Addiction: Explicitly Yours, #2.5
Addiction: Explicitly Yours: Chapter 4

Beau stepped into a hallway that was pitch black, except for some blinding lights flickering from behind a curtained doorway. Music thumped, vibrating his shoes. Beau walked closer, drawing the fabric drape aside. The club was gaudy, a mishmash of neon colors and questionable-looking people. There were multiple platforms with dancers on them. The girl on the stage closest to him was topless, writhing against a pole. He watched for a second and looked away.

It wasn’t his scene. He thought about leaving, but a waitress approached him with a tray in her hand. “Drink?” she asked. Her upper lip disappeared when she smiled. “Or something else, handsome?”

He looked her over, her costume covering only what it had to. He stuck a hand in his jacket and got his wallet, reminding himself it was midnight and he was filthy rich. One more drink, just to toast himself, would put him in a good place after the three he’d already had. “Scotch,” he said. “Neat.”

She took his cash and walked away. The music slowed, and the lights stopped flashing. Some of the girls got off their platforms. The announcer called everyone’s attention to the main stage. Beau looked, since he was just standing awkwardly near the entrance. A beaded curtain acted as the stage’s back wall, and when the spotlight hit it, it twinkled with little white reflections.

He inclined forward slightly, waiting. The beads parted, and a girl stepped out. He noticed her body first, couldn’t help himself in the state he was in. It was hard not to with her long, svelte legs. She wore a pair of furry cat ears on her head, the same black color as her hair, which curled past her shoulders in soft waves.

Beau had to shield his eyes. She shimmered when the spotlight hit her. Her bikini must’ve been millions of little diamonds, she was so bright. The music boomed suddenly, loud and obnoxious, but the girl calmly took the pole and moved her hips side to side, hearing something else.

She turned her head slightly and looked directly at him. Her hips slowed to a stop, her mouth slackening. He could see, even from there, how piercingly blue her eyes were. She didn’t move an inch, as if waiting for his direction.

Beau’s chest swelled with the urge to tell her to come to him. Now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been looked at that way, and it was going to his head faster than any Scotch could. She lowered her chin, glancing at the floor briefly before she continued her number. Beau watched her every move, unable to remove his eyes from her glossy black hair, her perfectly round, buoyant tits. He wanted to spread his hands over her flat stomach, see how her small waist felt in his grip, and those lips—plump and cherry-colored. She didn’t smile. He liked that. He liked a girl who made him work for her smile.

“Sir?” The waitress stood there with his drink.

He took it without looking away. “I want that one.”

“Huh?” she asked.

He held up his drink and pointed a finger at the stage. “Her. Get me that girl.”

She cleared her throat. “You want a lap dance?”

He tore his eyes from the sultry kitten. His sultry kitten. “I want to be alone with her. Whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Her shoulders dropped a little. “Well, we have private rooms—”

“Yes. The best one you have. The most privacy. I’ll pay. Now.”

She took a step back. “Let me see what I can do.”

Beau gave them the last of his old self. He split the cost of the VIP room between two credit cards, leaving enough cash in his wallet to tip her. He could go to the ATM if he needed more time with her. He bought an hour to start, worried she might think more was strange.

In the VIP room, he paced as he waited. He was already thrumming from the look she’d given him, and he tried to keep his cock in check. It wouldn’t look very good if he was already hard when she came in. The room was round with plenty of seating. Was it a room where this girl had danced for other men? She seemed young. He didn’t want to think of it. He loosened his tie, took a swig of his drink. Damn her for making him wait. The manager’d assured him his time would start once she got there, but he wanted her now.

The door finally opened, and she entered. She was in the same bikini, the bottoms tied high on her hips, elongating her white, gazelle-like legs. She stood there a moment, not speaking. All those nights he’d spent alone came rushing back to him. This was what he’d worked for—to have a woman like her look at him that way, the whole night ahead of them. Money had made that happen. His cock pulsed.

“You can sit,” she said.

Everything she did was directly at him. Like she’d been waiting in this club all of her—what, eighteen, nineteen years?—just for him to show up. He put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t trust himself. “Who are you?”

She hesitated. “What do you mean, who am I?”

“What’s your name?” He took a step closer, balling his hands into fists. “The real one. I don’t want anything fake.”

“It’s Lola,” she said. “I don’t have a stage name.”

Beau wanted to believe she’d tell him the truth. He wasn’t just another guy. He couldn’t be sure she knew that yet, though. “Is that safe?” he asked. “Using your real name?”

She put her hand over her mouth and laughed. “You’re sweet. Where do you want me?”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“No.” She shrugged. Her shoulders were too angular, and he wondered what she’d say if he asked her out to dinner after this.

“It’s Beau,” he said.

“Oh.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “That means handsome, right?”

He nodded once. “Parlez-vous Français?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said. “How old are you?”

She walked forward, nodding him backward. “Generally, things work like this,” she said. “You sit down and let me do all the work. I’ll dance on the stage, or I’ll dance in your lap—both, if you want. I usually only do ten, twenty minutes, but since you have an hour, I’d recommend a little of everything.”

Beau swallowed. “You’ve done this before.”

She gave him a funny look. “Of course I’ve done this before.”

“But you look so young. How old are you?”

“I’m legal.”

She had such blue eyes, so intense, drawing him in. Her hand hung by her side. He reached out to take it.

“I wouldn’t,” she said, pulling it away. “If they see you touch me, they’ll kick you out. You won’t get your money back. They’re strict.”

“How much is that?” he asked.

“How much is what?”

“Touching.”

She was quiet as she looked away. “You can’t. Just don’t do it. Promise?”

That was a bullshit thing to ask of him, but there wasn’t much he wouldn’t have given her right then. “All right.” He loosened his tie again, sure it was choking him. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

She scrunched her nose but smiled. “No. Look—what was it? Beau? They’ll charge you for this, you know. Clock’s ticking.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I paid a lot of money to be alone with you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Do you know why I picked you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to know?”

“No.”

God, she was beautiful. She stood straight and tall without apology, but once in a while she’d glance at the ground, like she was now.

“Find me attractive?” he asked.

She looked up again. “Yes. What would you like me to do? I’m all yours.”

He could only grunt his response to that. First, he thought, I would like you to turn around, touch your feet and let me see all of you. That seemed like too much, so instead he said, “Take off your top.”

She shook her head. “Is this your first time at a strip club? Half the fun is watching as I remove a little here, a little there. I’m still pretty much in the doorway. If I take my top off here, then it’s over, no anticipation. Is that what you want?”

“Take it off,” he repeated, “now.”

She reached back with both hands, giving him a clear view of her chest. She pulled a string behind her and lifted the top over her head. It slid out of her hand like water.

“Christ,” he said under his breath. They were high, they were glowing, they were just-legal tits, and they didn’t disappoint. “Now the bottoms.”

She blushed, her white skin reddening from her ears to her neck. “Beau,” she said.

He liked when she said his name. “What?”

“We aren’t that kind of club. Topless only. I can’t.”

His throat was like a desert. “I don’t care. I can pay more.”

She took some steps toward him and cocked her head. “It’s not about that. It’s against the law.”

“Who would know?”

“I would. And you would.” She glanced up at the corner of the room, presumably at a camera—he didn’t look. “They would.”

He salivated, even though he found that rule very fucking unfair. “Is it against the law,” he said, “for you to tell me about it?”

“To tell you about…what?” she asked, but the way she shifted between her feet, it seemed like she already knew.

“Have you ever described it to anyone?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Good. Then that’s what I want. If I can’t see you, I want to hear you.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know about this. You’re paying to watch me dance,” she said, “not for me to get you off.”

“Is it tight?” he asked. “Is it pink? How does it taste?”

She bit her bottom lip, looking at him. She wasn’t going to answer him. Then, she released her lip. “It tastes like nothing you’ve ever had in your mouth.”

Beau’s heart pounded so hard, he worried he might pass out. A grown man, six foot three, and he felt like a wilting fucking flower, just from her words. “I want you, Lola.”

She held out her palms. “Here I am.”

“Not here,” he said. “Not like this.”

She grinned, took a step back and began to circle him. When she was behind him, she asked, “Do you always get what you want?”

“Not until today,” he said. “Today, I get everything I want.”

“Sure about that?” She returned in front of him.

“I want you in a way nobody else gets you,” he said. “No—I don’t want that. I need it.”

She sighed, but not in a way that was anything other than amused. “Sit back on the couch,” she said. “All I can do is dance, but I’ll make you a promise. I’ll dance for you like I’ve never danced for anyone else.”

“How can you do that?” he asked.

“Because when I dance, no matter who’s watching, I dance for me. But I like you. So tonight, I’m going to dance for you. I’ve never done that before.”

Beau backed away and fell into the cushioned sofa. It was less than he wanted, but it was something, and he’d take it for now. She climbed the stage and began to move. She was fluid, soft and liquid, but he could see her muscles working. Did she fuck like she danced? If so, she could surely take everything he had to give—and the way it was building in him, that would be a lot.

She turned her back to him, swinging her firm, round ass side to side. It felt like an invitation, and he almost stood up. “Lola.”

She looked at him over her shoulder.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How did you get here?”

“I’m just a topless girl in a round room,” she said. “The rest is up to you.”

“I want the truth.”

“You’re not here for truth. That’s not why people come here.” She paused. “I promise, imagination is better.”

“In here, my imagination could kill me.”

She descended the stage. His knees fell open for her to stand between them. She looked down at him. “Such a romantic. What’s someone like you doing in here?”

“Looking for you.”

“You found me, so just try and relax, okay? This is supposed to be fun.” She turned around, bent her knees and brushed his crotch with the curve of her ass. He thought it was an accident, but she did it again, the fabric of his pants the only thing between them.

He wanted to grab her hips and pull her against him, sink himself into that little pussycat. To have her in his hands, to have her mouth, her legs, the blush lips of her pussy open for him, open to him—as if to say, I am yours, come closer, just a little closer. “Christ, I need you,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

“You have me for another forty-five minutes. I’m right here.”

“It’s not enough. I need more. Come home with me.”

Her head was barely turned over her shoulder. He watched her pink lips quiver as she asked, “What?”

“My place isn’t much, but it will be soon. I’ll get a cab. Come with me.”

She licked her lips. “I…that’s not allowed.”

“Then I’ll pay you or them or whoever I have to pay. I have the money.”

The corners of her mouth curved down into a frown. That was what he’d worked for, what he’d been waiting to say his whole life—wasn’t it? I have money. Do what I say, and you can have it too.

She turned around, the quiver in her lips gone. He was gone—beyond gone, a solider for his cock, sent out to conquer, and don’t come back until you have her, the only thing I’ve asked you for in months.

“I’m not—I don’t…” She glanced at the door. “I mean, if that’s what you’re here for…I can probably replace it for you.”

“I want it.”

“Then I’ll get someone else—”

“No,” he said quickly, almost angrily. “Did you hear anything I said? I want you. For the whole night.”

She had stopped dancing a moment, but she started again with a jerk, as if someone had pushed her ‘On’ button. “That’s not possible.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll give you anything. This is what women are to men. What you are to me.”

She turned back to the stage and pointed to the pole. “Is that where you want me?”

“No, come back.”

She walked to him again and moved around his lap, this time not even close to brushing him.

“A thousand dollars.”

She whipped her head up, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“I would pay you that much to come home with me right now.”

She shook her head, hard and definite. “I—”

“You’re right. That’s nothing. Five thousand.” He’d studied, intricately, the art of negotiation. He’d just used it all that week to secure his entire future. All of that went out the door for her, though. He doubted she even realized she had his balls in her hand.

But she shook her head again. “No. You’re really not much of a romantic after all, are you?”

“Yes, I am. Take it. I just made myself a shitload of money, and I can tell you, it wasn’t easy. I lost years of my life for it. People don’t come around handing it out like I am now. I’m not exaggerating.”

Her smile was close-lipped and unreadable, her blue eyes narrowed fractionally. “I believe you. But my answer is no.”

“Jesus Christ. Fifty-fucking-thousand dollars. Whatever it takes. All of that, just to say yes to me for tonight, to let me have you inch by inch, every goddamn porcelain centimeter of you. Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”

Her lashes fluttered so beautifully, so softly. She was coy. She was playing hardball, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was his yes, however he got it. He could feel her words before she even spoke—“Okay, Beau, let’s go.”

Lola was smiling, but something was off. He remembered a little earlier, he’d wanted her to make him work for it. The way she was smiling now, though, he didn’t feel like he’d earned anything.

She stilled completely. “I’m not for sale.”

“What?” he asked, leaning forward.

“I said, there isn’t enough money in Hollywood to get me to go home with you or anyone else.” She seemed to get farther away, even though she wasn’t moving. He’d been wrong about her lashes—they didn’t flutter. They beat, leaden butterfly wings, bullets from a gun. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you since it sounds like you worked hard for it,” she said, “but even money has limits.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Beau said. “Not the kind of money I have. Don’t deny me this. I’m begging you against my every instinct—come home with me. Let me make you feel good. I won’t hurt you. I just want to bury myself inside you where I think I might belong, where I can worship you for tonight and fuck you with all the power it took me ten years to get. Can’t you give me that?”

Her face was passive. At some point, her eyes had glossed over, vacant. He doubted she’d even heard what he’d just said. “I’ll dance topless for you all night if you like,” she said. “That’s what I can give you.”

Everything in his body coiled around itself. Did she not see the lines forming around his eyes from the stress, from staying up until three o’clock every night, his retinas burning, Brigitte sleeping peacefully in the next room, the words blurring on the screen, but only a few more minutes before he would shut everything down? All that, night after night, building, destroying, adding, subtracting, fixing, rewriting, overwriting, burning, burning, burning—his eyes in his skull, his life before his eyes. How could that mean nothing to her? What was one more small thing—just that slippery thong sliding a little lower over her hips? Just her, a few inches closer, so his neglected cock could replace home between her angelic legs?

Beau’s breath was coming too fast. He gripped his knees.

She continued to dance, slow, sexy, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Stop,” Beau said. “Just stop.”

She stopped, looking at him. He stood up in one jerky movement.

“But you haven’t used your entire hour,” she said, turning sideways so he could pass.

He looked at her from under his eyebrows. What a fickle little kitten. His hands twitched. He was the one in charge—not her. Didn’t she know that? Did he need to show her how to bend to his will, how to be thankful for what he was offering?

Beau had the thing people fought over, dreamed of, salivated, killed and died for—and this young girl in cat ears, who was already nine-tenths naked—she didn’t give one fuck about this money that’d taken him over a third of his life to earn. She couldn’t give him this one thing on the most important day of his life.

The buttons of his dress shirt pressed against his chest with each deep inhale. Beau had to leave before he exploded. He yanked his wallet from his jacket and left his last hundred dollars on the seat. He didn’t look back once on his way out, afraid she’d be there in the doorway—smug, superior, laughing at him.