It takes me forever to get across the room. People continuously stop me and women rub up against me. I climb the stairs to the VIP section, which is full to capacity. Danny apparently brought the entire team with him. The VIP section is a massive glass balconied area that runs the length of the entire club, and looks out over the dance floor. It’s more of a viewing gallery if I’m honest, best placed to watch potential conquests make it on the dance floor.
“Hugo!” Danny calls out in his scouse accent. One of my girls is sprawled across his lap giggling. I don’t run whores, and Allure isn’t a strip bar, but lets just say that the girls are hand-picked to work the VIP section. The girls up here know that if they play nice, then they are extremely likely to get some hefty tips. Danny is a typical footballer, brought up in a middle class family, and suddenly loaded. Needless to say, he pisses money up a wall worse than I do.
“Danny.” He shifts the girl off his lap, Lara I think it is, and stands up. He hugs me, slapping my back. “How are you, dude?”
He smiles wide. “I’m drunk.”
I laugh. “Best way to be.”
I signal one of the girls over from the bar. She’s wearing the required uniform of a white dress, but this one is so short and tight I have to wonder how she got in it. My eyes rake over her petite frame, and a smile pulls at my lips.
“Are you new?” I ask, raising my voice over the music.
She smiles boldly. “I’m Beth.”
“Beth.” I roll the name over my tongue. “I’m Hugo. I..”
“Oh, I know who you are.” She cuts me off.
I raise an eyebrow, and reassess her. She’s brunette, with olive skin and wide brown eyes. She looks innocent, and damn, I have a thing for innocent. Don’t get me wrong, I love my girls filthy dirty, but there is just something about corrupting an innocent one, because under all the good girl pretenses, every girl is a dirty whore waiting to be unleashed on the world.
The night is young, but I lodge her away as a prospect for later.
I disappear into the office for a while. There’s rarely much for me to do around here, as my club manager, Mel, is the bomb at running the place. It never hurts to check on things though. Complacency in business is what loses money.
I have a quick scout through the profit and loss turnover, and the conversion rates before heading back out into the VIP section which is right outside the office door.
I spot George at the bar dancing with one of the girls while he waits for his drink. Molly said they might pop in tonight. It’s a shame he bats for the other team, because the chicks fucking love him. Irony at it’s best I guess. I clap him on the shoulder when I reach the bar.
“Hey handsome.” He preens.
“How are you, dude?” I shout over the music as I signal Tanya, behind the bar, to get me a drink.
“I am fantastic, actually. I got a job today touring with Ariana Grande next year.” He bounces up and down.
“Shit. That’s epic.” I smile. “You uh, want to hook me up while you’re there?”
He laughs. “I can’t be responsible for giving my new boss an STD now, can I?”
I flick him the bird. I still order the fucker a shot though. “So, you’re out celebrating?” I ask.
“Hell yeah.” He downs the tequila shot and slams the glass on the bar.
“On your own?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re as subtle as a brick. It’s okay, I know Molly’s like your bestie or whatever.” He grins. “She’s over there.” He gestures over his shoulder to Danny’s table.
I narrow my eyes and spot a blonde head sat amongst the entire football team. “The fuck?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” He says in a sing song voice. “I would.”
I leave George to his dancing and move over to Danny’s table. He looks up when I approach.
“Hugo, this is…”
“Sweetness.” I cut him off, looking straight at Molly. Her face is flushed, and a smile pulls at her full lips as she laughs at something one of the guys just said to her.
“Hugo! I hoped you’d be here.” She glances at Danny. “Free drinks.” He laughs as though she’s fucking hilarious. I don’t miss the way his eyes trail over her bare legs in that tiny skirt. For some reason it pisses me off. I clench my fists and try to keep a hold on my temper, a temper that very rarely makes an appearance. Then Danny casually places his hand on her thigh. I haven’t felt anger like this for years, and honestly I find it down right fucking disturbing that I would feel it now, just because a guy is touching Molly. What is up with me? Maybe I just need to get laid….again. Too much testosterone or some shit.
Molly takes one look at my face, and a small frown line appears between her eyebrows. She stands up, and Danny stands with her, offering his hand to help her as she shimmies her way out of the booth. Pretty much every single guy at that table tries to get a look up her skirt.
“Come on. You owe me a glass of Prosecco.” She says, looping her arm through mine and guiding me back to the bar.
“I do?”
She rolls her eyes as she leans her hip against the side of the bar. “You do after that. What the hell was that? I thought you were going to punch him.”
“Don’t be stupid.” I blow her off.
“You’re a shitty liar.” She says, tilting her head to the side.
I ignore her and order her glass of Prosecco. Why anyone would drink that shit I don’t know. It tastes like sparkly cat’s piss to me.
“Right, well you pulled me away from Danny Lawson, so you’re going to dance with me.” She declares.
“Danny Lawson is an arse, and I bought you a drink. What more do you want, woman?” I groan. Jeez. “Where’s George? Get him to do your girly dancing with you.” I don’t mind dancing, but dancing almost directly correlates to sex. Ergo, I do not want to dance and undoubtedly pop wood, only to then have to tell my over eager dick that we are friend zoned. Poor fella can’t tell the difference.
She smiles wryly. “George is dancing on your bar.”
“What?” I look down into the club and low and behold, there is George, dancing in one of the cages. Every fucking time. I don’t know how he manages to convince the girls and security to let him up there. I want hot girls dancing, not a guy. Although, he does draw a certain crowd. I can see the hungry looks of the women near the bar. They like to pretend they’re refined, but when a guy can move his hips like that, they suddenly forget themselves. It makes me laugh. I love it.
“Fine. One dance.” Secretly I love dancing with Molly. I love watching her body react in ways that I don’t think even she is aware of, but like I said, it’s a twisted form of torture.
So, this started out relatively innocently, I promise. We’ve been dancing for an hour, and the intermittent drink breaks have made Molly somewhat uninhibited shall we say, and when she’s loose she’s dangerous. She’s smiling as her hips glide from side to side, and I watch as the material of her dress inches up her thighs. Her arms snake around my neck and she flicks her hair to the side. She mouths the words to the song happily as she moves, completely unaware of her appeal or her effect. Every movement is so fucking sexy. My cock has been rock hard for the last half an hour, and it’s hitting the pain zone right about now. Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover this. I keep my hands by my sides in a bid not to touch her. I only have so much restraint. I try to focus on a girl dancing behind her, but I can’t. Her body is so close, her chest rubbing against mine. Fuck.
My fingers inch to her hip of their own violation, gripping the material of her dress and twisting her around until her back is facing me. I grasp her waist, my fingers clenching into her as I try and talk myself out of my next move. Nope. Can’t. I yank her back, and slam my body up against hers, feeling the contour of her perfect arse against my crotch. I hear her hitched breath, and feel her stiffen as my hard-on presses against her.
My lips almost brush her shoulder and across to her neck, making her tilt her head to the side. She relaxes, and her movements slow, becoming more sensuous. Her arse slowly presses back and rolls against my crotch on the beat of the music. Her back bows as her body writhes rhythmically. Everything about her over-whelms me. I can smell the scent of her sweat mixed with her shampoo, and that exact combination just reminds me of her, naked and sweaty, bent over whilst I pull her hair and fuck her from behind like a dirty whore. On instinct, my hand creeps up her back and winds into her hair, yanking her head further to the side. I’m so close to her, close enough to hear the strangled groan that slips from her lips. I clench my teeth as my cock throbs painfully. My other hand moves up the front of her body until my fingers are gripping her throat loosely. Her breathing speeds, and I can feel her pulse racing against my fingers. Molly likes to play the good girl, but pull her hair and grab her throat, and she’s a moaning mess.
I lean in and trace my lips over the exposed skin of her neck. She trembles in my arms and throws her head back against my shoulder. I smile against her heated skin as I feel her submit to me. Her hands reach back and grab my hips on either side, her fingers tightening against me in a bid to steady herself. I inhale the scent of her, feel the heat of her body against mine, each ragged breath, every hammering heartbeat. I become completely wrapped up in her. She pulls me in, she always does. She makes me want to fuck her senseless, but she’s also the only woman for which I will fight my more animalistic urges, because it’s her. Fuck, what the hell am I doing? No-one should have that much hold over another person, and certainly not me. I’m immune to this shit.
She moves to the music, and grinds her arse against my cock. My hand tightens around her throat in response, and she tilts her face toward me. I watch as she bites her full bottom lip. Her hand reaches up and winds around the back of my neck, her nails dragging across my skin, making me hiss out a strained breath.
I’m on the fucking edge, and she is seriously playing with fire. I’m not the chivalrous guy who will turn her down because it’s the right thing to do. I’m the guy that will take her in a toilet cubicle if I have to, and fuck her until she doesn’t even remember who her surgeon is.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MOLLY
Oh god, I feel like I’m on fire. Hugo’s body presses against my back, and I can feel every hard inch of him. A small voice in the back of my mind is screaming at me to stop being such a slut, but I can’t. This is what he does to me. He turns me into a wanton slut. I
should
feel embarrassed. I
should
step away, but I don’t and I can’t. We’re just dancing, it’s fine. The kind of dancing that has me clenching my thighs together and in dire need of a change of underwear. I lightly drag my nails across his neck, and over the short stubble of his jaw. He growls low in my ear and yanks me around to face him, his hand tightens in my hair, and my scalp screams in protest even as my heart hammers against my rib cage in excitement.
His eyes meet mine, and there’s this wild untameable fire in them that takes my breath away. His hand cups my jaw, and my skin prickles under his touch, making my entire body break out in goose bumps. There’s a pregnant pause, and it’s one of those moments where you know something is about to happen.
His lips twitch in a small smirk, before he moves, slamming his lips over mine in a possessive kiss. I kiss him back. I can’t help myself. My hands grab handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer as his hand moves from my face, and grabs my arse, pulling my hips flush to his hard cock. The way he handles me is rough and unapologetic, and I love it. His tongue skims my bottom lip, and I moan into his mouth. I don’t know what it is about him, but he sets my mind free of all inhibitions and my body on fire. I want him, because the moments when I’m with him, I feel liberated.
The music of the club pulses around us, and yet it feels as though it’s just the two of us. I don’t even realise that I’m wrapping my leg around him until his fingers grip my thigh, which is just below his hip. His fingers dance along the hem of my dress as his teeth nip at my bottom lip.
“Unless you want me to fuck you right here on this dance floor, we need to stop.” He breathes raggedly against my lips. Even as he speaks the words, he never releases me.
I blink, and take stock of my position. I’m wrapped around him like a vine, pressing against him everywhere. I frown. What the hell am I doing? This is Hugo. Fuck.
I jump back away from him like I’ve been burned.
“Shit, um…” I try to think of something to say.
He leans in, speaking against my ear so I can hear him over the music. “We both know you want to turn tail and run Sweetness, so run.” I can hear the smile in his voice, but there’s something else, a certain resignation. He’s probably just gutted that I wouldn’t fuck him right here.
His eyes lock with mine and his usual easy smile pulls at his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I nod quickly and turn on my stiletto heel. He’s right, I do want to run. I need to run from everything that he represents. I need to get my head together without him infecting me with his sex rays or whatever that shit is that he projects. I like to think he has some kind of magical power over women, because then I’m not just some slutty bitch in heat, dry humping him in front of god knows how many people. Shit. I go to find George to tell him I’m leaving. I’m near the bar when I feel an arm loop through mine.
“Now that was a fucking kiss! Shit, what I wouldn’t give for a go at Hugo.” George gushes in my ear.
I turn to face him and release a long breath. “No, that was…I don’t know what that was. Anyway, I’m leaving.”
He laughs. “You’re such a prude Mole. Before you start with your one woman guilt trip, I want it noted that you’re just dating the doctor. No harm in dabbling.” He winks. Oh, god.
By the time I get home, I feel like the shittiest person alive and the guilt trip is in full swing.