Disgraced Cowboys (Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 3) [Siren Publishing Ménage Amour] (3 page)

Jesus Christ, what the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t get turned on from dancing. Guys just paid her for the illusion that she did.

His hands took hold of her waist, and to her surprise, she felt the jolt of contact. His hands were hot and large, making her wonder about his cock size. The tiny shocks of pleasure his touch sent through her drove her motions, and she bent closer to give him a real eyeful of her firm tits. The gold in his eyes seemed to glitter more brightly now, and she could see the obvious strain along his jaw. He was struggling to maintain his composure.

So, the cowboy
could
be tamed like all the rest.

Something in his reaction sharpened the pleasurable tingle in her clit, and she couldn’t help herself. She lowered herself to rub her mound experimentally against his crotch. The flood of exquisite pleasure sucked away her breath, and her nipples strained against her top. How she wished she could shove them in his mouth and have him bite and lick them while she worked herself in his lap. But that was crossing a major line of legality.

So was what she was doing now, strictly speaking. Something took over in her, however, and she was helpless to fight it. She clutched his shoulders and let out a moan as her wet cunt thrust and ground on the hard ridge in his pants.

“My God,” he whispered, and his hands slid a bit lower to grip her hips.

He helped her ride him, pushing her back and forth over his erection. He knew the truth now, she could tell. This was no longer a dance. She was using him to shamelessly masturbate herself. And she didn’t care.

Lust swelled up like the clit pounding for release, spurring her to act. She closed her eyes and pictured that hard cock free from his pants, driving up inside her. She imagined him taking her with the same uncontrollable need she was feeling. Sweet pleasure sharpened suddenly, shoving her over the edge. She cried out like a wild thing as she came, bouncing on his lap. Her chest heaved raggedly for several moments while her climax shook her before gradually ebbing. When her eyes fluttered back open, his were staring at her with that unnatural glow. His breathing was uneven, too, and his hands had slid back to her waist.

A flood of hot embarrassment raced to her cheeks. Crap on a stick, what the hell had she just done?

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to stop, uh, dancing. I just needed to rest a moment. Shall I dance for you some more?”

He gripped her waist tighter, and to her surprise, he lifted her off his lap as though she weighed nothing. He stood her abruptly in front of his chair and shook his head. “No more
dancin’
.” The way he emphasized the word gave little doubt that he knew exactly what she’d been doing. “I just gave you a thousand dollars.”

She blinked. A thousand? She’d suspected maybe six hundred, which was still twice the going rate for the VIP Room. “I’m very, uh, flattered,” she said, almost wincing at the rehearsed answer. “Was there something special you wanted me to do?”

Besides grind herself to a climax, that is.

Even as she said the words, she suspected she knew what he was playing at. The hunk may have busted his way in under the guise of being the law, but she saw the long, straining bulge in his jeans. And yes, a dark stain had been rubbed along that cock, courtesy of her wet cunt. Maybe he figured since she’d had no qualms about getting herself off in the middle of her job, she’d happily suck him dry while she was at it. But that couldn’t happen, regardless of what he paid.

Not that the idea of it didn’t make her mouth water.

“Yeah, there’s somethin’ you can do,” he said. “You can stop.”

She frowned and tucked an annoying strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop what? If you want me to dance some other way, just tell me.”

He folded his hands in front of himself, resting his elbows on the chair arms. “You don’t get it. I ain’t payin’ you to dance. I’m payin’ you not to.”

Her eyes must have registered her confusion, but he just sat there as she gaped at him. She shifted her stance, feeling the sticky juices slide between her thighs. Then it dawned on her what must be going on.

She groaned aloud and shut her eyes for a moment. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘you don’t belong here’ guys who wants to save me from this tawdry life?”

“You
don’t
belong here. But that ain’t the point.” He rose, forcing her backward by proximity. “I reckon a thousand bucks plus whatever you’ve already taken in is enough to retire you for tonight and tomorrow.”

She laughed. “Oh, is
that
what you reckon? And then what?”

He shrugged. “I’m just offerin’ a day and a half’s vacation. Ain’t no bad in that.”

Fuck, that sexy Western twang hit her right smack in the crotch. “What aren’t you telling me about what you expect in return for this generosity?”

The smile he unleashed—the first she’d seen crack his embedded scowl—caught her completely off balance. Oh, holy shit on a stick, this man spelled all kinds of trouble.

“Think I aim to pay you for sex?” He laughed when she arched an accusing brow. “No, darlin’. When I have you, it’ll be because you’re beggin’ me for it.”

Cocky bastard, saying “when” he had her, not “if,” as though it were some sort of predestined certainty. Still, her cunt clenched in agreement with him. Traitor.

She fired up her own high-caliber grin, even though she had to do it through gritted teeth. “Me, beg a man for sex? Clearly, you don’t know the first thing about me.” She reached down to unconsciously finger the spiral tattoo on her right hip.

“I know a fact or two that might surprise you.”

The grin vanished. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

He thrust out a hand so suddenly that it startled her into jerking back a step. “Marcus Talbot.” He eyed her closer. “The man you’ve dreamed about for years.”

She threw her head back for the first genuine laugh she’d had in months. “That line is neither original nor effective,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “But I’ll admit that you say it with a very convincing resolve.” She reached out for his hand. “Brandi Lyn Cherry, though I suppose you know that from the marquee out front.”

When she took his hand, he brought it to his mouth and brushed it so gently with his lips that a charge of energy roared up her arm, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps. Her nipples hardened again instantly. “Cherry Brandi when you put the last name first,” he said. “Though I expect that ain’t your real last name. Maybe not the real first name, neither.”

His thumb was brushing the back of her hand, right over the spot where he’d kissed it. She tugged it away gently, but the tingling madness lingered. “It is, actually. Though a smart woman never gives up her secrets.”

“You already gave up somethin’ a lot more valuable to me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble that bounced around in her gut. “But that don’t change what’s meant to be between us.”

His gaze slid over her as it had earlier, but this time without any reserve or hint of disapproval. On the contrary, his eyes heated until their tour of her curves stirred a new restlessness in her still-throbbing clit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. A statement that might have sounded more convincing had her voice not suddenly taken on a ridiculous, breathless quality.

“I reckon you do.” Somehow he managed to step even closer, and she sucked in a breath. “You’ve dreamed about me, haven’t you? You’ve fantasized about cowboys for as long as you can remember.”

Jesus, this guy was actually serious. Or maybe he wasn’t. “Is this some kind of role play game?” she asked. “Because in that case, sure. I’ve always longed for a guy in snakeskin boots and tight jeans.”

The disappointed slant returned to his brow. “You ain’t a game to me, Brandi.” He gripped her upper arms and lowered his head, and she knew he was about to kiss her. “You’re my mate.”

Whether she would question the bizarre statement or just yield to the alluring, hot breath fanning her lips was never answered, because the door burst open.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in here?”

Paulo stood in the doorway, practically frothing at the lips. Despite the professional veneer he tried to glue over his trademark temper, the suit and carefully trimmed beard couldn’t hide the laser-beam glare pointed at Marcus.

“What the fuck, Talbot?” Paulo went on, stalking into the room. Two of the bouncers followed him in, including Stephen. She saw him flash Marcus an apologetic look.

“There a problem?” Marcus asked, calmly bending down to retrieve his hat.

Paulo scoffed. “Don’t give me that shit. I heard you tossed a good paying client out of here with some bull about a raid. I run a clean gig. I’ve never been raided, ain’t never going to be raided. If I was,
you
sure as hell wouldn’t be on the cop’s team. It’s illegal to pretend you’re the law, you know.” Paulo’s glance slid to her, and she tried to retain a neutral yet slightly surprised expression. “Why didn’t you signal for Stephen or Jesse when this a-hole busted in?”

There was a slight wild tinge to Stephen’s eyes while she shrugged. “I’m new around here. This guy seemed like a regular and a big spender. Didn’t want to cause any trouble.”

“He’s neither regular nor a big spender,” Paulo spat.

She paused at his narrowed, dark-eyed gaze and grabbed the money from her robe. “He paid me three times the normal take for a VIP dance.”

She held out the wad of bills, which widened her boss’s eyes a fraction. “No shit?” He glanced at Marcus. “I don’t know how you got past my security, but if you want a dance back here, you go through me. No exceptions. And no jerking around my other customers, or I’ll have you out on your ass. Understand?”

Marcus gave a curt nod and settled his hat back on his head. Brandi slid on her robe and held out his money.

“Here,” she told Marcus. “I can’t accept your offer. Headliners don’t get unscheduled vacations around here, not even short ones.”

She ignored Paulo’s stare as he gawked at the thick money stack she stuck out at Marcus. He shook his head and walked past her. “Keep it. Consider it on deposit.”

Brandi made a move to follow, but her boss held up his hand. “Give me that, and I’ll safeguard it until the end of your shift. Your last customer will be back in so you can finish what he paid for.”

That stopped Marcus in his tracks. “And what about what I just paid for?”

Paulo grunted. “You’re lucky I don’t have you shoved out the back door and barred from paying for anything here ever again. We’ll talk about that on your way out front.”

The men left without another word, and Marcus went along without so much as a good-bye or a glance. She wandered to the door, leaning against the frame as she watched him go, his hot-as-hell ass twitching seductively in tight Wranglers while he was escorted to the main area with a bouncer on either side.

“What the hell is his deal?” she whispered.

She turned back to the room to ready herself for the suit customer’s return when she heard a familiar sound, one she had hoped not to run into her very first month in a new club. Men were shouting, and something crashed and broke.

Then all hell broke loose.

A good old-fashioned bar brawl was well underway by the time Brandi stole over to the curtained doorway dividing the private back room from the main club. A fair number of rowdy males were throwing punches, drinks, and more. The scene looked like a writhing mass of drunken destruction. All of the bouncers were in the fray, though one or two looked more like they were enjoying the fight rather than breaking it up. This left the girls to fend for themselves, and most of the dancers were clutched together near the back of the VIP Lounge, looking round eyed with shock. They obviously didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing.

Brandi scanned the roiling crowd in search of two specific faces—one that she shouldn’t be wasting her time on, and the other right where she knew she’d find it.

“Brandi, what are you
doing
?” one of the dancers shouted as she started through the doorway. “Get back here!”

“Oh, let her go,” came a snide tone. Angel Wings stood in the middle of the group, her trademark blonde hair shining despite the dim light. “Maybe she’ll think twice about hanging her G-string in a cowboy town next time.”

Irritation flashed as she whipped her head around toward the pair of cat-shaped eyes that were regarding her disdainfully. “And while you’ve been cowering in a corner, waiting for a chance to stab my back with your stiletto, did it occur to any of you to check on Misty?” Her attention turned to Angel’s icy green glare. “Or were you secretly hoping the brawl would help you ditch some of the competition?”

If she’d thought eyes couldn’t get any wider, she was wrong. With the exception of Angel’s livid stare, the rest flew open in guilty shock at the mention of Misty’s name.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Angel spat.

“Is Misty all right?” Tawny asked. The pigtailed girl blinked enormous, brown eyes that made her look almost virginal, were it not for the gaudy, rhinestone-spangled corset that shoved her tits up practically near her chin.

Brandi turned back to the scene through the doorway. Misty had been onstage when the fight broke out, and as Brandi suspected, the girl hadn’t had the foresight to get herself out of harm’s way. Misty stood rigid behind the stripper pole, as though it could offer her any hope of protection.