Strip for Me

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Amarinda Jones

ISBN: 978-1-926950-31-0

Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

Editor: Kimberly Bowman

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

STRIP FOR ME

Amarinda Jones

Copyright © 2011

Las Vegas, 2 a.m.

Rett Cameron was hungover, broke, and had no clean underwear. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a tangled mess, and some parts of the evening she preferred to forget. Thankfully, she had been sober enough not to go ahead with the spontaneous wedding to the topless waiter, Vincenzo.

Vegas. You gotta’ love it.

The bus depot? Not so much. She was trying to get to Miami as cheap as possible. It didn’t look good.

“Resort City, honey. That’s how far your money will go,” the ticket clerk announced.

“But I need Miami.” She was supposed to catch a connecting flight from there back home to Australia. As to how she was going to live in Miami until the flight? Rett was going to worry about that when it happened.

The clerk smiled at her. It was a smile of experience, as if she had seen this scenario too many times. “You get what you get.”

Rett blew out a breath. She opened her purse and re-counted her money, or lack thereof.

“How far to Miami from this Resort City place?”

She watched as the woman’s finger traced the distance on the map.

“Crap! That has to be another four hour bus ride.” The clerk confirmed that with a nod. “And there’s no other way I can get to Miami?”

“Not on the money you have.”

“Bugger.” Well, I’ll just have to suck it up and make do.

“Did you have a good time in Vegas, honey?”

Rett smiled. “Oh yeah, what I can remember.” She would never regret her wild impulse to go. Life was short. Live it out of control was Rett’s mantra.

“Okay, then, one ticket to Resort City please.” She handed the cash over.

“’You gonna be okay?”

“Oh sure. Something will turn up.” Rett swung her bag over her shoulder and headed to the bus.

* * * *

Hamish Clark surveyed the clientele of The Howl and Pussy.

It was a good crowd. They’d make a profit for sure. As the owner of the club, that pleased Hamish. As another human being watching those giving in to the pleasurable sins of the flesh the club had on offer, Hamish was pleased to see others enjoying themselves. Sex. It was the one great leveler that united the human race.

He watched the man throw one hundred dollars at the stripper on stage. The woman looked at it and smiled. There were few requirements at The Howl and Pussy. It was a place where non-conformity ruled. The regulations they had were that no one was to be hurt or taken against their will, and the freedom to choose what, who, and how sex was enjoyed was up to the individual. Hamish wasn’t surprised the stripper dropped to her knees and swallowed the man’s cock. An easy thousand dollars could be made most nights at the club if you were open to possibilities.

* * * *

Amelia Hanson stood inside The Howl and Pussy and watched the man she hated. His easy stride and charming smile made her sick.

It was the same smile that had so infatuated her sister. What a fool Meg had been. How could she not have seen through the smooth charm and movie star looks? He was such an obvious classic love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Yet Meg had insisted he loved her. That type of man loved no one but himself. It was his total lack of sensitivity towards her sister that killed her. If only Meg had been a stronger person, then she would have seen through his charm. But she hadn’t.

She had fallen heavily for him. When Meg discovered she was not loved in return, she killed herself.

Amelia looked at the woman on stage sucking the dick of a man who had thrown one hundred dollars at her. Strippers.

“Disgusting.” Meg had not been a whore. She’d had class. Her eyes returned to Hamish Clark. “You are a murderer and I will make you pay for what you did to Meg.”

“Are you sure you can’t, Sally? I really need the money.” Rett Cameron pulled the phone away from her ear and winced. “Don’t yell at me. Yeah, fine, whatever, I’m a screw up.” She closed her eyes and listened once more as her sister began chanting her faults. “Yep, you’re the saint in the family and I’m the sinner.” Sally made being anal an art form. “I’ll see you when I get home.” Rett snapped her cell phone shut. “Fucking hell, she’s a head case. Ever since she married that twerp she’s lost the plot.”

You’re a gypsy, Loretta. You’re always off on one wild adventure after another, expecting people to bail you out when you’re in trouble. You have to stay in one place and learn to be normal. You can’t act reckless all your life.

“What the hell is normal?” Living under the dictatorship of Sally’s husband Lionel? “If that’s normal, then count me out.”

Lionel completes me.

Rett snorted as she remembered her sister’s words. “I hope someone smacks me in the back of the head if I ever utter those words about a man.” Once again, Loretta wondered how she was related to her sister Sally. She used to beg her mother to confirm that her blonde haired, goody two shoes sister was adopted.

Hell, mum. Or tell me I’m adopted. I can take it. It’s only logical I am as I’m the only one with black hair. It makes sense.

But her mother had sworn blind she wasn’t. Apparently, Rett took after her dark-haired father. Whoever the hell he was. Her mother, like Rett, had enjoyed the pleasures of a few men in her time.

But then that’s what sex was for, to enjoy. In that, she most definitely took after her mother.

Rett opened her purse once more, hoping that somehow a wad of cash magically found its way into it. But other than a crumpled plane ticket back home to Australia, one mismatched earring, some Aussie coins, a—what was that? A hairy breath mint — and about fifty US dollars Rett was broke.

“I probably shouldn’t have gone to Vegas.” It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Rett was supposed to be in the US on behalf of her boss Gloria’s company, Second Comings, an erotic toy manufacture. They were trying to crack into the international market.

A manufacturer in Miami invited Gloria over to discuss business, but she had been unable to attend. Gloria was sixty-five and had a bad back. She could only sit for so long. Gloria sent Rett instead. Rett, ever eager for adventure, had jumped at the chance.

How Rett got to Las Vegas was only a vague recollection in her mind. She recalled drinking several–okay maybe a lot of—

strawberry daiquiris at the party the company invited her to and then wandering back to her hotel where she came across some other Aussies in a van who were driving to Las Vegas. When they invited her along, it seemed like a good idea. Once company business had been attended to, Gloria had given Rett two weeks off to see what she could of the US.

Although hungover, once in Las Vegas, Rett went wild on the slot machines and black jack. She drank and ate too much as she partied with her fellow countrymen. In the end, she was left with only enough money for a bus fare to take her to Resort City. It was several hundred miles from Miami where she was to make her flight connection home. The money she spent in Las Vegas was supposed to last her for the entire time she was in the US.

“Yep, I’m a screw up.” Sally was right, but then, Sally always was and she constantly enjoyed telling people so.

Rett dropped her bag to the ground. She was at the Resort City bus depot. Rett had considered phoning her mother and then her boss for the money home. However, her mother, like Rett, had a habit of spending money and worrying about consequences later, and Gloria had medical problems and didn’t need the worry of her errant employee.

“I can look after myself.” Rett surveyed the streets of the town. She had never heard of Resort City before the clerk at the bus depot in Las Vegas pointed to it on a map and told her that was how far she could get on the money she had. From the brochure Rett had read on the bus, Resort City was supposed to be the new Miami.

“Huh, really?” She blew out a breath, “So how do I get to Miami?

Maybe I could sell my body?” Rett snorted at the idea. While she knew she wasn’t ugly, she was also aware she was no beauty. Her ass was large, as were her hips, while her breasts could out-cleavage most women’s, and at thirty-four she noticed the sag of gravity creeping in.

“Okay, so maybe I could find a blind, drunk man to pay me for my favors.”

“Pardon me, but are you okay, honey?”

A tall blonde with her hair in a wild cascade of ringlets down her back stopped beside Rett. “Oh yeah, sure.” Wow, talk about gorgeous. The woman was built like a goddess. Actually, a goddess would scratch her eyes out in envy. “I just need money to get to Miami to go home.”

The blonde rested her hand on her arm, her blue eyes full of concern. “Oh, hon, I wish I could help you out, but I’m stony broke and walking.”

That a stranger would care was sweet. “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it.” Somehow. Maybe I’ll wish upon a star or something.

“I do know somewhere you could make some fast money, but you may not like it.”

Rett’s spirits perked up at the idea of money. “At the moment, I have no choice.”

* * * * *

“Take your clothes off.” Hamish Clark smiled as the buxom brunette’s mouth dropped open in shock. Hmmm, pretty lips. I wonder what they’d feel like on a man’s dick. He shifted in his seat for the third time since the woman walked into his small office. Some women had the ability to make a man hard with one look. This was one of them. Hamish had been surprised when she walked in the door.

She was not the usual type of lady that searched for work at his club.

That she was beautiful and had a body a man could bury himself in and never want to leave was undoubted.

“What?”

She was dressed in plain denim shorts and a simple red t-shirt.

Although Hamish could guess what was underneath, he wanted to see the curves and mounds of luscious flesh. Hamish had seen a lot of bodies since he became the owner of the strip club. That had been purely by default. His best friend, Seth Wilson, the original owner of The Howl and the Pussy, had thrown him a paper signing the club over to him, followed by the keys; and with a surfboard under his arm, Seth declared he could hear the call of the sea and he was leaving Resort City forever. That was eight months ago. Hamish had taken over ownership on a temporary basis. He expected Seth to be back when he ran out of money, and owning a strip club, while fun, wasn’t what Hamish wanted to do. He was in construction by trade.

But he was also on a break until he worked out what he really wanted to do in life. Like Seth, he had an urge to follow some dream. But what? He had come to Resort City to hook up with Seth, drink some beers, and check out his club. The last thing he expected was to own it.

“You need money?” What’s your story? What brought you so desperately to my door?

“Y-y-es but I thought maybe you needed a waitress or something.”

“We need ‘something’ more than a waitress here at The Howl and Pussy.” Hamish’s eyes roamed her body. She was hot. There was no other word for it. He shifted once more in his seat. His balls were aching with need. Yeah, she would do nicely. Their clientele was tired of stick figured women who looked like they’d faint on stage if they turned too fast. “If you want to make money, there’s two ways of doing it at this club. One is stripping and the other, well, it’s about pandering to the fetishes of our guests.”

“Have sex with strangers? Are you kidding me?”

Hmm, interesting. Was there the mind of a prude in that voluptuous body? “Why not?”