Business with Pleasure Read online

  I felt self-conscious walking in front of him, my heart skipping a beat with each step. At 6’6” with the build of a retired linebacker, he was a big guy. I was only 5’2”.

  Cam’s height, plus the seriously unreadable expression he always wore, made him intimidating. The fact that he was the club owner - and my boss - served to further intensify my nerves.

  His body heat emanated upon my back in waves despite the safe distance kept from each other. He possessed so much power in his presence and it lit up every nerve I had.

  I felt branded by his energy. Tingles danced from the base of my spine and rolled up my neck until follicle in my scalp came to life.

  Prey, meet predator.

  I suddenly had the most serious urge to pray.

  God please don’t let me smell as sweaty as I think I do.

  My modest sweatsuit and petite frame would have allowed me to slip past unnoticed, but that was impossible with Cam behind me. Gripping my bags in one hand, he walked behind me, smoothly commanding everyone’s attention through his presence alone.

  Some of the dancers at the bar whispered as we walked past. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I could only imagine the rumors that would surface, especially since it was obvious where we were headed.

  I shouldn’t have cared, but aside of stage performances and private shows, I didn’t need excessive attention. It would only lead to unwanted drama. I’d seen it enough with Trixie.

  I could only imagine the bullshit it would stir if Lena caught wind of this.

  4

  Cam

  I unlocked the door and held it open for her. She was very still until I urged her forward.

  “Ladies first,” I reminded her.

  She blushed and said, “Thank you.” Her soft voice was laced with bashfulness, as if she wasn’t a beautiful woman who danced nude for men on a nightly basis. It was a gorgeous, adorable paradox to behold.

  She placed careful steps, one in front of the other, entering my office with bashful reverence. I placed her bags on the sofa against the wall and went to my desk.

  She observed her surroundings in silence.

  “Why are you standing? Have a seat.”

  She looked around as if she needed to assess the best option. There were only a couple of chairs and a sofa. She chose the sofa. Furthest away from me, but direct contact.

  “You thirsty?” I reached into the mini fridge under the desk, and pulled out a bottle of water. She accepted it, thanking me as she twisted the cap. I noticed her nails were natural, trimmed, and lightly painted in a soft nude.

  I opened up a second bottle and gulped it down in seconds. I loved water. Drank a lot of it, even when I wasn’t at the club.

  “So where did Kitten come from?”

  She shrugged. “Trixie came up with it. I just kept it.”

  “You guys best friends now?”

  “We’ve always been best friends.”

  “Opposites really attract.” I snorted, amused by the vision of them both. They were like night and day in terms of personality.

  Her questioning glance was enhanced with a cocked brow. The small twist in her lip was nearly imperceptible. Her loyalty was clear. She was ready to go off if I said the wrong thing.

  I looked in that gorgeous face of hers and answered the unspoken inquiry. Her eyes, big, brown and innocent, really made her look like a porcelain doll. Whenever she looked at me - directly, without

  “You both couldn’t be any more different from each other. It’s just interesting.”

  “Interesting?”

  She wasn’t going to let me off the hook easily. Holding me to my words, she pressed me with a look to explain my statement.

  “You ladies have been working here for a short period of time. Trixie’s always in the middle of something. You?” I shook my head. “You fly straight under the radar - not that it’s a bad thing. Keeps you out of trouble. It’s a compelling combination.”

  She nodded, satisfied by my answer.

  “What did you think I was gonna say?” Now it was my turn to put her on the spot.

  “That she was a troublemaker.”

  “Is she?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes held my gaze, level yet curious. As if she were trying to discern something she hadn’t figured out.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  Like you’re staring into my soul while fantasizing about me fucking the shit out of you. Because you know I’d give you the best fucking night of your life. Make you cum over and over and over…until your legs can’t move and you’re begging me to stop.

  “I don’t know. Like you’re building a file on me. You the Feds or something?” I wanted to joke with her, lighten the mood because she seemed so uptight and tense.

  “No. Just really observant,” she replied. “I can look away from you if you’d like?”

  “Nah…” I winked. “I’m just messin’ with you sweetheart.”

  For the first time in a long time, I was slightly amazed. Her tone was earnest. She absolutely meant what she said. She spoke without injecting for coy innuendo, or flirtatious statements riddled with ambiguity.

  She was a straight shooter. It was refreshing. I liked her.

  … And even across the desk, her fragrance was still quite heady and incredible. Clean cut like her sharp, grounded demeanor.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “What?”

  “Your perfume? What is it?”

  “Wood sage and sea salt. Jo Malone.”

  “It’s different…” I nodded in appreciation. “I like it.”

  For the first time, she broke her investigative countenance and blushed. Heat spread across her face in a manner that led me to wonder if I’d get the same reaction tasting her pussy for the first time.

  Her pussy must taste as sweet as she looks.

  “Thanks for letting me… wait in your office. I’m sure you’re very busy tonight.” Her eyes slid down to her hands, which she kept busy by fiddling her nails.

  “You’re welcome.” Looking at the time, it was only 10:10. We had at least an hour to burn before Trixie was finished with her client.

  It was time to start asking the question I really wanted to know.

  “Tell me something.” I reached into the mini-fridge. “How does a sweet looking girl like you end up in a place like this?”

  5

  Blair

  Butterflies fluttered in my belly. That wasn’t a question I expected to be asked. Did he really lure me into his office to answer this?

  My chest tightened. I pinched the skin between my thumb and forefinger to focus myself. My gaze steadied upon the handsome inquirer across the other side of the desk.

  “It just, kind of happened.” I couldn’t even convince myself that was the truth.

  “You can be honest. I’ve heard every story imaginable,” he reassured me. “I’m not here to judge. You’re just not the type that comes strolling in here. Not in this kind of club anyway.”

  He gazed into my eyes with an intense look that burned into my soul. I never realized how piercing they were. Perhaps because he was intimidating enough from a distance, and I never felt the need to get any closer to him.

  I shivered and a rash of goosebumps covered my body as my nipples instantly hardened. I felt naked under his gaze, compelled to honesty, even though I really I desired to shy away from the vulnerability of it all.

  I couldn’t lie to him. This man was a seasoned bullshit detector. Owning a place like this has already taught him how to suss out untruths.

  “Trixie and I did an amateur night contest. We both won… and the money inspired us to work here instead of killing ourselves working retail jobs to get by while we paid for classes.”

  “So you’re just here to get through school?”

  I shrugged, my lip slightly curling in distaste at having to acknowledge the fact that I was running with the old cliche. At least it wa
s the truth. I really did have plans on quitting after school.

  “What’s your major?”

  Shit. Now that’s where things got sticky. I hadn’t declared one yet. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

  “I don’t have one yet.”

  I stuck a fingernail underneath another fingernail, scraping for imaginary dirt.

  “Give it time. One will come to you.”

  I nodded weakly.

  His tone was encouraging, but I felt shame all the same. School wasn’t my thing. I liked creative activities. Painting and handmade creations were my idea of fun. If I had the money to start up an Etsy story, it would be a dream.

  College was for my mother. She worked hard to make sure I made it through high school, and she wanted me to make something of myself. She turned her nose up at the idea of being a creative artist, said arts and crafts wouldn’t provide a solid future.

  Silence passed between us. I was lost in my thoughts, swirling in the truth of my indecision, and the bitter taste of being a dancer under the school cliche.

  I stared at the security monitors, noticing the exquisite level of detail. I could see the main areas at phenomenal angles with great clarity.

  “You see everything that happens, huh?”

  “If I need to. Security does the heavy lifting. I just have a bird’s eye view of things. Until I zero in on something important.”

  I didn’t have to look at him to feel his eyes staring into me. My nipples betrayed me, hardening under the silent command of his gaze.

  “… I see.” I shifted. I wanted to turn the tables on him. “What’s a guy like you doing running a place like this?” I gestured to our surroundings for effect, and crossed my legs.

  “Sometimes shit happens, and responsibilities fall in your lap. This” - he stopped to gesture to the security monitors, our surroundings - “was one of those situations.”

  I detected the subtle tightness in his tone. I wasn’t an expert in speech, but his discomfort was evident.

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  The semblance of conflict that flickered over his expression should have been easy to miss. His stoic demeanor would have fully buried it if I hadn’t recognized that look.

  I imagine I have the very same look when I’m with a client and he asks me about dancing.

  I don’t hate dancing. I’m just not in love with it. I don’t need to be extremely skilled. I just need tough skin, a little confidence, and the ability to show up every night. With such an erratic class schedule, what more could I ask for?

  “Whether or not I enjoy this is irrelevant. The customers who frequent this place enjoy what I provide. They’re here night after night. When they’re enjoying themselves, we’re making money. Everyone eats.” He grunted thoughtfully. “You. Me. Security. Keeping bellies full, that’s what I enjoy.”

  I appreciated his perspective. Dancing, like any other job, paid the bills, put food on the table, and handled my college tuition. It was a means to an end, just a more profitable means compared against other options.

  Thoughtful silence filled the atmosphere. I thought about my life, how a chance experience, a thrill on a whim, brought me to working here, in this club, and making more money than I’d ever thought possible, yet still not enough for me to allow myself to become addicted to this lifestyle.

  “What are you thinking about, Babydoll?”

  A small giggle eclipsed my lips at the cute name. Babydoll. I’ve often been told I have doll-like features, and a youthful innocence about me.

  I shook my head and shrugged. “I’m just… thinking. Life sometimes puts you in funny places. My real name’s Blair, by the way.”

  I extended my hand, formally, as if we were meeting for the first time. He accepted it with a sense of possession, a firm grip as he gruffly shook. Goosebumps lightly spread over my arm when we touched.

  “Nice to meet you… Blair.” His rough thumb pad whisked across the top of my hand and lingered to a stop. His fingers were so thick I knew he had a cock big enough to choke on.

  I noticed that although his clothes were well-tailored and crisp quality, he wore no jewelry, not even a gold bracelet. He was a man of understated stature, despite his status.

  “Likewise.” I emphasized his name to enhance my point. “Although I already know you, Cam, it’s a pleasure to actually sit and talk with you.”

  We shared a smile. That was the first time I noticed him, like really noticed him.

  His thick curly black hair, cut low and tapered along his hairline, connected to a short yet full beard. The naughty part of me noticed it was a beard perfect for rubbing my pussy against, the friction making me cum hard enough to leave my juice on him.

  His sharp nose and square jaw combined to give him sturdy masculine features. His fuck faces had to be incredible. Especially if he contorted his lip and twisted it up as he pushed himself inside… me.

  He was sexier than I’d given him credit for - even though plenty of dancers often commented on how much they’d like one night with him.

  Then again, why would I have noticed? I didn’t make it a point to study my employer’s sexual attractiveness.

  As a matter of fact, I needed to redirect my focus from paying so much attention to him right now. The last thing I needed to do was engulf myself in an attraction to my boss.

  “A word of advice, if you don’t mind?”

  His expression was stoic, except for his eyes. His deep brown gaze was serious, but held a sparkle. It was this subtle change that softened his serious expression just enough to let me know I’d cracked his tough exterior.

  I steadied the lustful thoughts in my head so I could react as calmly as possible. Ignoring the throb in my clit, which screamed for attention due to its extended period of abstinence, I said, “Sure.”

  “Don’t let this business change you, Kitten.” He leaned forward. “I’ve seen many girls come and go. Everyone has the same stories. Hard life. Stripping to pay for school. Just need extra money between jobs. No parents. Drug habits. Expensive tastes.”

  “I mean, I can relate. I am paying for school. I don’t have a relationship with my father.” He died when I was young. Really young.

  He pointed at me. “You might not, but you’re not walking around with a Daddy-shaped hole in your heart, strung out on coke, and stirring shit instead of realizing your faults.”

  He paused, leaned back, and took a breath, like he realized he were getting carried away with himself.

  “All I’m saying is, you’re rare. You’re an exception to the rule, and I can see that. You don’t come in here starting shit. You don’t come crying to my office for money after you miss your shifts. You’re focused, serious. You’re not even sneaking drinks.”

  “A woman like you - naturally stunning and sophisticated - is hard to come by. That’s what makes you one of the club’s bestsellers. Not on the floor, but in VIPs.”

  This was news to me. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ve got authentic quality. Good girl next door meets sophisticated sensuality. I’d hate to see you lose that edge. That distinction is what gets you ahead.”

  6

  Cam

  Kitten, or should I say Blair, and I spent the rest of our time secluded in my office. I learned quite a bit about her. She was young, but she was she was genuinely sweet and determined to accomplish something.

  Armed with serious focus and a good head on her shoulders, I could see her going far with whatever she opted to do in life. If anything, that was her only struggle, not knowing what she wanted to do.

  Nevertheless, the more we interacted, the more I found her incredibly rare and unforgettable. Her innocence, coupled with persistent determination to remain steady and cognizant of herself and her environment, were like a breath of fresh air.

  I could see myself dating a woman like her.

  If I were dating.

  Or open to dating.

  It didn’t make sense to tr
y these days.

  This life wasn’t built for healthy relationships between the sexes. Women who joined this industry were always a little hardened by what they discovered about men. Yes, some entered with issues that went beyond the club, but most were really thinking this place would be a simple and easy way to make money being pretty.

  I’ve seen firsthand how some men try to treat women here. Most men respect the dancers, even though quite a few don’t feel they “should have to pay.” Those are the ones who waste the dancers’ times. It’s up to the dancer to figure out the game and move on so she can hit her goal for the night.

  It’s the real asswipes who grind my gears. They’re the ones who feel entitled to see women on their hands and knees begging and groveling. It’s the only form of power these nimrods have in their lives, and you can see in the way they walk in, acting like ballers when they’re not even parting with anything past the $20 cover charge and the 2 drink minimum.

  Maybe he had too much to drink, had a bad day. Maybe he’s just a prick in general, but there’ve been times security and myself had to intervene when a customer’s behavior threatened the safety or well-being of dancers. You sometimes get to see a real dark side of misogyny here.

  That being said, I didn’t date women in the industry. I saw what happened when things get our of control. I was extremely protective of the women here. I could see myself killing a man with my bare hands for hurting my woman.

  And to be honest, I was the kind of man who respected and enjoyed the fantasy these ladies provided, yet I didn’t want my lady sharing that fantasy with the world. Hypocritical, I know, but that was me.

  When I want you, I want you all to myself. And I’ma do everything I can to make sure you want it that way.

  … But Blair.

  She intrigued me. Even though I’d spent the better part of an hour with her, not a moment passed that brought about boredom or annoyance. She was engaging, yet naturally guarded.

  Her self-protection, coupled with her innocence, made me wonder how to melt her walls - and how good it would feel to have them running down all over me. Probably hot and slippery like melted butter. Make that honey butter. A girl that guarded had to have the sweetest cunt imaginable.