Total turn-on. I've always had a thing for heroes.
I turn my head to catch the eyes of the other two dancers on shift tonight and the three of us go into a pre-arranged combination, changing from freestyle to synchronized movement.
Talya and Remy are both a little bit drunk, but we all know this routine so well we could do it in our sleep. Plus, professional or semi-professional dancers like us, with the amount of training in our bodies, can make anything look purposeful and choreographed.
The song ends and our set is over. We get the last hour to play-drinks on the house. That was the deal I worked out with the owner, another huge and quite intimidating man named Garrett Green. Fifty bucks each and free drinks in exchange for go-go dancing every Saturday night. Most of the girls on my makeshift dance team would do it just for the free cover and the attention they get up on those boxes.
Me? I don't know why I do it. Not for the drinks-I don't do well with alcohol. Just for the sheer joy of creation, I guess. It's fun to insert real dance into everyday life.
Yes, I'm the type who loves musicals, where people suddenly break into song in public places. I'm the girl who rides her cart down the aisle in the grocery store, resisting an arabesque, choreographing a performance piece in my head for the shoppers I pass.
Don't worry, I don't actually execute it. Not that I wouldn't, if I could talk other dancers into joining me.
I weave through the crowd, pretending I'm not looking for the sexy man-hunk, Jared. There. By the door to the back patio. I head to the bar because I don't want to be too obvious. I don't think he's actually interested. I mean, I've given him the signal for weeks and although he gives me smoldering looks, he never actually asks for my number or suggests I hang out after hours.
Total disappointment.
I saddle up at the bar and order a tonic water with lime. It's my stupid trick to make it appear I'm drinking a gin and tonic or vodka and soda, when really I'm just hydrating. My friends get their drinks and mingle and I pretend to play it cool. A guy comes over to me, but I'm not interested, so I give a polite smile and head to the bathroom.
When I get out, Jared stands there in the hallway.
"Come here, little girl." He crooks a finger at me. I follow him through the staff-only door, into the storeroom, packed high with boxes of alcohol.
Damn, if a fraternity ever wanted a place to rob, this would be the jackpot.
My heart pounds, face heating even though I don't know what he wants.
I mean, I know what I hope he wants.
And I shouldn't hope for it.
From all accounts, Jared is a player. He hooks up with girls and never calls. That's what everyone says, including his best buddy, the other bouncer, Trey. I've been warned off this guy, but I still can't stop the thrills of excitement fluttering through my body.
Jared picks up one of my hands. Before I have any clue what he's doing, he spins me around to face a wall and slaps it there. Then he picks up my other wrist and stacks it with the first, pinning both with one powerful palm.
My breath clogs my throat as his hand crashes down on my backside. Like before, he catches the underside of my butt, the bare part below my short shorts.
I gasp, but don't protest, way too turned on to want it to stop.
He smacks the other cheek, just as hard. "That is for wearing shorts that make every guy in the building want to fuck this juicy ass."
I'm pretty sure I stop breathing. I've never been spoken to in such a rough and dirty manner, but I'm definitely not complaining. My lady parts squeeze and swell, planning a party for whatever else Jared has to offer.
He spins me back around to face him. My butt hits the wall and I lose my breath on an exhale. His hand goes right to the notch between my legs and he cups my mons.
"And the next time you put this pussy so close to my mouth-" He undulates his hand, pressing over my shorts in tandem from clit to anus. I gasp and rise up on my toes. "-you're going to find out just exactly what I'd like to do with it."
A shiver of epic proportions runs through me. More like a shudder, only that sounds bad. And what I'm feeling is really freakin' far from bad. My insides turn liquid, heat pours down my thighs, straight to the arches of my feet.
I now understand where the phrase he curls my toes comes from.
He slowly slides the firm contact of his fingers over the fabric just above my slit, which has completely dampened my panties. "Understand, beautiful?"
I swallow. "Yeah." My pussy clenches.
His fingers delve under the crotch of my shorts, into my panties and I mewl.
"Baby, you wear these shorts to Eclipse again, I'm gonna take you back here and spank this juicy ass so red every guy watching you dance will know you've been claimed."
He jerks his head back and shakes it, as if he's surprised by what he just said, but his fingers glide, glide, glide over my slit. I moan softly, my gaze staying at the level of his chest.
"Eyes on me, baby," he commands and I obey without thinking. Dancers are by nature obedient creatures. We've spent our lives molding our bodies and minds to do anything and everything a director or teacher asks of us. Any dancer who doesn't gets weeded out fast. There are always ten more waiting to take your spot if you're not willing to give five hundred percent.
He holds my gaze as he screws one finger into me.
I whimper, not out of pain, but out of need. I'm not a virgin but I've literally never been so turned on in my life. My nipples poke against the tight fabric of my shirt and my pussy is sopping.