StripperwithSpice (10 page)

Shit!
He’s coming this way. If he recognizes me, I’ll
die of embarrassment. The confident expert who sashays to our table almost
seems a different person than the gentle man who bared his heart to me the
other night over dinner.

I take his jacket from my lap, hook it over my fingers and
lean my elbow on the table, hoping it will hide my face from him.

He grabs it out of my hand. “Thanks. Which one of you is the
birthday girl?”

Rhonda, ever helpful, points her out again. He gives Cindy a
big smile, takes the jacket and wraps it around the back of her, drawing her
forward.

Hey!
That’s the same trick he did to me when he
walked me to the car on our date. At the time, it seemed heartfelt and special.
Now I see it for what it is, a technique.

“Touch him!” Rhonda yells.

Someone put a muzzle on this woman before I choke her.

Cindy’s twentysomething hands skim his chest, tentatively at
first and then with more enthusiasm. Easy, girl. I’m sitting close enough to
knock your head off.

“What’s your name,
querida
?” Carlos asks.

Querida?!
That’s what he calls me.

“Cindy.”

“That’s it, Cindy,” he tells her. “Rub me. That makes me so
hot.”

I gulp the rest of my ginger ale as the worst nausea yet
seizes me. Lap dances include dirty talk? Hearing that familiar honeyed voice
say personal things to other women has to be worst sacrilege imaginable.

Meanwhile, Rhonda is busy stuffing bills into his G-string
with her scarlet fake nails. My fingers clench the edge of the table until they
ache. I should have invited Zena along for moral support. Better yet, I
shouldn’t have come at all. Gathering the facts has never been this painful.

“Sit on the edge of your chair, honey,” he tells Cindy next,
“and spread your legs for me.”

Say what? I hope the screaming has just given me auditory
hallucinations.

He stands there, still moving, running his hand across the
ever-bulging G-string. What the hell does he plan to do, fuck the girl right
here?

“I’m so hard for you, Cindy,” he says, his voice dripping
with seductive honey. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” she croons. “Oh, yes.”

The ache in my fingers and nausea in my gut disappear. Now
I’m completely numb. If I’m lucky, my senses will shut off too until I can no
longer see his gyrating body, smell his unique scent or hear his suggestive
words.

Resembling the proverbial deer in the headlights, Cindy
slides to the edge of her seat as he asked.

Rhonda chucks her on the shoulder. “I told you to wear a
miniskirt tonight.”

I suppose it’s a good thing she’s wearing jeans instead
until he nestles between her outspread legs and thrusts, dry fucking her. Every
ounce of my blood drains to my feet. Even worse, Cindy wraps her legs around
him and kisses him on the mouth. He pulls his face away, but not fast enough,
in my opinion.

Oh, my God.
Get me out of here before I throw up,
die, kill someone or all three.

My chair falls over during my hasty exit, but I’m sure the
others don’t even notice. They’re too wrapped up in Cool Hand Carlos. His stage
name ought to be Horny Hot Hands.

I run around the parking lot at least twice as if I’m a
madwoman, looking for my car. I’m not in a fit enough mental state to recognize
it, much less drive it. Fittingly it’s raining. When I find my car, I drop the
keys on the wet, dirty pavement twice. My hands shake so hard I can barely pick
them up.

A male hand reaches down, scoops them up for me and opens
the door. I wince at the loud squeak that reveals its age.

“Carlos, get away from me. I just want to go home.”

He’s wearing jeans now, but still no shirt, and he pockets
my keys. “You’re not driving in the state you’re in.”

When he lets himself inside to sit in the passenger seat,
what choice do I have except to sit in the driver’s seat? Not that I feel the
rain. My body is as numb as a slab of Arctic Sea ice.

Part of me wonders what he’ll think of my sun-bleached
dashboard or the radio buttons with the color worn off from years of channel
changing. The other part reminds me it doesn’t matter what he thinks of me or
my car. He won’t be with either for long.

“What the hell are you doing here, Janice?” he demands as
soon as I close my door, enclosing us inside.

“I wanted to see what your job is really like,” I say
quietly, staring straight ahead at the rain-pocked windshield. “I got a pretty
good idea.”

“You shouldn’t have just shown up like this,” he tells me.
“I planned to ease you into it gradually and warn you about what to expect.”

I shake my head. “That wouldn’t have helped. Everything I
saw tonight shocked me. You practically had sex with that girl right in front of
me.”

He folds his arms and leans back in the seat. “I didn’t have
sex with her. I gave her a lap dance. There’s a difference.”

“Not much,” I mutter.

“It was her birthday and I created a fantasy for her.
La
fantasía
. It’s my job.”

I venture a glance at him, but that just makes my insides
curdle even more. Everything special I’d felt about him had turned to ash
tonight.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask.

He holds his hands out, palms up. “I’m just being logical
with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

No, what I want is you—all to myself.

“Please don’t be mad.” He sighs. “Did you enjoy yourself at
all tonight?”

“The dancing onstage I could handle even though I wasn’t
crazy about having all those women watch you.”

“Did I make you hot?” he whispers.

My cheeks burn as I look away. “I’m not answering that, but
I have a question for you. How did you get those pants off so fast?”

“They’re called tear-away pants for a reason.”

Of course. There’s so much I don’t know about this world.
I’m not sure I want to know either.

“You got to watch the other guys dance too,” he points out.
“It’s not all one-sided.”

I barely remember the other guys except the one with the
fireman’s hose because his act was kind of funny.

He touches my cold, wet arm with his warm hand. “What are
you really upset about? We’re not in a relationship…yet.”

Hmm.
I know I’m upset but I’m not sure why. The urge
to scream or sob courses through me, making my breaths hard and uneven.
Emotions and analysis clearly don’t mix.
Think, Janice.
What do you
usually do when an analytical problem throws you? Start asking questions.

“I thought the person getting the lap dance isn’t allowed to
touch the person giving it,” I throw out there.

“That’s only when girls dance for guys because guys can be
pretty aggressive.”

I think of Rhonda and her bill-stuffing, fake-nailed claws.
“Some of those women looked pretty aggressive to me.”

“We have touching limits too,” he adds. “Mostly the women
just fondle our chests, and if it wasn’t the girl’s birthday, I probably would
have just straddled her waist.”

Gee, that’s reassuring.
“Why can’t you just dance
onstage? Isn’t that enough?”

He drops his hand. “Lap dancing is where I make the most
money. I’d be broke if I didn’t do them.”

Get out of my car. I don’t want to talk about this
anymore. I want you out of my life. I wish you’d never entered my life. Now
that you have, I don’t know what to do with you.

Feeling torn to shreds is worse than being alone. I should
have stopped at the one-night stand.

I draw a shaky breath. “Okay, do you know what really upsets
me? The time we spent together felt really special. Maybe that’s because I
hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. Seeing you with those other women
tonight made those memories cheap and meaningless.”

Emotion I can’t control surges through me, so I put up my
right hand to shield my face from him. He yanks it down.

“What we had is not cheap. It was just as special to me as
it was to you. Would I be here right now losing money if I didn’t have feelings
for you?”

“Okay, maybe you let those other women feel you up just for
the money. Doesn’t that make you a male whore?”

I clap my shaking hand over my mouth, shocked by my own
cruel words. Why am I being so vicious? When I first met him, I didn’t mind
that he was a stripper. It just made him sexier. Now that I’ve seen his world,
though, I don’t see a place in it for me.

“That’s cold, Janice,” he says through gritted teeth, “but
I’m glad you’re jealous.”

“Huh?”

He reaches over and traces my cheek with his fingers,
sending delicious chills down to my toes.

“It means you care. It means you want me all to yourself.
You want a relationship with me.”

I lurch against my seat, as if someone just trespassed into
my deepest thoughts, and start the engine.

“Good night, Carlos. Call me when you retire.”

He turns the engine back off. “Don’t dismiss me that way.
I’m not giving up on you without a fight.”

Taking a deep breath, I tense every muscle in my body as I
enunciate each word clearly.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. I don’t want you.”

“The hell you don’t.” Yanking the key out, he tosses it on
the floor and tugs my arm. “Get on my lap.”

I frown at him. “Why?”

“Because you’re about to get the lap dance of your life,
querida
.”

Querida.
The word sets off such a deep smoldering in
my loins I almost forget the fact he uttered it to another woman earlier. When
he looks into my eyes, I realize we are the only two entities in the car—not
his career, his past nor all the women he dances for. Just him and me. Of all
the things he could have done after the show, he chose to be here. I need this
one dance before I can make up my mind about him.

He fists one hand in the hair at the back of my head,
setting off erotic tingles of pain and pleasure across my scalp, while his other
hand tweaks my nipples through the polyester fabric of the short-sleeved
caftan.

Say no, my common sense tells me. Once I fall under his
sexual spell, I know I’ll never be able to escape.

Releasing me, he fumbles with the controls on the right side
of his seat and it leans back. Jealousy, raw and bittersweet, still flows
through my veins, but instead of dampening my desire, it increases it.
Picturing him bumping his hard cock between Cindy’s outspread thighs hardens my
clit to an aching point because the other girl melts away. In place of her face
and body, I see mine. Every dance, every smile—is for me. It’s too strange to
figure out so I won’t even try.

My cock. My man. I’ve got to have him now.

The car is small, so I hitch the hem of the long caftan above
my knees and clamber onto his lap with the grace of a disabled elephant. The
friction from the cloth seats doesn’t help matters any. He pulls up the hem
even more so I can straddle him face-to-face. Once I’m in position with my legs
folded at the knees, I roll it up to my navel.

“Um, is this where you want me, Carlos?”

“Oh, yeah.” Because my left thigh is against the door, he strokes
my right one from knee to hip, making me shiver. “You’re in position to give me
a lap dance, not the other way around, but that’s fine with me.”

For a moment, all I can do is grip his bare shoulders and
bury my face in his neck. The texture of his hair and his unique scent are so
familiar. Maybe a stranger had taken over his body tonight. My Carlos is back.

On the verge of tears, my eyes sting.

“It’s all right, Janice,” he whispers. “We’ll work this
out.”

His face turns, catching my mouth in a kiss as the smell of
rain mingles with this scent. When I think of Cindy kissing him, my lips devour
his with even more hunger. “I won,” I want to tell her. “This is my man. Now
watch
me
!” It’s as if I’m sitting in that club, naked, spread-legged and
starving for his cock to enter me in front of all those people.

The fact that this arouses me is so unsettling I have to
turn away to catch my breath. Grabbing my chin, he pulls my mouth back to his
and plunders me with the most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced. His lips
taste ripe and spicy as if he just chewed a stick of cinnamon gum.

The kiss sucks, pulls and claims every part of my trembling
mouth. His fluttering tongue is a weapon—sparring to mirror our argument while
teasing me and branding me as his at the same time.

I’ve never even seen a kiss like this in a movie. It
consumes me from the inside out. “I’m yours and you’re mine,” it seems to say.

He slides down a little and tugs my hips as if to pull them
forward, but my knees are already against the back of the seat. How do
teenagers make out in cars? I don’t remember it being this difficult. Even the
simplest movements require major planning.

Needing to feel him between my legs no matter what, I raise
my right knee, resting my foot on the seat bottom beside Carlos’ thigh. Finally
the crotch of my panties rests on the hard bulge in his jeans.

Although I order myself not to move, I can’t help myself. I
rub my aching pussy across him, again and again, harder and harder. Using such
force in this position is not easy on my knees, but the rest of me feels so
good I tune out the discomfort. He moves too until my breaths lodge in my
throat, strangled and raspy.

I splay my fingers across his chest to keep my footing, to
keep my heart from being sucked into the vortex of this incredibly attractive
man. But it’s too late. I’m losing ground. Every grain of resistance I’ve felt
tonight erodes under my feet.

Fog from our heavy breathing coats the windows and I need
more, more, more. His skin is so hot it nearly scorches my palms, chasing away
the cool dampness in the car. I need to feel it against me.

Because his right arm is against the door, he strokes the
damp cotton between my legs with his left hand, molding it to my crease. “Mmm,
white cotton panties. I think I like these as much as the thong.”

Sweet sensations emanate from his expert fingertips,
encircling my entire cleft.

“Nothing has ever made them this wet before,” I admit.

His grin is shadowy in the dim light from the nearby
streetlight. “Let’s get these off and see how wet you really are.”

After gripping the seatback to help support my weight, I’m
able to lift my butt several inches to help him. After he pulls the panties
free of my hips, I sit again and lean to the left, bringing my right leg as
close to him as I can. This is nearly impossible. Maybe we should put this on
hold to find someplace roomier like my apartment, but I don’t want to risk
breaking the moment.

Shivers rack my body as he pulls the damp cotton down to my
knee, but I’m far from cold. The elastic stings my skin on the way down. I
manage to slide them the rest of the way off that leg, but the rest of them
stay around my other thigh.

I resume my position and moan when he rubs his rough palm
across my drenched mound in frenzied, demanding strokes. Because I’m mostly
shaved, I feel his entire hand down to the fingerprints. The rain comes down
harder outside, enclosing us in the haze of our steamy, hot little world.

“I love how bare and wet you are.” He feasts on my slit with
lust-glazed eyes. “I want you to keep shaving that succulent little cunt for
me, Janice. Promise me.”

“Yes.” My voice is husky and barely audible against the
rain.

I gasp when I look down. How did my folds get so swollen…so
coated with honey?

While he tortures me by flicking his fingertips across my
slick labia, he pushes the caftan up farther, taking my bra with it, and tweaks
my pebbled nipples, his fingers hard and eager. With my belly taut and close to
convulsing, I float, weightless and swaying, anchored only by the intense
pleasure-pain from his mouth.

After he turns his hand palm up, his finger slips into my
cunt and I ride the hell out of it. The car fills with the scent of my need.
More. I need more. Fumbling with the button on his jeans, I scramble to get my
hands on his cock. To get it inside me before I die.

Good grief.
I’m completely out of control. Do strip clubs
do this to all women?

“You’re so hot, Janice,” he says after giving my throbbing
nipples one last pinch. “You were made for hot, nasty fucking.”

The memory of his dirty talk to Cindy during the lap dance
flits through my mind. Equal doses of lust and jealousy zing through me with
incredible force.

“You want it, don’t you?” His honeyed voice spikes my
temperature.

Lust wins. I moan in agreement, squeezing his hardness
through the jeans. My elongated nipples stick out below the caftan, which is
bunched up under my arms.

“You want my cock inside you, deep and hard.”

My moan turns into a scream of frustration and pleasure when
he spears me with two fingers. Unable to help myself, I ride these even harder
than I did the first one, bouncing on his firm thighs. The sounds of my wet
cream against his thrusts fill the car.

“You liked seeing me dance, didn’t you? I danced for you. It
was all for you.” His hips move against the car seat. “Every time I did this, I
was inside your sweet pussy.”

A pre-orgasmic tremor grips my cunt. “Yes!”

My heartbeat flies at full throttle. Nothing has ever
excited me as much as this man. When he reaches for his zipper, I lean back a
little to give him some room. His movements jerky from the small space, he
manages to unzip himself, pull out his rigid member and shove it into my
waiting hand. It feels even hotter than last time. Although I can’t see all of
it very well, the head is visible. Like my cunt, it’s is wet, oozing from the
sleek tip and glistening in the dim streetlight.

“I’m going to dance for you now,
querida
,” he
promises.

I’m in such a mindless frenzy I seek him out with my
cunt—however the mechanics of my body in this small space will let me. The only
things on my mind right now are finding pleasure and the logistics I need to
figure out in order to get it.

My eyes fly open wide when he grips my hip, stopping me. The
lower half of my body is a swollen, heated tornado. I’m in no mood to be teased
now.

“Lean back again,” he tells me.

I soon realize why when he leans forward, wrestles his
wallet out of his back pocket and extracts a condom from it. While he tosses
the wallet onto the driver’s seat, I grab the condom, unable to open it and get
it on him fast enough, but something freezes my movements. For a moment, I’m
myself again, thinking and analyzing.

Snatching the packet out of my hand, he unrolls it on his
cock faster than I ever could. Of course, a good-looking guy like him has
probably had a lot of practice in past years. And then it hits me.

“Why do you have a condom with you, Carlos?”

He glances down at our engorged genitals. “Look at us. Do
you have to ask?”

“You didn’t know I would be here tonight,” I point out. “Who
did you plan on fucking instead?”

He throws his head back against the seat and squeezes his
eyes shut for a second. “Don’t do this, Janice. Not now. I need to be inside
you.”

Looking away, I release a hard sigh. My cunt throbs in
protest from the delay, but I can’t give myself again to a guy who possibly
does every girl who comes his way.

“I don’t carry condoms when I think I’m going to get lucky.
I always carry them. There are a lot of diseases out there.”

“I sure hope you haven’t been exposed to all of them,” I
blurt out.

A few seconds ago, I was so out of my mind with lust I
almost had unprotected sex with him. What was I thinking? I unroll the caftan
and pull the hem down until it hangs over my body, hiding my desire.

“It’s so automatic I don’t even think about it, like
fastening my seat belt every time I drive.” He sighs too. “The other guys
forget to be prepared sometimes when they try to do girls after the show. I
give away more than I use.”

Grabbing the seatback—and anything I can find—to support my
weight, I prepare to climb off his lap. “I don’t know what to believe.”

He stops me by grabbing my chin. “Believe me. I haven’t been
with any woman but you in a while. I may do a lot of things you don’t approve
of but I do not lie.”

Watery light from the streetlamp casts his tattoos into
mysterious shadows, reminding me of the story of his childhood. Is the
hard-working boy inspired by the eagle really the same person who gave Cindy a
lap dance? Of course, he’s in my car right now, not hers. He seems so different
when he’s performing—even though I know he’s playing a role—it’s hard for me to
integrate all his facets.

I rub my forehead. “I’m so confused.”

“I’m not. This condom is here right now for a reason. Let’s
use it before it gets cold.”

As if unveiling a statue, he slowly lifts the caftan to
expose my bare cunt, which is still damp, and my nipples, which are still hard.
He slides down a little farther so he can penetrate me, grabs my hips and pulls
them down onto his waiting shaft.

My eyes roll upward at the sudden, sweet sensation of him
piercing me. Because of gravity and the fact I’m drenched, I accommodate his
length quickly. The perfect sensation of having him inside me again makes my
heart thud even harder.

“Damn you,” I cry out. “We’re not right for each other.”

My pussy, however, disagrees.

Ensnaring me with his intense, dark gaze, he puts his hands
behind his head. “I’m not forcing you. You can get off me any time you like.”

He moves his hips, pulling out and thrusting back in with a
rhythm that seems astonishingly effortless given the cramped space. Each time
he plumbs my depths, a blooming, sweet sensation ricochets through me.

“But—” We have to stop but I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t…

He puts his fingers over my mouth. “The other night was
about talking. Tonight is about fucking. Ride me hard, honey. Pound out your
frustrations.”

I’m on top, I realize. I’m in control. My fingers dig into
the seat upholstery as my pelvis moves, swallowing Cool Hand Carlos inside me.
If he’s so wrong for me, why can’t I get enough? Harsh moans peel from my
throat, which is bone-dry from the quantity of air rushing through it. The
deeper he penetrates, the more I crave.

I’ve stopped thinking. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him
again. All I know is I need him now and I don’t ever want to let him go. As if
to capture him, I take the caftan completely off and drape the hem over both
our heads, enclosing us under its warm tent. My mouth lowers for a kiss and my
lips cling to his as my passions threaten to sweep me away. When he leans
forward, I slip my arms behind him. We’re lost in a tangle of fabric and hot,
eager flesh.

“Lift your hips,
querida
,” he says, panting. “Now
come down hard.”

The car rocks and even squeaks with our movements. He grabs
my hips, driving me even harder and filling the air under the caftan with deep,
masculine groans. His cock splits me in two, cleaving my soul. My nails dig
into his chest, oblivious of the injury I might cause.

“No, Carlos. I can’t handle—”

An explosion inside my body cuts off my words. I collapse,
twitching and clenching into his arms. He grips my lower back hard, finding his
own pleasure with short, quick strokes and one last hard one. His groan fills
the car.