StripperwithSpice (13 page)

He’s one of them but different. It reminds me of myself at
work. The tension showing in his body reminds me he has to work at keeping his
job too.

When he goes to the kitchen, I follow.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Sure.” He barely looks at me as he gets another refill of
tea. “Those guys can be real
bendejos
sometimes.”

“What’s a
bendejo
?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I put a light hand on his shoulder. “They hit a nerve,
didn’t they?”

He shrugs, dislodging my hand. “Of course not. That’s how it
starts though. When a guy nears time for retirement, the jokes begin.”

“You’re probably making more out of it than it is.”

“Probably. I guess having a girlfriend is making me too
soft.”

Here it comes. He’s going to dump me. Maybe I should’ve
accepted money for the food after all. As a cheer roars from the next room, I
decide on a change of subject.

“Carlos, can I take the
you-know-whats
out now?”

When his dark gaze rakes across my crotch, I swear the balls
double in size, setting off a drumming pulse between my legs.

“Not yet. I’ll take them out when I’m good and ready.”

As if to assert his dominance, he gives my butt a possessive
squeeze. What is he trying to do, marinate them as though they’re a couple of
meatballs?

Take them out now. I want you now!

More noise pours into the kitchen from the living room as
each man yells at once.

“Don’t fumble.”

“Oh, oh, it’s going to get intercepted.”

“Touchdown! Yes!”

“Aw, crap. I’m gonna lose my bet.”

“Now,” Carlos whispers in my ear, “while they’re otherwise
occupied.”

Tingles zap to my fingers and toes as he takes me by the
hand, leads me to the bedroom and closes the door. The familiar mesquite scent
lingers in the room, drawing me in. The dresser pulls me with a harder force,
leaving the balls inside me temporarily forgotten.

The wall above it is plastered with posters and photos.
While a few feature Carlos with the dancers, too many to count show him posed
with one beautiful woman after another. Many look good enough to be models. I
forget to blink as the whole wall forms a mélange of legs, lips and boobs in my
mind.

The dresser below isn’t much better. Among a few trophies,
bowls of mementoes hold Mardi Gras beads, leis, garters and lipstick-smeared
napkins. If this is what he displays, what’s hidden in the drawers—unwashed
panty souvenirs and locks of pubic hair?

He grabs me by the shoulders and turns me away from that
wall. “Don’t look at that. It’s nothing.”

Yeah, right. If it’s nothing, why has he made such a shrine
of it?

Because the closet door is open from my new vantage point, I
notice the neatly folded sweaters and line of shoes. How can such a spontaneous
party animal be such a neat freak? More importantly, how many women have shared
that huge bed with him?

I point to the guys’ jackets—emanating scents of leather,
smoke and cologne—strewn all over it. “What if one of them comes in?”

“They won’t. Drop your pants,
querida
.”

My hands tremble as I undo the button, open the zipper and
push them down. Before I can reach for my panties, he pulls those down too.
While his mouth claims mine, sweeping inside with his warm, questing tongue, a
delicious pulling sensation blossoms inside my cunt. I pant while he plays
tug-of-war with the Ben Wa balls. When they finally pop out in a hot, wet
explosion, I’m inches away from convulsing into his open palm.

The balls click when he sets them on a nearby glass-topped
table. Now that it’s done, I reach down to pull up my pants before someone
walks in. The familiar crinkle and scent of lubricant tickle my senses. Carlos’
rigid shaft pokes from his open fly and he’s making short work of unrolling the
condom on it.

“We can’t do that here,” I hiss.

“That’s what makes it exciting.” He points to the black,
modern-looking chair beside us. “Put your leg up there.”

My God.
It’s the photo shoot all over again. A rush
of exhilaration courses through me and I can’t resist the urge to relive it,
skin-to-skin this time. Stepping out of the shoes, pants and panties around my
ankles, I do as he asks. His strong hands grip the undersides of my thighs and
my body lifts into the air.

With my bare flesh, I feel the strength in each of his
fingers. My heart flies so fast I can’t even distinguish individual beats
anymore. I swear I’m even more excited now than I was at the photo shoot.

My legs wrap around him of their own accord while my pussy
tightens, anticipating having him inside me.

“Guide my cock inside you,” he whispers. “My hands are
occupied at the moment.”

I grab his hot hardness, anxious to claim it before this
magical moment ends. Once his searing heat is inside, I almost forget myself
and moan out loud. I hadn’t realized until now how sensitive the balls have
made me. He moves toward the wall—until my back is pressed against its cool,
smooth hardness—and drives into me.

Hanging on against his pounding strokes, my fingers dig into
the whorls of his knit sweater, wishing I could touch his bare skin instead. We
don’t say a word. He grunts, suppressing a moan. The voices from the men and TV
in the next room fade against the rhythmic, slick sounds of our joining.

My body opens, swells, squeezes and releases, over and over
again. The intensity of his pace reminds me of our last date when he took me
fast and hard so we’d have time to sleep.

But this is different. An undefinable fierceness burns in
his dark eyes. I don’t kiss him because I’d rather watch the fascinating
expressions flitting across his face faster than storm clouds racing across the
sky. His white teeth dig into his bottom lip.

It’s as if he has something to prove. It must have to do
with the guys teasing him about retirement. The toned body driving into mine,
however, is definitely not ready to retire.

“I wanted to do this during the photo shoot.” My body is so
out of control I can’t hold back any secrets. “I fell for you that day.”

“Me too.”

Sweat forms on his face from the exertion of holding me up
and fucking me so hard. Unable to stop myself, I kiss it, tasting his salt on
my tongue. His jaw digs into my cheek as if we’re joining bone-to-bone, not
just flesh-to-flesh.

So much blood roars through my ears I don’t even hear the
door click at first, but it’s hard to ignore Monty leaning over the bed and
pilfering through the pocket of one of the jackets.

My fingernails dig into Carlos’ shoulders. “Stop! We have
company.”

He stops moving, but his cock is still inside me. I’m glad
the wall is at least covering part of me. Hopefully his back is covering most
of the rest. Still, I’ve never been observed having sex before. Blood rushes
across my face as I tuck it into his shoulder.

“It must be halftime already.” He frowns and turns his head.
“Geez, Monty. I’m trying to screw my lady here.”

“Well, you should’ve locked the damn door. I can’t find my
freakin’ phone.”

I’m tempted to chime in with agreement about the door, but
I’m too mortified to speak.

“Later!” Carlos bellows.

Monty stretches and belches. “All right. All right. I’m
going. An audience never stopped you before though.”

“Out!”

As soon as Monty leaves and closes the door, Carlos moves
again, slower than before, but tension ripples through his arms, reminding me
of suspension-bridge cables. Cold blood has replaced the heat in my cunt. The
word “audience” dances through my head and I can’t help picturing him and his
friends taking turns screwing some young slut.

“Relax. He won’t bother us anymore.”

“What did he mean by audience? Do you guys have—” Yuck. I
can’t even say it. “Orgies?”

He sighs and stops moving again. “He’s talking about a past
road trip. We entertained our dates in a shared hotel room. Nobody paid much
attention to what the others were doing.”

Okay, maybe not a full-blown orgy, but I feel far from
reassured. How many women pictured on that wall has he slept with? How many has
he done in this position? Does he drive into them all with this intensity? The
instructions to excite a woman are probably programmed into him so deeply he
can go into autopilot with a flip of a switch.

What started as a romantic memory of our photo shoot has
turned into something not so special at all. That day was all about fantasy.
Today, it seems, is about ugly reality.

“Road trip?” I ask.

“Yeah, sometimes we perform in other cities.”

Ugh.
I’m not prepared for that. He doesn’t just have
all the local women eating out of his hand. He probably has a lay in every
state of the union. Why is my mind alert instead of senseless with passion like
it was in my car outside the club? My emotions must show on my face because he
shakes his head and sighs.

“Shit,” he mutters.

He slips out of me and drops me so fast I almost fall. Then
he scrubs his hand across a jaw set in concrete.

He looks upset enough, so I don’t point out how we should’ve
waited to do this after the guys leave. But maybe it’s a good thing it happened
this way. I’ve gotten another glimpse into his life and I’m not so sure I like
what I see.

Great sex is fun, but it only goes so far.

“So when is your next trip?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can
while I dress.

He shoves his cock inside his fly, rubber and all. “I don’t
know. Maybe never. Maybe I’d take you with me. Let’s cross that bridge when we
come to it.”

A sudden burst of sadness burns behind my eyes. “That’s the
problem with us. There are too many bridges.”

“Damn it, Janice. Don’t do this again. We made a commitment
to each other.”

Images clash through my mind, turning the room on its axis.
The domestic scene of the food I’ve cooked and picturing the home financially
responsible Carlos wants to have on one hand. Road trips, wild parties and
women by the boatload on the other. I’ve never been so confused in my life.

“I know but I think we’re much too different.” I pick up the
Ben Wa balls and let them drop again. “This just isn’t me. None of it.”

I head to the kitchen to get my trays and dishes in order.
I’m happy to see the guys ate most of the food. A few of them are still in the
living room. Luckily Monty is on the balcony smoking a cigarette, so I don’t
have to face him.

Carlos is so close on my heels I can feel his breath on the
back of my neck.

“Leave it,” he says. “I’ll wash everything and bring it to
you the next time I see you. At least I hope there’s a next time.”

I rinse my hands in the sink. “You don’t have to do that.”

He clasps my forearm, stopping me as I scoop the remaining
meatballs onto a clean dish. “I used to be a dishwasher, remember?”

“Okay.”

When he walks me to my car, the sun is low and children play
basketball in the parking lot.

“Don’t give up on us yet,” he says when we reach my car.
“You’re not afraid of a little hard work, are you?”

How can I say no to that when I do so much overtime?

I grip his arms and the stinging returns to my eyes. “I’m
scared, Carlos. I’m scared because I’m falling for you.”

The basketball thumps on the pavement, echoing my heavy
heartbeat.

“The real me or the person you want me to be?”

Good question. Fantasy brought us together, but it doesn’t
have enough fuel to keep us going.

“I want it to be real.”

“I do too.” He takes a deep breath and presses his lips
together. “That’s why I want you to come to the club Friday night. This time
we’re going to do it my way.”

The cool evening air makes it hard to breathe. “I-I don’t
think I could handle it.”

“I’ll call you in a couple of days with instructions. Trust
me. You won’t regret it.”

“I don’t know.”

A streetlamp near us turns on, reminding me the nights are
getting shorter.

His fingertips are cold as they caress my chin. “Janice, we
can never love each other until we accept each other fully. I have to know
whether or not you can accept me.” He gulps. “Even if I lose you over it.”

“All right. I’ll go to the club.” Am I insane? The last time
had to be one of the worst experiences of my life.

His breath is an oasis of warmth in the chilly air. I cling
to it, tasting his mouth and inhaling his fiery scent. We kiss gently several
times, tiny pecks that deepen, the next longer than the one before.

Until I find myself with my arms crushed around his neck,
close to tears. The fact we didn’t achieve satisfaction in his bedroom tonight
makes this moment more poignant than it would have been. It’s left a dash mark
between us—an unfinished sentence.

How will it end? It’s about time to find out once and for
all if we can make this work.

I sit in my kitchen the next night, catching up on as much
work as I can before Carlos arrives to pick me up for a date. He didn’t tell me
what we’re doing, but I’m almost getting used to his spontaneity. I’m sure
whatever it is will involve sex. A hot man like him won’t let yesterday’s
business in his bedroom stay unfinished for long.

Contrary to what he might think, I came home more satisfied
than ever last night. Our goodbye kiss resonated with something stronger than a
killer orgasm—emotion.

We can never love each other until we accept each other
fully.

The words played through my mind all day at work,
distracting me from some of the stress. Love. He’s ready to love me, but am I
ready to love him? He’s gorgeous, kind, honorable and unique but also very
different from me. I clench my hands in my lap, visualizing my next visit to
the strip club ending in disaster.

When the soft knock on my door occurs promptly at six, I add
punctuality and dependability to the things I like about him.

As soon as I open the door, we’re in each other’s arms,
grasping, pulling and straining to get inside each other’s souls. He even lifts
me a few inches off the floor with his strong arms. I finally break away,
struggling to catch my breath as I take in his outfit. The effect of casual,
faded jeans paired with a dressy gray linen shirt suggests accidental sexiness,
but I have a feeling he put some thought into it.

My green V-neck sweater is hardly a match.

“Our greetings just get better and better,” I whisper
against his neck.

So does the bond between us. The closer we get, the more
it’ll hurt when it finally ends. I can’t blame him for wanting to test us soon.

To my surprise, he carries in some bags from the hall.

“What’s all that?” I ask.

“Groceries to pay you back for the food you brought
yesterday.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Carlos. I told you it was my
treat.”

He carries every bag to the kitchen table. “You might not be
so thankful when you see it. This is weekday food, not weekend food.”

“Health food?”

“You got it.”

I blink in disbelief as he takes out Greek yogurt, alfalfa
sprouts, soy protein, flax bars, protein breakfast shakes and a bunch of fruits
and vegetables—some of which I can’t even identify.

“So this is what you eat?” I ask, trying to force some
enthusiasm into my voice.

“It’s better than those processed TV dinners you eat. The
body needs fruits, vegetables, protein… Well, we’ll save the eating lesson for
later.”

I turn and glance at my rear end. “Are you trying to tell me
something?”

His warm hand cups my butt, dispelling my doubts. “I love
your body, Janice. Especially this beautiful ass. I just want you to stay
healthy.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Grab a jacket,” he tells me. “We’re going to the mall.”

That sounds safe enough. We won’t be tempted to argue in a
public place.

“We are? Sure, okay. Let me get my purse.”

He half shrugs. “You won’t need it but go ahead.”

I ride to the local mall in Carlos’ gray sports car. He’s so
quiet all I hear is the purr of the motor as he shifts gears. We’re cocooned in
a small black-leather interior, but the distance between us feels more like a
tractor-trailer.

“Are you shopping for anything in particular?” I ask to
break the silence.

“A couple of things.” He slows for a stoplight. “My mother’s
birthday is coming up and I want to buy you an outfit for your visit to the
club.”

I almost choke at his using
mother
and
strip club
in the same sentence. What’s she like? Does she approve of his lifestyle? More
importantly will he take the serious step of introducing me to her?

“I take it you didn’t admire the caftan I wore last time?”

He grins. “Not especially. You’re going to need a miniskirt
so I can dance between your legs.”

This time I do choke.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” I manage to answer. “I
already have a miniskirt somewhere.”

Whether it still fits or not is another story.

He accelerates again. “I know you’re used to living
frugally, but let me treat you for a change. I want to get you a whole new
outfit.”

When was the last time someone treated me to a whole outfit?
Childhood?

“Well, if you insist.”

He winks at me before turning into the mall parking lot. “I
insist.”

Inside the mall, some jazzy background music competes with
the splashing of a fountain and the click of heels and strollers on the tile
floor. Scents of pizza and popcorn drift from the food court.

Carlos holds my hand and I grin, feeling as if I’m a teenage
girl with her first boyfriend on her first date. No matter what happens between
us, I wish I could bottle this moment.

Passing women gaze at him a little too long and a few even
glare at me with envy. “Eat your heart out,” I want to shout. “He’s all mine!”

He pulls me into the trendiest-looking clothing store. It
has black walls with purple neon lights and pulsing music that resonates in my
chest. It reminds me of the strip club but I don’t say so. All the customers
seem to be under twenty.

“I think we’re in the wrong store,” I mutter under my
breath.

We end up at a rack of the shortest leather miniskirts I’ve
ever seen. He picks up a hot-pink one and another one in bright blue. Next, we
look at low-cut, tight knit tops in metallic colors.
Wow!
He’s dressing
me as though I’m a stripper too.

Carlos stands near the dressing room door while I try on the
outfits and walk out to show him. The scent of new clothes makes me so giddy I
try to pose as if I’m a high-fashion model. His grin of approval eggs me on.

For the first time in my life, I feel like a princess. I
even look like one, I think as I pose in the mirror. These clothes are light
years away from the dull, practical ones I usually wear. When I put my green
sweater back on, I realize how faded and shapeless it really is.

I emerge from the dressing room with the silver top and blue
skirt we decided on in hand.

“Do you have some friends you want to bring to the club?” He
takes the clothes from me. “The women have more fun in groups and I don’t want
you to show up alone again.”

“I can call Zena.”

“Perfect,” he replies. “I’ll arrange some backstage passes
for you and maybe even bring her onstage for a stage dance.”

“She’ll love that.”

He lowers his voice. “By the way, when you’re there, we
can’t let anyone think you’re my woman. It’ll turn off the customers and I
won’t make any money.”

“Okay. Sounds mysterious.”

A flicker of hope stirs in my belly. I have a feeling my
next visit to the Stallion Palace will be much better than the first. At least
I hope it is. I can’t go through that again, not even for Carlos.

“Does this place have shoes?” He spots his target and homes
in on it. “Over here.”

I laugh. “You’re a pretty good shopper for a guy.”

“Looking good is part of my job.”

Most of the shoes are in wild colors and have
skyscraper-length heels. The soles of my feet tingle when he picks up a
leopard-print stiletto and strokes it.

“I hope you don’t expect me to walk in those.”

“They’re actually comfortable from what I hear.” He puts the
shoe back and picks up a black patent-leather pump with just as high a heel.
“This goes with your outfit better. See the padding in the bottom?”

I poke a finger inside to feel the cushion. Why is he so
familiar with slutty shoes and women who wear them?

“I used to date a few female strippers,” he admits as if
reading the question on my face. “What’s your size?”

After I tell him, he finds the right box from the stack and
I try on the shoes. To my surprise, they are comfortable but balancing takes a
little skill.

“Your feet look so sexy in those.” Grabbing the box, he puts
his mouth near my ear. “I want you to wear them the next time I fuck you.”

A sudden fire erupts in my pussy. I picture him grabbing the
spike heels as he spreads my bare legs and I feel the glossy leather riding up
and down his back as my legs wrap around him.

Well, at least I won’t have to walk in them if I’m on my
back…

At the register, Carlos refuses my attempts to pay for the
outfit. Watching him hand the clerk crisp cash from a wad of bills stirs a
mixture of so many emotions in my chest I can hardly identify them all.
Appreciation? Helplessness? Envy?

The last one makes me feel the worst. What would it be like
to always have extra money to blow? What would it be like not to worry about
covering the bills every month? Most of all, what would it be like not to have
to worry about the miserable work world?

“No credit card?” I ask.

He shakes his head as he takes the bag from the cashier. “I
don’t believe in credit.”

When I remember his rough childhood, the envy melts away.
This man knows the value of a dollar. The fact that he’s spending his
hard-earned dollars on me lifts my feet several inches off the ground even
though I’m not wearing the heels yet.

“Thank you.”

“
De nada, querida
.”

We pause in the middle of the store to share a passionate
kiss. Again, this is not something I usually do, but Carlos has broken every
rule in my book.

I try to take the bag, but he won’t even let me hold it.
I’ve never felt so pampered.

“And now for some lingerie to wear under your new outfit,”
he announces.

“But I already have new lingerie, remember?”

“You’re always so practical.” He takes my hand as we exit
the store. “It’s very nice but I want you to have a set from me.”

The determined look in his dark eyes doesn’t invite
argument.

“What about your mother’s birthday present?” I remind him.

“We’ll get to that.”

I can see he has this trip all planned out. Part of me wants
to ask what stores we’re going to and in what order, but I stop myself.
Enjoy
the ride, Janice.

We enter the same popular lingerie store I bought my push-up
bra and thong from for Crave-a-thon. That weekend seems years ago now.

“Just make sure you wear a thong Friday night,” he says. “I
don’t care which one it is.”

“Why?”

His lips twitch in a promising half-smile. “You’ll find
out.”

When we browse, he doesn’t just look at the lingerie. He
rubs it with passion as if a woman is already wearing it. Watching slippery
satins and rough lace slide through his fingers entices me to touch too. More
than once, our hands accidentally collide and he dresses me in the sexy garment
with his eyes.

Desire squeezes my loins so hard I can barely walk. I hope we
find something because I must have burned several holes in my existing
underwear already.

We finally settle on a bra-and-panty set in dark-blue lace.
The bra is not the push-up type but very sheer. My eyebrows go up when I look
at the price tag. The store sure wants a lot of money for a little bit of lace.

He grabs it out of my hand. “You’re not supposed to look at
that.”

As I go into one of the dressing rooms, my blood rushes with
excitement. Work is a million miles away. Tonight is about fun, something I
don’t have much of.

Before I can close the door that doesn’t quite reach to the
ceiling or the floor, Carlos slips inside and locks it behind him.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. “This is for women only!”

He puts a finger to his lips to silence me. “I want to help
you try it on.”

Is he crazy? With trembling fingers, I clutch the hem of my
sweater, ready to pull it off. He grabs it and does it for me. He strips me
nude faster than I can blink and puts the lingerie on me, sliding the wispy
thong up my thighs, hooking the bra and even adjusting the straps for me. To my
surprise, he managed to hang my clothes neatly on the wall hooks too.

I shiver as his hands brush my sensitized flesh. The man
sure knows what he’s doing. I don’t think he’s even capable of a klutzy moment.

My eyes are riveted to the mirror. Is that really me? The
lingerie is so skimpy I still look naked, but the accents of thin blue lace add
a naughty, enticing touch. It screams, “Take me off!”

Carlos stands behind me, the coals of his dark eyes burning
even hotter in the reflection as his palms skim the outside of my arms. My
trembling deepens. From what, I don’t know. Because he looks half an inch away
from ravishing me or because the salesgirl could walk in any minute and catch
us?

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

I fight the urge to cover myself with my hands. “Um,
according to the rules, I was supposed to put the thong on over my underwear.”

“Fuck the rules.”

While he laves the back and side of my neck with kisses and
caresses of his tongue, his hands roam from my arms to my breasts. The lace is
hardly a barrier as his warm palms slide over them. The nipples harden to
points, stretching the fabric and charging the small space around us with
electricity. Desperate to hang on to something, I slip my index fingers in the
belt loops at his hips.

Next he turns me so I’m sideways to the mirror and faces me.
With exquisite gentleness, his fingers hook the narrow bra straps and tug them
over my shoulders until they dangle over my arms. The provocative gesture reminds
me of our one-night stand. Thank goodness I let him talk me out of ending it
after that night. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now experiencing such
sublime pleasure.

The underwire holds the bra on, but my breasts are bare and
straining under the bright overhead lights. I study the way those lights play
across his glossy, dark hair as his head lowers. Unable to help myself, I gasp
when his mouth closes over one of my nipples and sucks it so deeply it hurts.
My abdomen clenches with need, filling my pussy with scalding-hot juice.