the predictable gasps from the audience but I’d done this routine more times than I cared to remember, and I stopped before I could hit the floor, placing my hands on the highly polished floorboards, before flipping myself upright.

I immediately curled my body around the pole and gyrated, knowing full well that I looked like I was trying to fuck it and when the music finally ended, I slid down to my knees, legs spread, back arched until my head touched the floor, my body curved like a bow and I turned to the audience again as the lights came up.

As men started crowding the edge of the stage, I stepped forward and suffered my way through them stuffing my sequined thong with money. I tensed when I saw Mr Middle Aged, Think I’m a Stud eagerly waving a few notes at me. Reluctantly I stepped up to him, but as he pushed the money down the top of my thong, he suddenly slipped his other hand between my legs and his fingers shoved their way into my pussy.

I cringed, temporarily frozen with shock before lashing out. I never made contact with him though as his friends pulled him back in time, and that was probably just as well or I’d lose my job. I was new in town and I couldn’t afford to lose this job even if I secretly hated it. Well I didn’t really hate it, just this aspect, the stupid men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.  

Fortunately Freddie, the club’s bouncer came forward and grabbed the jerk who’d thought it was ok to stick his fingers up my pussy, hauling him away by the back of the neck. I could hear him complaining loudly all the way while his mates trotted after him doing little to try and defend their idiot friend.

I quickly gathered up the fallen money and my bra before running from the stage as the music started to pound through the club again ready for the next dancer.

I shot a quick smile at Melody as she passed me on her way out to the stage and when I finally made it to the dressing room I breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled a robe on.

Fuck this job. Ok, it wasn’t so much that I hated the job. It paid well, it paid bloody well, or I wouldn’t bother doing it. Besides the money, it kept me fit, but I could do without the jerks who thought that I was available to be pawed. So many men made the stupid assumption that because I took my clothes off for a living, that I was gagging for it. I danced, I wasn’t on a fucking street corner selling my body. I was a pole dancer which meant look, but keep your hands to yourself.  

Melody came into the dressing room after finishing her routine and threw herself down on one of the chairs; grabbing a pile of tissues to start repairing her makeup, which was running slightly from her sweating while she’d been dancing. That was one of crappier sides of it too, the damned spotlights made us all sweat. I think Danny, the manager of the club did it deliberately because when we sweated, we got a shine up, our bodies glistened, and the men who came to the club seemed to like that. Of course Danny didn’t think, otherwise he’d have realised that us sweating made it harder to grip the pole or maybe he just didn’t give a fuck. He was a man and men were fucking idiots. They were only capable of using one head at a time, and most seemed to use the one between their legs more than the one between their ears. I saw examples of that every night that I danced. That idiot from when I’d been about to leave the stage was a prime example. He’d treated me like my pussy was the lucky dip and he was dipping in to collect his prize. The fact he’d had the audacity to do that proved he’d only been thinking with his dick.

I sighed and turned to the mirrors to start reapplying my makeup. We would all have to perform again in an hour, but Danny expected us to work the floor when we weren’t dancing. Apparently it was to make the men happy; or that’s what he called it. I believed it was more a case of using us to turn them on, so they stayed to watch us dance. The longer they stayed in the club, the more money they spent. I hated working the floor because I didn’t have the buffer of the stage to keep the jerks away and I’d get groped so much, I was ready to knee every man in the club by the time I had to dance again.   

I studied my reflection in the mirror; the Hollywood lights over it shining down on my flaming red hair. They made it seem even brighter than it was, tumbling over my shoulders in a riot of curls to just above my waist. Apparently I had the whole Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman thing going on, but it wasn’t something I worked on, it was just the way my hair was. Wild and out of control, a bit like me I suppose. My parents had named me after my hair, flame red hair, so Flame for my name.  

I was thankful that I’d been spared the freckles from head to toe like some redheads had. In fact my complexion was smooth and creamy, very much the peaches and cream look. I did pour numerous products onto it, to look after it, and I stayed out of the sun since I didn’t tan, I just burned and I burned horribly. Blotchy red sunburn with my bright red hair was definitely not a good look.

Still from what I’d been told, my eyes were my best feature, big, bright and green, an emerald green to be exact. Of course my lashes although long were the same shade of red as my hair so I had them tinted to save me becoming a slave to the mascara.

Due to the nature of my job, I wouldn’t exactly class myself as slim. I wasn’t big, but the level of fitness it required for pole dancing and to perform three sometimes four nights a week, meant I had more of an athletic figure. More muscled thighs, arms and abs were enough for me to have intimidated a few men in my time, who freaked out at a woman being stronger than them. These days I didn’t bother getting involved with any. Since strong thighs were vital for pole dancing some men had complained about me gripping them too tightly during sex, damn pussies.

As a result I found it easier to stay away from men and had come to develop a close relationship with my vibrator. It was less trouble than a man. It didn’t complain to me at all. It didn’t demand things from me I didn’t want to do and unlike a man, it always got me off. Of course avoiding men wasn’t the easiest thing to achieve when I worked in a strip club but the men who came here didn’t count anyway. They were usually jerks; often middle aged men trying to grope women half their age, while their poor bored wives stayed at home raising their kids, and dutifully waiting for their return.