TOVA: Criminal justice has crossed my mind. Law too. But law school…ugh. It’s such a long haul, you know?
MARCUS: It is. Where did you grow up?
TOVA: Mexico.
His hand tightened on the phone. He hadn’t seen that coming.
MARCUS: You don’t look Hispanic.
TOVA: I’m half. My father is Swiss. Your first name is Hispanic. Is that a fluke?
MARCUS: No, I’m full. Going back generations. Swiss, huh? That’s where you got that incredible skin.
TOVA: *blush* Thank you.
MARCUS: You weren’t blushing a few days ago. I’ve looked for you online. Have you decided against webcams altogether, or have you taken on a new name to hide from me?
TOVA: I’ve been thinking, actually.
MARCUS: About?
TOVA: About what you said… And about you. You made a lot of sense on things I hadn’t considered. And after thinking about everything, I decided to take your advice.
He stopped chewing, his mind darting back to their conversation, trying to recall exactly what advice he’d given her.
MARCUS: I’ve been thinking about you too. Which advice?
TOVA: About safety, privacy, and the future. And I’m considering another option. The company that owns the sexcam site also owns other sex trade franchises, such as phone sex, lingerie, sex toys, etc.
MARCUS: Good business sense, I suppose.
TOVA: So, I’m going to try their phone sex branch.
MARCUS: Hmmm, what does one say to that news? Congratulations? Sign me up?
TOVA: LOL. And when I explained my sexcam reservations to my friend who turned me on to the sexcam biz, she told me about prerecorded videos. After brainstorming, we decided I’d try putting together some pole-dancing videos in costume, so it’s übersexy, available 24/7, and my identity is preserved.
The image of Tova in a dominatrix suit, complete with thigh-high four-inch heels humping a silver pole flashed in Marcus’s brain, and fire seared every nerve in his body. A piece of apple went down the wrong way, and he choked. He lowered the phone and coughed until the apple dislodged. With his eyes watering, throat raw, he turned the phone over and read her new message.
TOVA: Uh-oh. Did I lose you at pole dancing or costumes?
MARCUS: Sorry, I was choking on my tongue. Damn thing is always in my way. You have my permission to add me to any autobuy list that includes the combination of the words: you, dancing, and costume.
TOVA: So…decent alternative?
Marcus chucked the uneaten portion of his apple into the brush and wiped his hand on his pants, his head tipped in consideration, a warm spot opening in his chest.
MARCUS: Honey, it’s your life. I’m not judging you. I just want you safe.
TOVA: I know. That’s why I’m asking.
He sighed.
MARCUS: Are you always this trusting? You make me a little nervous. I could be anyone.
TOVA: I’m not trained, but I’m a good judge of character too. And I have an ounce or two of common sense myself.
MARCUS: In that case, if you really need the money fast, if the job, hours, and pay work for you, if you’re safe, healthy, and happy, then, yeah, I think it’s a decent alternative.
TOVA: Great. Want to give me some male opinions on costumes? I’m at the Playhouse Flirt store now.
Marcus laughed loud and deep.
MARCUS: Tough job, but I think I’m up to the task.
“I haven’t heard you laugh like that in months.” Trigger came through the brush he’d been searching and sat next to Marcus, pulling out his own lunch box and rummaging through. “Who are you talking to?”
Marcus muttered a nonreply just as he received a text from Tova.
TOVA: Cat woman or devil?
MARCUS: Mmmm, Cat woman.
“Did you find the bag?” Marcus asked.
“No.” Trigger leaned over Marcus’s shoulder. “Who’s Tova? You got a chick I don’t know about? Since when?”
Marcus lowered the phone from view. “Back off, dude.”
Trigger pulled out a bag of cashews and started tossing a handful into his mouth. “Who is she?”
“Just that girl I talked to online the other night. I told you about her.”
“You said it didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t,” Marcus said, “for the sexcam thing, anyway. And it’s been four days. I didn’t think I’d hear from her.”
TOVA: Cowgirl or Race Car Driver?
MARCUS: Cowgirl, definitely.
Trigger’s eyes narrowed. “She charging you for these texts?”
Marcus grinned at his phone. “No, but I wouldn’t fucking care.”
“Christ.” Trigger rolled his head away. “
D
on’t go and do something stupid, like fall for her. You know these chicks just lead you on for the cash. They’ll dump you as soon as you can’t or don’t want to pay.”
Marcus was plenty aware of the fact that this was a temporary infatuation. And he wasn’t about to try to explain why he thought Tova was different. “I’m a big boy, Trig. I can handle it.”
TOVA: Genie or French Maid?
MARCUS: Ooo, tough one. Your call.
TOVA: Can I send you pictures of some other pretty things or will you get in trouble?
MARCUS: This is my personal cell. Send.
TOVA: Which of these do you want me to wear for you tonight during the private preview?
“Whoa.” He laughed the word, a thrill burning through him.
MARCUS: A private preview? If you’re serious, baby, you just made my year.
“Are you sexting?” Trigger asked before he chugged water. “I didn’t know they did that.”
“She’s asking me what I want her to wear tonight when she dances for me.”
“What do you mean, dances?”
“Pole dancing.”
Trigger’s water bottle hit the bed of the truck. “She’s
pole dancing
for you? None of the chicks I chat with do that.”
Marcus’s phone chimed, and he picked it up to find a picture of Tova in a black teddy with matching garters. When he saw the selfie she’d taken in the dressing room of a local Playhouse store, his mind fell apart, just disintegrated. Her hair was down, her smile seductive and sweet at the same time.
“Holy shit.” Trigger said over Marcus’s shoulder. “
That’s her?
”
Marcus turned his phone facedown and glanced at his teammate. “Do you mind?”
“Hell, yes, I mind. Let me see.”
His phone chimed again, and Trigger smacked Marcus’s arm. “Come on.”
Marcus sighed and glanced at his phone. This time, Tova wore something in hot,
hot
pink. The top fit like a bikini, and was sequined. The length of the bodice that fell to her hips was sheer netting, hemmed in a sequined ruffle, which Tova held up, providing a peek at a matching sequined thong.
“She’s fucking
smokin’
.” Trigger prodded with too much excitement. “Enlarge it.”
Marcus pocketed his phone and stood from the truck. “No. Go find your own girl. She’s mine.”
“Dude, you know she’s not yours, right? You know she’s getting a hundred other guys off every night.”
“Of course I know. That’s not what I meant.”
The thought of Tova talking dirty to other men, other men jerking off to her voice and words… It didn’t particularly bother him. He felt the sting of envy now and then, like when Trigger put it into clear perspective, but he was realistic. This was a job for her. Which was fine. Marcus wasn’t looking for much more. He was just playing this one day at a time.
His phone chimed again, and he smiled—this was a very good day, and he couldn’t wait for it to get even better.
This time she wore a white bra, white thong, and feathered wings.
MARCUS: You’re frying what little gray matter I’ve got. You can’t seriously make me choose between those.
TOVA: Wait. I still have half a dozen more to try.
“Good Lord,” he muttered, grinning.
The radio in the truck squawked, and the dispatcher reported a group sighting three miles northwest of their location. Trigger got on the radio and responded.
MARCUS: I’ve got a call, baby. Gotta go.
TOVA: I like the way you call me baby. Stay safe. Talk tonight.
MARCUS: You bet your sweet ass.
* * * * *
She could totally do this.
The pole dancing moves were cake, and beyond that, they felt good, stretching tight and underused muscles.
Tova spun around the upper end of the pole and let the momentum drag her to the floor spinning. And smiling. This was damn
fun
. She’d do it even if she didn’t get paid for it.
And her computer had been pinging like crazy with men wanting to chat since she’d turned it on to wait for Marcus. All she was doing was practicing, and men already seemed rabid, which gave her hope they’d also pay to watch her videos once she’d had time to create them. For tonight there was only one man she was interested in impressing.
Her phone chirped, indicating a text message. She eased into a sensual rise from the floor, then bent slowly over the bed, tugging the short skirt of the fancy teddy over her ass cheeks.
MARCUS: You’re killing me. Answer my Chat request, goddammit.
Tova glanced over her shoulder toward the camera and wiggled her ass.
MARCUS: You. Are. Wicked. And that mask is all kinds of sexy.
She put her phone down on the bed, and dragged her body up in slow, languid movements. The space was tight, but it worked. She’d cleared the room of everything personal, pushed her bed against the wall, and taken out the nightstand, which had created just enough room for her to maneuver around the pole.
With her hand on the footboard, she then leaned toward the computer, letting her breasts fill the satin, deep-aqua-colored push-up cups. God, she felt pretty in this thing. And dancing made her feel all kinds of sexy. Even the black half mask that covered her face from the top of her forehead to the tip of her nose, adorned in feathers and sequins, hinted at naughtiness, making her feel that much more sensual. But knowing Marcus was drooling to watch her dance… That was what really made her hot.
And she’d never even
seen
him.
This was crazy.
But for the first time in years, she was really enjoying herself with a guy.
She grinned into the camera, heavy and seductive, then clicked the Chat button.
“Christ,” he said, breathless, “it took you long enough. Are you trying to torture me?”
“In the best possible way.”
“Oh my God. You look…incredible. No,
edible
.”
She laughed and stepped away from the camera, placing one hand on the silver pole and cocking her hip beneath the lace skirt that barely covered the matching thong. “You ready to see what I’ve been practicing today?”
“No. Not yet.” There was command in his voice, far more authority than she’d ever heard him use before—and it turned her on. “I’m moving over to the Paid Chat. No way in hell is anything interrupting this. Hold on.”
“Ooo,” she crooned. “I like a man who takes control.”
“God, stop. I’m hitting the wrong keys.”
She laid her head against the pole and let her body sway toward it, then turned her back to the pole, her front to the camera, and raised her arms overhead, stretching until the pretty, transparent lace skirt of her teddy cleared the überskimpy thong. “What song do you want me to dance to? ‘Gotta Get Me Some’ or ‘All I Want To Do’?”
“‘Gotta Get Me Some,’” he said, his voice heavy with innuendo. “And as much as I love the mask, you’ve gotta take it off. I want to see that gorgeous face of yours.”
She warmed all over and smiled as she reached up and slid the mask off. After setting it on her desk beside the computer, she tapped the iPod, and music poured out of a Bluetooth speaker, both of which she’d borrowed from her roommate. But she kept the volume low so she could hear Marcus.
“Are you going to touch yourself tonight?” she asked, keeping her voice sultry. “’Cause I really want to think about that while I dance.”
“If you don’t stop talking like that and moving like that and showing all that…I’m going to come in my uniform pants before you get through the first dance.”
“You’re still in your uniform?”
“I usually shower at work, but I was in such a hurry to get home and see you tonight—”
“Oh no. We can’t have that. Everything’s coming off, hot stuff. Do it. Now.”
“Whoa,” he said, his voice deep and sexy. “You just sounded like a cop.”
“Yeah?” She pranced deliberately around the pole with an exaggerated sway to her hips. Her heels were four inches and made her feel tall and sleek, even though she still barely topped five and a half feet. “Do you like that? Does it turn you on?”
“Uh…” He sounded unsure. “Normally, I’d say no, but, baby, there hasn’t been one thing you’ve done that
hasn’t
turned me on. Sweetheart, I’ve just gotta ask
—
and don’t take this wrong
—
but, how in the
hell
did you install that pole in your room when you couldn’t even get the camera in right?”