Seize Me (3 page)

As the main lights flick off and the stage lights come on, it’s clear this setup isn’t here on a temporary basis. It’s permanent, but it thoroughly eases my nerves. I can see no one, not even the president we’re here to entertain.

“Star, let’s do this.” Hazel smiles.

“Prez, for your thirtieth birthday the brothers and I felt you needed a slice of heaven.” Pyro chuckles as I hear a sharp intake of breath. “Meet Star and Hazel.” And then the music gets louder as we begin our routine.

We’re on our last trick. With my legs extended out, Hazel is holding me in a superman roll. Someone grips my ankle, pulling my body around so hard that Hazel slides down, and I almost tumble off the pole. So many things in that moment could’ve gone wrong from that one little touch. Like landing on my shoulder and breaking my collarbone, or Hazel falling and breaking her neck; we help one another down, both seething with anger.

“Music off, lights on now motherfuckers,” she screams. If you rent out Rich’s girls, you know you respect every word out of their mouths.

I turn in the direction I felt the grip, and there is a drunken fucktard smiling at me while people are groaning. I walk slowly over to him and crouch down with a fake smile as I run my fingernail under his dirty ass chin. He’s not wearing a cut, so while I make my point, I hope I don’t disrespect anyone of importance. The thing about being sweet back before my life went to shit was that even though my father is a raving lunatic, he made sure I knew how to defend myself.

“Are you the one who touched me?” I purr.

When his head bobs up and down like an excited Three Stooges character, I know this asshole almost hurt my friend and me.

“Do you know why there are no touching rules?” I ask sweetly.

“Star, I’ll handle it.” Pyro walks up behind me on the stage.

“Pyro, she’s got this,” Hazel hisses at him.

I feel him behind me; he is about maybe a foot away. At least I know I have my distance as I make my decision.

“There’s so many rules baby, so many, but the main reason you don’t touch during a dual performance,” I say, standing up slowly, “is because it takes every bit of strength each partner has to do those sweet little tricks of ours. So when your nasty hand gripped my ankle, and almost cost me and my best friend a broken bone, I get a little fucking pissed,” I scream as I hop off the stage. That dirty drunk just gulps as I stand in front of him. “Do you know who I work for? I work for Rich. Do you know what would happen to you if I told him I was involuntarily touched while doing a performance? No? Well it would be a lot worse than what I’m going to do to you.”

“Oh shit,” Hazel breathes as I dig my stiletto into the guys junk, causing him to yelp out in pain.

“I consider all of my body parts precious, and my best friend’s too. Seeing as you like touching, and you almost fucked shit up, I’m gonna make sure your no doubt small penis doesn’t work for a terribly long time,” I growl as I pull my stiletto out just enough to let him breathe before kicking with all my strength. Groper goes flying backwards, skidding across the floor.

The room erupts, and I am boiling mad as Pyro grips my shoulder and squeezes. I don’t turn around; I just close my eyes as I say, “I need a second.”

“Yeah baby you do,” he chuckles as he leans down into my ear. “In my room in the cabinet above my microwave is a bottle of bourbon. Go do a few shots.”

I’m about to ask why I can’t just go up to their bar in the corner, but I realize he’s trying to give me a breather.

“Don’t let anyone touch her while I’m gone Pyro, so help me,” I grit out.

“She’s good with me sugar; go cool off.”

I don’t even look at anyone as I walk away angry. If anything happened to Hazel, I would lose it. I didn’t even take a peek at the mysterious president. My eyes are that clouded with hate.

I fling the cabinet open. There sits the bourbon and a couple of shot glasses with enormous boobs painted on them. Well at least he has some class and doesn’t drink from the bottle. I flop down on the bed with my back towards the door and smile when the music turns back on. I know that Hazel is quieting down the chaos. She’s been doing this since she was eighteen. Six long years, she always says. My anger starts subsiding as each shot goes down. If this gig gets screwed up, I will be in so much trouble. I flop backwards and stretch my legs up the window, breathing in and out. I got twenty minutes maybe before I need to be back out there.

Five songs play as I lay backwards, my head finally cooled off, and my vision comes back to life. I don’t hear the door open, so when a chair is turned backwards, set next to the bed and Pyro speaks, I’m relieved it isn’t someone else.

“You good?”

“I’m good; I’m so, so sorry,” I apologize.

This is my thing. I’m a nut job. I do something, and then I regret it somehow. I don’t regret putting that jerk in his place, but I do regret making a scene. What happened with Allen has me so messed up in the head that I don’t ever think I’ll be right again.

“Sweetheart, he deserved that heel to the dick; no need to apologize.”

I turn my head, my brown curls blocking my vision and I shake them away as I sit up.

“So what next? You want another double or do you want me to take the pole from Hazel?”

Pyro’s beautiful grin lights up like the sun and somehow I gather I’m not gonna like the words coming outta his mouth next.

“Prez wants a private show,” he says matter-of-factly.

I scramble up and cap the bottle.

“If you think I’m sucking your president’s dick, you, my friend may not be using yours for a very long time.”

“Oh Star, if you weren’t one of Rich’s girls, I swear to god.” He chuckles. “Trust me on this. Whatever the Prez wants, he’ll get. You take one look at him, and you’re gonna be a goner just like the rest of them. But for now, my brother just wants a dance.”

I knew this was a lousy idea. Hazel owes me big time. Speaking of Hazel…

“And Hazel?” I ask.

“Oh no, I’m not letting her anywhere around the Prez.”

“What?” I screech.

“She looks mighty fine tonight; I plan on taking her to my bed.”

I love how he just assumes I will be staying with the president tonight. But I’m extremely happy Hazel will get a piece of Pyro so she’ll get on with her life.

“Alright, boss wants you blindfolded.”

“Oh hell no, Pyro. Who do you think I am?”

I start panicking while my head shakes back and forth so fast I make myself dizzy. This is insane. I don’t do the whole insane thing.

“Baby, it’ll be OK. Rich is a close friend of mine. I would never let anything happen to one of his girls. You feel me sweetheart?”

“Pyro, I swear you owe me.”

“Done,” he says standing and taking a black blindfold outta his back jean pocket.

As Pyro wraps the blindfold around my eyes, I tell him that Hazel had better have at least ten orgasms. When he asks me why, I simply tell him the truth. That I don’t wanna hear his name or see his face ever again. Of course, Pyro, being the sexy stud he is, just laughs at me while leading me down a hall and up some stairs. I count only twelve, so it’s not a long way up.

The sound of a door opens, and I imagine we’re walking through the doorway now.

“She’s all yours Prez, and remember, she doesn’t mind well. She’s one of Rich’s girls. You know how strong and independent they are.”

And just like that, I’m alone with a stranger I’ve yet to set my eyes on and obviously for reasons unknown, I’ll probably never get to see him. I seriously hope he’s not some ugly creeper.

The hair on my arms stands at full alert as warm air smelling of whiskey breathes on my neck. Oh god. My stomach gets butterflies; this shit is fucked up.

“Angel, you’re shaking.”

Oh. My. God.

That voice could melt chocolate. Please let his face match that sex filled voice; please, please, please I silently beg as my panties dampen.

“I can smell you,” he rasps out.

Shit, that’s hot. Please keep talking. Now I see why Pyro says that he can get anyone he wants. I haven’t even seen him yet, but I want to spread my legs and beg his tongue to drip nasty words all over my core.

Get it together Winter; it’s just a voice. Just words. You’re here to do a job.

“You wanted a private dance?” I ask, my voice coming out way too breathy.

“No sweetness, I don’t.”

“Erm... I don’t understand…,” I trail off. I forgot what they said his name was.

“Name’s Braxxon baby and I wanna touch an Angel.”

Oh man, how do I respond to that? The air freezes in my lungs as I try breathing. Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I feel his warm calloused hands run up my arms as he guides me to a bed. I’m not a whore. I’m not a whore, but right now, I want to cry because I feel like one. I became a dancer to dance, not screw the cliental.

“I’m not a whore,” I croak.

“I know you’re not a whore; I don’t plan on ramming my cock into you tonight. But tomorrow, I make no promises. A man is only so strong.”

Oh hell’s bells.

How does he make everything that comes out that mouth sound so sexy, smooth, natural and not wrong? His voice reminds me of velvet. Velvet can be rough and smooth all at the same time.

While I’m stuck questioning things in my head, his hands have removed my wings and unclasped my top. Next he smacks my hips, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out what he wants, so I lift my rear and let him slide my thong down. He leaves my heels on so he must have a fetish. I should be worried, but he did say he wasn’t screwing me, so I try to reel in my nerves. Maybe he actually just wants to touch me.

“Open up, Angel.”

I shake my head no until his thumb grazes my bottom lip and then I understand he’s talking about my mouth and not my legs. I almost sigh aloud in relief as I comply and open my mouth.

Something round is placed on my tongue, and I bite down. It’s a cherry… a cherry filled with Tequila. Oh, that’s yummy. I groan as my taste buds dance for more.

If I didn’t know any better, I would assume that biker president Braxxon is a closet romantic. So when I blurt out my next sentence, I expect him to be offended; instead, he just answers me back.

“Are you sure you’re a biker dude?”

“Oh Angel, I’m sure. You take care of other’s needs by giving them fantasies their palms can rub out later. Who takes care of you?”

Is he for real? Who takes care of me? I do. Well that’s not true. If that were, I wouldn’t be edging on eight months without sex, but then I remember I lost my man and that it is normal for me to go on a dry spell. I’m about to get sad again until his growl catches me off guard.

“I asked who takes care of you Angel, and when I ask a question I expect answers.”

Okay… he’s a badass; I get it.

“No one, “I whisper.

Another cherry enters my mouth. I bite down on it, and as I chew, I wonder what he is expecting from me.

“How long has it been baby?”

“Almost nine months,” I say truthfully.

“Why nine months?” Braxxon asks as the bed dips beside me.

What’s with all the personal questions? My hand goes to tear the blindfold off because I’m getting a little angry, but his hand stops mine.

“Don’t,” he growls. “Now answer my damn question!”

“My man was shot in the head right in front of my fucking eyes! Are you happy now?”

As I guess, it doesn’t shock him. I hear no gasp of breath. Why? Because this is his damn world. He’s used to hearing shit like this. His large hand goes to my chest and he pushes me back on the bed, laying me flat on my back. Seriously, what is with this dude?

“Don’t move,” he says sternly.

I go to cross my arms, and he repeats himself more angrily than the first time. So I lay them back beside my body and remain motionless. I feel something falling along the top of my left breast. What the hell? I feel his body hover over me as he snorts.

“Did you just snort coke off of my tit?”

“It’s my birthday.” He chuckles as if it makes it better.

Unbelievable!