Authors: Jodi Redford
Her chin tipping upward in a stubborn slant, Jane stared her down. “On behalf of small-tittied women everywhere, I demand you wear it and make that damn gigolo’s eyes roll out of their sockets.”
Oh great. Yeah, exactly
not
what she needed to have happen.
Although, it would be interesting to see Trig’s reaction to the dress.
Oh hell, who was she kidding? She wanted him to fall at her feet in raging state of lust. Or better yet, push her up against a wall and slide his hands around her breasts, cupping and squeezing them before claiming her mouth in a deep, wet, carnal kiss. Yes, they couldn’t give in to that sort of primal urge, but she wanted it.
Dear Lord, she wanted it.
Swallowing her whimper, she tugged on her wool pants and cardigan, studiously avoiding direct eye contact with Jane. “Okay, I’ll take it.”
I’m going to burn in hell for this.
An hour later she and Sidney finally bid Jane good night and journeyed out to their vehicles together. Sid offered her a hug before she got behind the wheel. Marissa started to pivot toward her Subaru just as Sidney honked her car horn and waved her back over. Stooping, she peered at Sid through the opened window. “Did you forget something?”
“Yeah, to tell you how proud I am of you. I know it wasn’t easy for you to step out of your comfort zone.”
“If the dress was a few inches shorter I’m not sure I’d be so brave.”
“I wasn’t referring to the dress. But I’m proud of you for that too.” Sidney grinned. “I really do hope you have an amazing time tomorrow night.”
“Err, I’m not intending to do anything wild.”
Sidney winked and rolled up her window.
“No, really, I’m not,” she shouted as Sid tooted the horn again and gunned it out of the driveway.
Hugging the dress’s garment bag against her chest, she sighed and shuffled toward her car. After gingerly placing her outrageously-priced cargo on the backseat, she slid into the driver’s seat and cranked on the engine. Shivering at the chill that’d overtaken the interior of her car, she clicked the heater dial to full blast and swung away from the curb.
Deciding to bypass the bottlenecked congestion near the mall, she zig-zagged through the maze of side streets until she reached Lincoln Avenue. Groaning at the sea of glowing tail lights ahead of her, she stepped on the brake and thunked her forehead on the steering wheel. Tis was
not
the season to be jolly. Not with this freakin’ traffic.
Pressing her spine against the lower lumbar rest, she straightened and massaged her nape, fruitlessly attempting to relieve the tension setting in there. Bright flashing lights blinked in the peripheral of her vision. Craning her neck slightly, she squinted at the neon marquee sign situated above the doorway of the building across from her.
Sinners. Frowning, she tried to puzzle out why the name rang a bell. Judging from the number of vehicles in the parking lot, the place was popular. Definitely not a restaurant though. Most of the establishments in this part of town were night clubs and the occasional strip—
“Oh my God.” It hit her with a reverberating jolt of awareness.
“I was only going to suggest that you should come watch me at Sinners Friday night.”
It was Trig’s club. Where he danced. Mostly naked. On Friday nights.
It was freakin’ Friday night.
She gulped. “No. I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.”
But you want to.
Aw hell.
CHAPTER SIX
Trig powered through the last dozen chin-ups before releasing his grip from the bar and dropping to the mat for a round of stomach crunches.
“Campbell, you fucking pretty boy, you’re on in ten. Better get suited up.”
Tightening his abs until the burn curled through his belly, Trig gritted his teeth at Frank, the stage manager. “Hell, we’re all pretty compared to you, you ugly motherfucker.”
Hoots of laughter rang out behind Trig. Frank grinned, his gold-plated grill competing in the shine department with his shaved scalp. “Keep it up and I’ll find a real bowser to call up on stage for you tonight.”
Trig lowered his back onto the mat and shrugged. “All women are beautiful in their own way.”
“Especially when they pull out the Benjamin’s,” one of the guys cackled. His observation incited additional guffaws from his cohorts.
Trig only rolled his eyes. Yeah, he was just as desperate for money as the rest of these yokels, but he didn’t believe in being mercenary about it. The day he saw his customers—or women in general—as nothing but a walking bank would be the day he’d leave this place behind him and never look back.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he finished out his remaining crunches. By the time he was done he sported a fine sheen of sweat. None of that manufactured spray bottle shit for him. He hefted to his feet and strode to his dressing area. After patting the excess dampness from his skin with a towel, he peeled down his track pants and exchanged them for his custom-made tear-away pants. He situated the suspenders before tugging on his fur-collared jacket and buttoning it up. Bending at the waist, he snagged the final touch to his costume—the requisite Santa hat. This one came with an attached white beard. He wouldn’t put it on until the last minute, seeing how the damn thing was ticklish as all get out.
Frank slapped Trig on the back and handed over a huge candy cane. “Try not to have a size complex.”
“That was meant for the candy cane, right?” Trig shot back.
The door to the dressing room opened, allowing in some of the noisy din from the front of the house. Their newest guy, James, ambled inside and accepted the bottled water Frank automatically passed his way. The kid swigged two-thirds of it down before glancing at Trig. “Dude, the chicks are on fire tonight. Best tips I’ve gotten all month.”
Trig stuffed the candy cane in his pocket. “They’re full of the Christmas spirit.”
“Yeah, well, there’s one out there I wouldn’t mind filling with some Christmas spirit.” James waggled his eyebrows. “I’m half tempted to go visit her table and offer that suggestion. Though I guess that’d be a better line coming from you. Feel free to use it on her.”
“Appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass.” He never hooked up with any of the women in the club. For one thing, you didn’t fuck your money. Several of the guys didn’t get that rule. Then they wondered why their best customers suddenly stopped booking private dances. It wasn’t merely the adage of not buying the cow when you could get the milk for free. Though that obviously held true. Additionally, the regulars tended to get competitive with each other. Which was fine if you kept it strictly professional. Usually it led to them trying to outdo each other in tips, and Trig would certainly never say no to that. The biggest inherent problem though was when a few of these greedy bastards got it into their heads—both the one upstairs and the other below the belt—to two-time their girls, thinking they’d never find out about the other one.
Like it ever panned out that way. Fucking morons.
“You sure?” James chugged another gulp of his water and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Cause she’s definitely not a regular. I know I’ve never seen her around.”
“Who you talking about?” Curtis, one of the old timers, demanded as he joined them.
“This hot brunette at table 5. I’m gonna have amazing wet dreams about her tits tonight.”
The mention of brunettes and wet dreams naturally sparked images of Marissa. Trig killed his groan before it could escape. On the up side, at least he’d have no trouble getting a stiff one. But he damn well needed to control his thoughts before they spiraled so out of hand that he busted out of his fucking bikini briefs. His act might be naughty, but it wasn’t XXX-rated.
“That good, huh?” Curtis rubbed his chin and glanced at Trig. “We oughta go verify if the kid is full of shit.”
James scowled. “I got impeccable taste. Just ask your mama.”
Curtis’s booming laugh shook his shoulders. “Now I know you don’t.” He shifted his attention to Trig and inclined his head toward the door.
“Can’t. I’m on in five.”
“Heh. Five. It’s like it’s a sign.” James pulled open the door.
“A sign that you’ve got a few screws loose, boy.” Shaking his head, Curtis trailed after Frank and the kid.
Grunting, Trig grasped the edge of the dressing table and did a couple of back and leg stretches to limber up. With seconds to spare, he wrapped up his pre-performance ritual before Frank returned to fetch him. They exited together the same moment James and Curtis stepped into the hall. Trig shot Curtis a questioning look.
“The kid wasn’t lyin’. But don’t worry, you’ll get to confirm that for yourself in a minute.”
Curtis and James exchanged smirks before doubling over in laughter and booking it for the dressing room. Trig suppressed an eye roll. Immature punks. He transferred his attention to Frank. “How much did they pay you to pull her up onto the stage?”
Frank shrugged. “A few bucks. I was feeling generous. But you’re gonna want to flip a Benny or two my way when you see her. Has a rack that’d make a blind man sit up and pay attention. Goddamn lucky bastard.”
“Do you ever notice anything besides tits?”
Frank stared at him like that was the craziest notion in history. Chuckling, Trig positioned himself on his mark behind the curtain. Frank signaled the DJ and gave Trig a thumbs-up before shuffling out of sight.
“Ladies,” the DJ’s voice boombed through the speakers. “How many good girls do we have in the house tonight?”
A smattering of catcalls echoed beyond the curtain.
“Dirty liars.” The DJ’s retort was met with raucous laughter from the crowd. “All right, now let’s hear it from all the bad girls out there.”
The entire club damn near shook under the exuberant “Woohoo’s” and “Hell yeahs” from the women.
“That’s more like it. Fortunately for y’all, we’ve got a special guest who flew in all the way from the North Pole to tantalize you with his own
pole
. Which one of you sexy bitches wants to sit on his lap and tell him about the big package you want stuffed in your stocking?”
More rowdiness erupted from the patrons.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
The volume of the ladies’ shouts and all around insanity increased by a thousand fold as they vied with each other to be the one picked. The hoopla was all for show and to get them worked up and their wallets loosened. The woman had already been chosen, thanks to James’s perpetual boner.
“He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake and fucking hornier than hell.” The improvised line triggered the loudest series of hollers yet. “He knows when you’ve been bad or good. So you better be
baaaaad
, for goodness sake. Because we have the one...the only...Kinky Claus in the house!”
The velvet drapes lifted with a dramatic swoosh and the deafening cheers of the crowd nearly drowned out the opening bars to Santa Claus Needs Some Lovin’. Their excitement energized him, filling him with the heady rush he always experienced when he was in performance mode. In that moment, he
was
Kinky Claus.
Strutting to the center of the stage, he worked the ladies, teasing them with dirty hip rolls and promised flashes of skin he didn’t completely deliver on. The women ate it up, and several of the more rambunctious ones up front shook their tatas in encouragement. He’d been in plenty of strip clubs throughout his life, both as a performer and an occasional patron. He had to admit that women were hella more wild and crazy than his male counterparts.
From the corner of his eye he spotted Frank approaching one of the tables. Damn. He’d completely forgotten to check out Miss Five ahead of time. Not often he got the opportunity to do that before the female was hauled up onto the stage.
“Looks like we have our lucky lady.” The DJ’s announcement drifted over the cacophony of music and boisterous female chants of, “Kinky Claus! Kinky Claus! Kinky Claus!”
Taking that as his cue, Trig pivoted and claimed the chair set up to the left of him. In other routines he typically started off with the female seated, but this particular act initially called for a bit of role reversal. He glanced toward the stairs leading up to the stage, fully expecting to see Frank with the woman in tow. Nada.
Frowning, Trig peered toward the table to determine the holdup. Frank’s burly frame blocked most of the view, but from what Trig could detect, Frank was dealing with some reluctance from Miss Five. Occasionally they got a shy one. Not often, but it did happen. Usually everything worked out fine once they got up here and Trig put them at ease. Hell, half the time they ended up not wanting to leave the stage. It was always the quiet ones who surprised him the most and he had the best fun with.
The other women at Five joined in Frank’s efforts to coax their tablemate into abandoning her seat. Their encouragement must have done the trick, because Frank suddenly stepped aside with a pleased grin. That’s when Trig had his first unobstructed view of his soon-to-be lap partner. He stared at Marissa, shock punching him dead center in the solar plexus. Damn good thing he was sitting down, otherwise he’d be flat on the floor.
What the hell was she doing here?
Duh, you invited her, moron.
Never in a million years would he have thought she’d take him up on it. Not after the way they ended things last night.
Shit. How was he going to get through this routine? All of the full-on body contact and suggestive grinding.
The candy cane.
Oh sweet Jesus. Not the candy cane.
The sweat forming on his nape had nothing to do with the overly warm Santa beard. Resisting the urge to tug the hat from his head, he shifted in his seat. Yeah, getting hard definitely wouldn’t be a fucking issue.
Frank escorted the red-faced Marissa onto the stage. According to the way her gaze kept darting to the exit she was debating the possibility of making a run for it. She stumbled toward him. Her nervousness was killing him. He started to push up from his seat before he remembered that he couldn’t break his character. She finally looked directly at him, and he patted his knee in invitation. The music lowered enough for him to overhear her mumbled curse.
Squaring her shoulders, she took four determined steps to him and perched on the outermost edge of his knee. If he moved his leg the tiniest bit she’d fall and thunk onto her ass. Without any preamble, he gripped her by the hips and pulled her onto his lap, locking her in with his arms. The glare she sent him was downright adorable.
Damn. Not kissing her right then had to be one of the toughest things he’d ever done. Instead he trailed his hand along her thigh. “Ho ho ho. Have you been a bad little girl, Rissa?” He whispered the last part.
Her eyes widened. “Trig?”
Before Trig could answer, The DJ’s mic crackled and a second later he came back on the PA. “We all know Kinky Claus runs a tight ship back home. Yep, he’s a regular
hard
task master with those elves. Not only do they slave away in his toy shop, they keep every inch of his North
Pole
shiny and polished. I think our friend up there should show Kinky Claus that elves aren’t the only ones who know how to service his pole. What do you think, ladies?”
Marisa gaped at Trig. “What is he talking about?”
The music switched to the dirty Christmas song that was used for this part of the act. Usually the filthy albeit hilarious reinterpretation of Jingle Bell Rock cracked him up, but now he was desperately trying to tune out the lyrics while he dug in his pocket for the candy cane. Like it wasn’t hard enough—no pun intended—having Marissa’s sweet little ass pressed against his erection without the added torture of listening to an explicit instructional on how to give a blow job. He ripped the seam on the plastic covering the candy and made a provocative show of peeling the overwrap down.
Judging from Marissa’s slack-jawed expression she’d figured out the answer to her question. She jerked her gaze up to his. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. I’ll split my tips with ya if you make this good.” He was probably going to regret that proposition, considering his dick was already rigid enough to hammer nails. But he needed her cooperation, otherwise they risked the crowd growing bored and booing her off the stage. He wasn’t about to put her through that.
She hesitated, and he held the candy cane up, mutely pleading with her. She must have intuited his desperation because she shifted her focus to the chanting spectators for a moment before turning toward him again. “You’re going to owe me for life.” Her expression resigned, she pulled her hair back with one hand and wrapped her lips around the candy. He caught a glimpse of her tongue as she curled it and bobbed her head, swallowing the fat stick in what amounted to the fucking sexiest candy cane deep throat he’d ever witnessed.