StripperwithSpice (11 page)

Short on air, I lift the caftan hem and let the entire
garment slide down my back to the floor. Cool oxygen rushes into my lungs. “My
God.”

He runs his hands over my face, looking into my eyes with
wonder. “My God is right. That has to be the most intense sex I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, come on,” I reply. “You?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.” He tucks my head against his neck
and strokes my hair. “Just feel it.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

I try to do as he asks. My body is completely naked, open
and exposed. His cock still fills me and my heart is hanging out by a string. The
fingers of my right hand stroke his cheek. It’s so late the slightest bit of
stubble rasps my fingers.

I’ve never wanted a man so much. Why does he have to be the
wrong man for me? I just had the most incredible sex of my life, but I can’t
forget what I saw inside that club tonight.

If I’d had the strength to cut this off in the beginning, I
wouldn’t be in this position now.

He pats me on the hip. “Get up. I’m driving you home.”

As if remembering I’m naked in a parking lot, I scramble to
the driver’s seat to put my panties and clothes back on.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s two in the morning. I don’t want you on the beltway
this late alone.”

“But how will you get home?” I pause from dressing to hand
him a paper towel for the condom.

“I’ll take a cab. I can afford it.”

I lean over to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“I like taking care of you. Get used to it.”

I realize he’s not pushing me for an answer about a
commitment or even the next date, which is good because I don’t know what to do
anymore.

* * * * *

Lying on the couch the next night, I consider calling Zena.
A pile of work folders sits on my kitchen table, but I can’t concentrate on it.
I need to talk to someone about this besides Carlos.

He offered to spend the night with me last night, but I
needed to be alone. When I scrambled to get ready for work this morning, it was
just as well he wasn’t lying in my bed, tempting me to have more sex.

Animated voices and laughs pour in from the stairwell.
Whoever they are, they sound as if they’re having a lot more fun than I’m
having. For the first time, I take a hard look at my utilitarian living room,
which consists of little more than a secondhand couch on a sea of beige carpet
and some dusty tables. It’s not as if I spend much time in here. I’m always
working. It’s hardly a romantic spot to make out.

Time to call Zena.

“You didn’t!” she exclaims when I tell her about showing up
in disguise at the Stallion Palace to spy on Cool Hand Carlos.

“I did. It was painful. He gave some girl a lap dance at my
table.”

“You should have called me. I’d have gone with you.”

I sigh, hugging the couch’s light-blue afghan close as I
remember the evening of sharp emotional contrasts. Hurt and disgusted one
minute and moaning with pleasure the next.

“So what happened?” she asks. “Did he dance for you too?”

Hearing her bubbly voice reminds me of the convention, which
is where this all started. Little by little, Carlos had intrigued me, hooking
me and drawing me in as if I were a fish. How far would it go?

“Sort of. We did it in my car.”

“Janice! I’m shocked. He must have gotten you pretty hot.”

All I have to do is think about him and my jeans heat up,
even now. “He did but I was angry too. Jealous.”

“Maybe your anger turns him on.”

I’d never thought of that. Heat spreads up my belly,
enveloping my breasts. Maybe it turns me on too.

I run a hand through my hair. “I hoped going to the club
would make up my mind, but now I’m more confused than ever. What would you do?”

She giggles. “Do you have to ask? Stay and enjoy the sex.”

“Even though his job ties my stomach in knots,” I murmur.

“No man is perfect,” she reminds me. “Work it out.”

“What if we can’t work it out?”

“Then you know you’ve given it your best shot.”

As I hang up, I realize her advice is familiar. During my
job troubles and unemployment, I constantly reassured myself that as long as I
did my best, that’s all that mattered. And if I find I can’t handle having a
relationship with a male stripper, no matter how good in bed he is, then that’s
fine too.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I pull a folder off the top,
read it and stare up at the overhead light, which hums to me on late, quiet
nights. Then I make myself a cup of coffee. What the heck did I just read? Why
can’t I retain any of it? Then I read it again while underlining key words. The
pieces are there. I just can’t seem to put them together.

I drop my pen and rub my forehead. Damn it. Carlos has taken
over so much of my mind there’s not enough left for work. I don’t need great
sex, but I do have to make a living. If a relationship with him threatens my
livelihood, the choice of our future might be made for me.

* * * * *

On Sunday afternoon, I’m walking in Great Falls with my hand
in Carlos’. Leaves—many the same color as his suede jacket—swirl around us in
the breeze, but the sun is warm. The same moss-green sweater I wore at the
photo shoot looks more at home here. Roaring water rushes over rocks with the
same force as my emotions.

“Work it out,” Zena had said, but how can I when it’s so
doomed?

“I’m glad you agreed to come,” he says, “especially after
you’ve seen the worst.”

I kick at a pebble. “Why can’t it be this way all the time,
just the two of us?”

He stops and sits on a large rock, drawing me onto the spot
next to him. “It is just the two of us—where it counts.”

“I’m sorry I called you a male whore.” I look down at my
fingers as I trace the rough surface of the rock. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t
being judgmental or disrespectful when I said it. I was hurting.”

“I know.” He squeezes my hand and puts it on his arm. “Thank
you for the apology.”

“I’m still not sure I can handle your lifestyle
emotionally.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He stares across the water, which
occasionally dots our faces with mist. “But I can’t give up my job for you,
Janice.”

Why not? Can’t my life be easy for once?

“I respect that too, but I’m curious. Why is it so important
to you?”

“I don’t know. It just is. I like to make people happy.” He
kisses the tip of my nose. “I wish to hell I could make you happy too.”

Despite the hard seat, his warmth makes me feel safe.
Clutching his arm, I lean my head on his shoulder. The powerful, unpredictable
water reminds me of our fledgling relationship. I wish it would carry us
somewhere where things make sense.

“I get the feeling you want to say goodbye…again.” He puts a
hand over mine and squeezes. “If you know in your heart it won’t work, don’t
wait too long. I have feelings too, you know.”

A tiny thrill darts through my chest. “You’re getting hooked
on me?”

“I’ve been hooked on you, lady.”

When I touch his face, his dark eyes look more haunted than
ever. Against the wild landscape, the black lashes look almost angelic. At the
same time, the contrast of my pale fingers against his bronze cheeks is the
sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“I’m offering you a commitment, Janice, but don’t enter it
unless you’re sure.”

My voice is not judgmental. Just sad. “What kind of
commitment can you possibly offer me?”

He leans back a little. “I’ve actually given this some
thought.”

“I’m glad you can think. Ever since you’ve entered my life,
I can’t seem to concentrate at all.”

“Well, commitment is based on trust, but I think some rules
would make you more comfortable.”

I cock my head. “I thought you liked to break rules.”

He grips my hand harder. “Not these. Not with you.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“We don’t date or have sex with other people.”

Despite the warm sun and the delicious way his scent mingles
with the leaves, the analytical part of me comes to the rescue. That’s a pretty
standard commitment. If Carlos were a regular guy, it would be enough to shake
hands on.

Unfortunately Cool Hand Carlos is not an ordinary guy.

“Define sex.”

“You know, sex.” He throws his hand out. “Intercourse. Oral.
Touching bare genitals.”

“Well, I’m glad you don’t do that stuff during your lap
dances. Of course, that doesn’t rule out dirty talk, dry humping or groping
through clothes.”

Laughing, he makes pincers with his fingers near my breasts.
“I don’t grope.”

“You can’t deny kissing though.” I point at him. “I saw you
do it.”

He raises a hand. “Hold it. That girl kissed me and I turned
away.”

“Not fast enough,” I grumble.

“I don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings by slapping her
face.”

I cross my arms. “No tongue.”

“Of course not. We don’t kiss the girls. Club rules. We
don’t want to catch germs or have them think we’re starting a relationship with
them.”

“Okay.” My arms unfold. “I think I like what I’m hearing so
far.”

“We can even set our own rules about what can happen in and
outside of my work.” He flashes me a bone-melting smile. “Why don’t you show me
what kinds of kisses are allowed and which aren’t?”

“All right. This kind is allowed.” I kiss him on the cheek.
“And maybe this,” I add, giving him a very quick, dry peck on the lips.

Next, I kiss him hard and long, opening and surrendering my
tongue. Warmth dances through my blood, competing with the sun. After a few
moments, I almost forget the point.

“Those definitely wouldn’t be allowed,” I say after pulling
my mouth away, “except with me.”

He nods. “Agreed. Sex isn’t just physical. It’s also about
the situation and the feeling behind it. That kiss had feeling.”

There was certainly plenty of feeling in my car too.

“When I’m working, touching someone just means I’m doing my
job. Most of the time I won’t even know her name. If I touch someone outside
work or even at the club after the show, it means something completely
different.”

“Like the way you touched me?”

“Exactly. I also have a lot of friends. Some are women. Some
are regular customers. I might have lunch with one occasionally.”

He sure is asking me to put up with a lot.

“Lunch is better than dinner, I guess.”

“Believe it or not, I purposely don’t get involved with my
regulars beyond friendship. You date them, something ticks them off, such as
jealousy, and you’ve just lost part of your regular income forever.”

I nod. “That makes sense.” It’s sure a lot easier to accept
his lifestyle in words than seeing it unfold before my eyes.

He touches my chin and kisses me. “If it weren’t for my job,
we never would have met.”

“And what do I get in return for agreeing to all that?” I
ask.

Great sex, but that went without saying.

“My heart,” he whispers. “All yours. Forever.”

I slide my arms around his neck, wanting so badly to say
yes. It would be easier here, alone with him in this beautiful place. But I
know I can’t handle setting foot in that club again. Of course, I don’t have
to. That’s not one of the rules. I can just close my eyes and forget that part
of his life exists. But could we really have a relationship based on denial?

Looking over his shoulder, I see something fly down from a
rocky cliff and land in the tree behind him. It’s a huge, dark bird…with a
white head and tail. It’s a bald eagle.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

“What is it?”

“Turn your head very slowly and see for yourself.”

When he does, the eagle takes off with a graceful arch of
its huge wings, flying out of sight.

“Did you see it? Did you see it?” I talk faster than an
excited child.

He grips both sides of my face. “Yes, I saw it and I know
what it means. You’re the one.”

My voice sticks in my throat. “The one what?”

“The one I’m supposed to be with.”

Holy cow.
Is he proposing to me?

His hands slide down my cheeks. “Stay, Janice. Stay and work
this out.”

“I-I’ll try.”

“You saw the eagle this time. That means you’re the one
being challenged to be strong.”

Would my best intentions be strong enough to share him with
so many other women?

On Tuesday night I stare at the laptop on the kitchen table
and curse it, wishing there were enough hours in the night to get my work done
and have my date with Carlos. He’s off tonight and we’d planned to just watch
TV together and
chill
, as he calls it.

What did he decide to do with his time after I called and
canceled? I stare at the spreadsheet on the screen, seeing him kissing some
younger woman instead. It doesn’t matter. My work comes first. If I don’t keep
up with my competitive coworkers, I’m sunk.

Why did I ever agree to a relationship with him? I don’t
usually waste my time embarking on things I know will be hopeless.

My eyes sting and the headache I’ve been working on all day
takes full hold of me. I’m two steps away from preparing a pot of coffee just
to stay awake. Studying the small, white-walled room with no windows, I realize
how much it resembles the prison it feels like. The biggest problem is it has
no smell—no baking bread, no barbecue pork languishing in a Crock-Pot—nothing.

Well, the scent of coffee brewing will be better than
nothing. When I check the cupboard to see how much I have left, my old recipe
book falls out. The pages, stiff from the flour and water I spilled on them in
past, haven’t been turned in so long they stick together as if glued. I wish I
had as much time to cook as I did during my previous job.

I flip through the book, remembering the challenging dishes
I tried. Some, like fish ragout, came out well the first time while others,
like whole-wheat bread, took a little more practice. Regardless, I loved having
the kitchen counter covered with ingredients—puzzle pieces that fit together to
create one final masterpiece.

A soft knock on the front door makes my heart jump.
According to my watch, it’s after ten already. This has been a reasonably safe
apartment complex, but whoever is at my door this time of night can’t be up to
any good.

Creeping softly to the door so whoever it is can’t hear me,
I peer out the peephole. My fatigue shatters at the sight of Carlos’ face. He
looks down at the ground, bashful as a teenage boy on his first date.

Damn him!
Didn’t I tell him not to come? I don’t have
time for this and look at me. I’m wearing a brown sweatshirt, which has pilled
into tiny fuzz balls, and baggy lounge pants, for God’s sake. Worst of all, my
hair is a disaster area. I drag my fingers through it, trying to smooth it,
which only makes the curls wilder.
Argh!
Why can’t I control this stuff?

I flip the locks and open the door. “Carlos, what are you
doing here?”

A half-smile flits across his face. “It’s nice to see you
too.”

“Come in,” I say, almost as an afterthought, while I step
aside. “I thought we canceled tonight. I still have a ton of work to do for the
big meeting tomorrow.”

He glances at the laptop and pile of folders visible through
the kitchen doorway. “So I see. You sounded stressed on the phone. I figured
you could use a break and I needed to be with you.”

A break? Is he kidding? “Coffee is a break. You’re a
full-out distraction.”

“Don’t you know what they say about all work and no play?”

I lock the door behind him. “But if I don’t get it done—”

He grips my shoulders and steers me to the nearest wall
until my back is against it. “If you don’t get it done, then what, Janice? Will
the world end?”

Before I can answer, he lifts my chin with a finger and
kisses me deep and hard. My headache eases a bit as the blood flow in my head
takes an entirely different direction.

“I could lose my job,” I say after the kiss. “My career
isn’t all dancing and fun like yours.”

He pulls back a bit but doesn’t let go of me. “My job isn’t
easy either. I just put in some hard time at the gym. I also had to rehearse
the choreography for a new group act.”

I finally notice he smells freshly showered, with just a
trace of aftershave, and his hair is still damp on the ends. He’s wearing the
jogging pants again. When he flings off his gray fleece jacket, I get a better
view of his tight white tank top. The muscles look freshly chiseled and his
skin is a little flushed as if he rubbed it hard with a towel. An image of us
naked in my shower flits through my mind.

A slow, magnetizing energy pulses around him as if he’s
dancing. Although I fight it, it slows down the deadline-driven race car pace
of my mind.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to belittle what you do.” Looking
down, I notice his gym bag. “What’s that for?”

“I’m spending the night.”

A ball of annoyance rolls down my spine. “Carlos, I can’t
concentrate on my work with you here. We need to mutually agree on things. When
I said no on the phone I meant no.”

He strokes the top of my breast. “No?”

My nipples spring to instant attention inside my cotton bra.
Yeah, he has a point. The word no and Carlos don’t mix well, especially when
he’s standing just inches away from me, looking and smelling so sexy.

“You won’t even know I’m here. When you’re ready to take a
break, I’ll be waiting.” He unzips the bag. “I also brought some toys.”

Toys? I have a feeling he doesn’t mean jump ropes and dolls.
If I don’t have time for sex, I definitely don’t have time for toys.

He must notice the look on my face. “If you’re not into it,
we don’t have to. I just figured you expected more out of a guy like me than
vanilla sex.”

Sex.
Just the way he says it preheats the insides of
my thighs, but this is all wrong. I wanted to set the scene. Light candles, put
on a sexy nightgown and open that bottle of wine I’ve been saving.

“Carlos, I can’t give you the kind of evening you want.” I
sigh and look down at my ugly shirt. “Maybe you’d better find someone who can.”

As I turn to go back to the kitchen, he grabs my arm.
“Forget the toys. All I need is to be near you.”

“Seriously? You don’t mind being here while I’m working?”

When he bends over his bag again, I can’t help noticing the
muscular curve of his buttocks. My fingers ache to test its firmness. To say
the man is distracting is the biggest understatement of the year. He
straightens, holding a nutrition book and an iPod.

“Seriously. Point me to your bedroom.”

I do as he asks, struggling not to think about him lying on
my bed. I’ll never get any work done now. Maybe I should call it a night and
get up really early in the morning. I hear my bedroom door softly close and I
sit down in front of the laptop again. For several minutes I stare at the
screen without comprehending anything.

Carlos is here, in my apartment. All I have to do is get up
and I can go have hot, passionate sex with him. He just wants to be near me.
How sweet is that? Why does he have to be so damn nice?

Did he take his clothes off? Does he read naked?

Stop it, Janice. Get back to work.
Eventually the fog
lifts and I’m able to concentrate again. My headache is even gone.

After eleven, he pads into the kitchen barefoot. Even his
feet are sexy. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him help himself to a
bottle of water from the fridge and peer at the empty TV dinner box sitting in
my trash can.

“You shouldn’t eat this stuff,” he comments. “It’s full of
preservatives. The vegetables probably lost their nutrients long before you
nuked them in the microwave.”

I frown as I type. “Thanks for the lecture, but frozen
dinners are quick and easy and seem to be keeping me alive so far.”

They also come out either too hot or too damn cold and taste
about as exciting as a manila folder. I’m not about to admit that to the king
of nutrition, however.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to sound
judgmental. Nutrition is one of my many passions.”

Don’t talk about passion, Carlos. Too distracting.

He stands behind my chair and lifts a hank of hair from the
side of my neck, making me shiver. When he presses his hot mouth just below my
ear, my body lights up as if it’s a one-hundred-watt bulb.

“Working hard?” he whispers.

“Uh huh.” At least I was.

He slides a hand over the front of my waist, drenching my
panties. If I get out of this chair, I’m sunk. All he has to do is pull down my
ugly pants and I’m ready for anything.
Don’t get distracted
, I tell
myself.
Just pretend he’s not here.
Yeah, right. My cunt is screaming,
“Break time,” and I slouch in my chair as though I’m a noodle cooked al dente.

Next he toys with my elastic waistband. “Well, when you’re
done working hard, I’m ready to work
you
hard.”

I drop my pen as lust paralyzes my body. “Geez, Carlos.
You’re killing me and I really need to finish this.”

“I admire your dedication, Janice.”

So do I, but it won’t hold up long to this kind of
temptation.

“I’ll be in the bedroom.” He picks up my pen for me and
walks away, leaving behind his annoying distraction.

Strangely enough, knowing he’s here is as comforting as a
warm blanket. He’s part of my life but not interfering with it. I’ve been alone
so long it’s hard to realize there’s any other way. Not that I can afford to
let myself get too used to it. A young stud like him isn’t going to hang around
long, despite what he says.

But I agreed to this commitment, so I have to hold up my end
of it.

By quarter to one in the morning, I’m finally at a good
stopping point. In the bathroom, I wash my face and brush my teeth. I wish I
could make a grand entrance in something better than a sweatshirt, but my
clothes are in the bedroom closet.

When I walk into my bedroom, the dim lamp is on instead of
the bright overhead light I use to read by. Good. Maybe Carlos hasn’t noticed
how dusty the room is because I never have time to clean. His nutrition book
sits on my nightstand, but the worst offender is the bookcase of romance
paperbacks.

Not that I need them tonight.

Bare pectorals peek out from the covers. Because his fingers
are laced behind his head, powerful, bent arms splay across my pillows as
artfully as wood carvings on display. The pale sheets create a perfect backdrop
to his tan skin and the dark, serpentine whorls of his tattoos.

My mouth goes dry. As I suspected, he’s naked in my bed.
Sleeping will never be the same. Every time I go to bed, I’m going to picture
this and it’s going to keep me awake all night.

Of course, the flower print on the old cotton sheets is
faded to near oblivion and the beige bedspread is one step away from
threadbare. I wish I could magically transform my pitiful covers to silk sheets
with a few rose petals thrown in. My dresser is a hodge-podge of toiletries and
coupons. Until tonight, I never realized how boring this room is.

“I thought you might have fallen asleep by now,” I utter
after finding my voice.

“I’m used to late hours, remember?”

I stand rooted to the floor. What should I do now? Follow my
instinct and throw myself on top of him? Or wait for him to make the first
move? I head to the closet and search for the satin bathrobe I don’t usually
wear when I’m alone because it’s too nice.

“Strip for me.”

I turn. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m no stripper.”

“But you did a lap dance for me at the convention, remember?
You made me so hot I wanted to fuck you right there onstage.”

The night of our first kiss comes back to me. “But I was
such an amateur.”

“It’s not about technique. It’s about feeling. You
communicated how much you wanted me.” He cocks his head on the pillow,
beckoning me closer. “Remind me.”

I’ve ignored him the entire night, but it’s so late. Despite
the insistent burning in my cunt, I need sleep, not sex.

“Maybe some music will help.” He flips on the clock radio on
my nightstand.

When an upbeat eighties song I used to dance to in my room
when I was a teenager plays, I wince. Back then—before I had to make a
living—my fun, carefree life inspired me to dance all the time.

“I love this—” I start to say
song
but stop myself.
If only I didn’t have my radio set to the oldies channel. He was probably still
in diapers when this hit came out.

“I love this
idea
,” I say, correcting myself. Why not
strip? At least it’ll get rid of my ugly sweatshirt.

Fully clothed, I dance around for a while, trying to
recapture that carefree feeling. Carlos slaps out the tempo on the edge of the
nightstand and nods his head.

“Come on, Janice. Show me what you’ve got.”

I wiggle my hips from side to side. What should I take off
first, the top or the bottoms? Since I hate the sweatshirt the most, I decide
to remove it first. I turn it into a lasso and twirl it over my head.

“That’s it, baby. Take it off.”

Unfortunately I’m wearing a boring white bra, but the wide,
white-toothed grin on his face tells me he doesn’t mind a bit. Next, I slide a
finger under the waistband of my pants. With a flourish, I untie the drawstring
and toy with the strings.

Hey, this is kind of fun. When an image of me doing this on
the conference table at tomorrow’s meeting flashes into my mind, I laugh. I
shimmy the pants down my hips and kick them as far as I can, laughing even
harder. Remembering some of his moves I’d seen at the Stallion, I swivel my
hips.

“I’ve never seen a laughing stripper before,” Carlos
comments from the bed, “but I like it. What’s so funny?”

“I just imagined doing this at work.” I’m rotating my lower
body so hard it’s breaking up my words.

“Do it. You might get a raise.”

I ease down my bra straps, one at a time, and stroke the
tops of my breasts. “Doubtful. My boss is a woman.”

He crooks a finger. “Come closer so I can get a better view
of those breasts.”

I step toward the bed, wondering when to take the bra
completely off. The closer I get to naked, the closer we’ll get to making love.
The thought makes my heart pound harder.