When work is over, we’ve stuck to our same routine and go back to her place. She’s stopped asking me to leave at night so long as I’m gone by ten the next morning.
Even though we leave the club together after work, I still haven’t been able to get her onto the back of my bike. She insists it’s too dangerous—even after I try and make her understand that everything in this world is dangerous. People die all the time, sometimes in the blink of an eye. Our days are always numbered, and we can never be sure when our number’s up, so why not live in the moment?
That’s not an argument she’s keen on listening to and I frankly don’t have the energy to push it. I have more important things to worry about—like trying to force myself into her life—no, into
her heart
—one fuck at a time.
Yeah, we fuck like rabbits. That’s all she wants our relationship to be, and I’ve tried being patient but it’s really starting to wear on me. She’s established all these rules. Things we can talk about and things we can’t. How much time we can spend together (like her get out before ten rule). They’re all designed to keep me at bay, and I’m getting damn sick and tired of them.
Which is why I find myself here on my bike, parking in front of the dance studio where Alyssa takes lessons. The reason I’m here?
I paid King a little visit earlier this week. I gave him an update on the club, which basically meant telling him that Walt and his boys were towing the line now that I was on board, and the reason they hadn’t been towing the line and protecting their employees when King first came to me was because they’d been too busy getting high. King hadn’t been pleased when I told him what happened to Alyssa, and he’d had his own talk with Walt, but before that happened, I’d prodded. Asked some questions. Told him I thought Alyssa’s talents were being wasted serving drinks. King had laughed and agreed. He’d also confirmed that she was getting lessons in preparation for switching jobs.
And then he’d said, “The girl’s determined to do well. She even convinced her teacher to let her practice in the studio on her own. From what I hear, she’s going to be a huge draw, so keep her safe, Axel.”
I don’t need King telling me to keep Alyssa safe. It’s pretty much what I live for now. That and fucking her while trying to work my way into her heart.
The outer studio door is locked but it doesn’t take me more than a few seconds to get inside. I follow the music, and there she is, moving in front of a mirror.
She’s a fucking angel--you know, if angels were sex-crazed girls who had serious commitment issues. Even in a white pair of bootie shorts and purple lace bra, she looks classy.
There’s a pole positioned in the middle of the floor. She braces one strong hand firmly around the pole as she steps backward to meet the steel rod with her backend.
She twists her body as she slides down the pole at the same speed in which her hand crawls down the steel. She looks like a natural, and I’m finding it hard to believe she’s never danced before.
She’s gifted. I just wish she weren’t planning on using her gift on stage at the club. In fact, that’s a major understatement. I don’t think I can stand her doing it, no matter how hard I try not to interfere. I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I have to.
The beat picks up and she spins away from the pole on agile feet. She sways to the music, crouching lower and lower to the ground until she’s lying on her back with her legs forming a V-shape in the air. And when she throws her head backward, I just about lose all my shit.
My cock twitches in my jeans.
With her eyes closed, a perfect smile ripples across her face. And for the first time since this journey began, she looks absolutely happy. She looks content, and more importantly, she looks free.
Until she opens her eyes, sees me staring at her and cracks her head against the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter and race into the room. By the time I’m through the door, she’s on her feet with her hands held at her hips.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Are you telling me you aren’t happy to see me?” I say lightly.
“Did you follow me?”
“Obviously. And I’ve been doing it for the past week, if you must know.”
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, and she turns bright red. “Get out!”
“No can do, Angel. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
I laugh. “About why you’ve been hiding your dance lessons and the fact that you’re trading in your drink tray for a pole at Sugar Bare.”
“I don’t owe you any explanations, Axel. I don’t owe you anything.”
“That’s bullshit, Alyssa, and you know it. I know you care about me, just like I care about you. You stripping is bullshit, too. Unless you really, truly want to do it?”
Her eyes flicker. “It’s not a matter of wanting to do it.”
“Then don’t do it,” I command. “It’s as simple as that.”
“You, of all people, know it’s not that simple.”
“Maybe not for some people. But for you, it
is
simple. If you need money that bad, I’ll give it you.”
Her eyes widen with surprise. “No, I can’t take your money.”
“You’d rather take the money you’d earn from stripping rather than from me?”
“Because that money I’ll have earned. It wouldn’t be charity.”
I grit my teeth. “It wouldn’t be fucking charity.”
“Whether it would be charity or not, it would make me beholden to you, Axel. And I don’t want to be beholden to you or any man. I can support myself, even if that means having to make tough choices. It’s the only way I can continue to respect myself. You can understand that, can’t you?”
I can, but I wish I couldn’t.
“Why do you need so much money?”
She glares at me. “That’s really none of your damn business.”
“No? Even though we’ve seen each other every night this week?”
“To fuck!” she snaps. “That’s it. Sex. That’s all you are to me, Axel. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”
She whirls around, turning her back to me with her eyes closed, trying to shut me out.
I can’t help it. Her words piss me off. I’m frustrated as hell. I’ve tried being patient and I don’t know what the hell to do to get through to her. I shift into action and tug my tee over my head. I reach for the belt holding up my jeans and unhook it. The clinking of the metal alerts her.
She turns slowly. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” I shrug and toss my belt to the side, where it clatters against the hardwood floors.
“No.” She shakes her head. “We’re not having sex in the studio. Laura would kill us both.”
“I’m not afraid of
Laura
.”
“Still doesn’t mean we’re going to fuck.”
“I don’t recall even mentioning it.”
“You’re undressing,” she points to my steel-cut abs.
“Like I said, to get comfortable.” I lift a hand to caress her cheek. “I want you to dance for me.”
“No,” she scoffs and pulls away, but I’m too quick for her, leveling my palm against her ass and pulling her tight against me.
“It wasn’t a question.”
“I don’t take orders from you, Axel.”
“How about payment?” I retrieve my wallet from my back pocket and grab a hundred-dollar bill, holding it out to her.
She rips the bill out of my hand and shoves it into my front pocket. “I don’t want your goddamn money.”
“Too bad.” I pull the hundred back out and push it into her bra. “What’s the matter? You’re going to be a stripper, right? You were going to do it without even telling me, so you must feel pretty confident in your decision. If you can’t even dance in front of me, how do you think you’ll be able to dance in front of the clientele at Sugar Bare.”
When she doesn’t answer, I step to the other side of the room and pick up a chair with one hand. I carry the chair to the center of the room, and park it directly in front of the steel pole. I waste no time sliding into the seat and patting my thigh. “Dance for me, Angel.”
She hesitates, and I say it again, this time in a whisper. “Dance for me.”
My cock throbs in my jeans, hard and ready for release, but all of a sudden, my anger is under control. She’s being stubborn. She doesn’t really want to strip at the club. But she does want to dance for me.
I can see it on her face. In the tightness of her nipples poking through her bra. On the flush on her cheeks that extends down her chest.
“Don’t be shy,” I taunt her in a low growl. “I’ve seen you bare ass naked. I’ve been inside of you. I’ve seen you at your most vulnerable. This right here? This is nothing considering I’ve had every piece of you every night for the last week.”
“Why must you always be so perverse?”
“That’s an interesting question. You’re the one who said you were in this only for the sex, remember?’
“Yeah, I remember,” she huffs.
I pass my finger over my dry, wanting lips, waiting patiently, but my patience is quickly wearing out. With every second that passes, I think about jumping out of my seat and taking hold of her the way I want to take hold of her. To have my way with her the way I want to have my way with her. To fuck her against the mirrors lining the studio walls.
She grabs a fistful of her hair and sighs once more, before settling on an answer. “Fine,” she groans. “You win.”
“I win?” I question rhetorically and grin a cocky grin, full of confidence and cockiness. “Dance for me, Angel. And then maybe we can both be winners.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alyssa
I try to remember my training as I’m bent over in front of him, taunting him with my ass as I scroll through my phone and select a song. Once I’ve settled on the most fitting choice, a slow-burning R&B number that bursts with a seductive chorus, the music begins to permeate the room from the overhead speakers.
I straighten myself and step to the light switch located behind the chair Axel is seated in.
“Why do you have to turn the light off?”
I crane my head to face his direction and see a soft glow painted over my face in the mirror across the way. There’s enough light streaming from the ceiling so that he can see me, but it’s dark enough that I can pretend he can’t.
I don’t give him a verbal answer to his question, because he doesn’t need it. The show I’m about to put on for him should be enough so that he no longer needs to ask any more questions.
I pace until I’m standing behind his chair and swing one hand around his body, and caress his smooth chest with my palm. He quivers under my touch, and it’s not a sensation I’m used to when it comes to him. It’s usually me quivering, shaking, exploding under his touch. Not even a minute into this dance, and I’m already reveling in the control—the power—I have over him.
I hunch over his shoulder and whisper against his ear. “Are you ready, Axe?”
He swallows a nervous lump in his throat, and I can’t help but wonder why
.
If anyone should be nervous, it’s me.
I am. Incredibly nervous, and I’m only dancing for him, not an entire crowd. But in many ways, I feel like dancing for him is far worse. There are more expectations here. The stakes are higher.
I level a hand against his shoulder as I spin around the chair and back my ass against the pole. I sway against the steel, my body rotating on the axis of my hips as I hook my finger into my shorts.
His eyes freeze on me as I glide out of the shorts and they pool on the floor. I kick them away, and stand before him in my bra and panties. I’m more than vulnerable. I’m scared and shaking. If I can’t dance for him, how am I going to dance for anyone else?
I take a moment to breathe, to remember why I’m doing this. I take a moment to give myself the push I need to continue on, and reason with myself that practicing for Axel is the very best thing I can do if I’m ever going to get on that damn stage.
He sees me frozen before him and hooks his finger toward me, beckoning for me to approach.
I do as commanded, clumsily stepping toward him until I’m standing between his parted knees. It’s here that I lose my nerve, and freeze again. This is not going as planned.
He gives me a bit of a boost, reaching behind my back and pulling me down onto his lap in a straddling position.
“I don’t think this is how this is supposed to work,” I whisper nervously, but am unsure if he can hear me over the music.
“Dance,” he commands, and I’m still unsure if he heard me. It doesn’t matter. I buck against him, my panties scratching against the denim of his jeans. Through the denim, I can feel his hard cock and I crave to be filled, if for no other reason than fucking is so much easier on the nerves than dancing.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he purrs against my heaving chest and rises to stand, picking me up with his strong arms. He carries me to the pole, where my back is greeted by the cold metal.
I’m torn between the extremes of his warmth and the cold metal. It’s excruciating. He laps his mouth against my neck as he lowers me to my feet. As he begins to assault my neck with his tongue, and then his teeth, one strong hand crawls into my panties.