Surrender (5 page)

The ride up the elevator to our room in the Signature at MGM Grand was torture. I kept glancing over at Neal, my skin prickling at the thought of what was to come. Despite the fact that we weren't alone in the elevator, I fantasized about Neal hitting the emergency button in a fit of desire and pinning me against the wall, needing to have me right then and there.

The real-life Neal, on the other hand, appeared calm and composed throughout the long ride up to the thirty-eighth floor. He looked over at me a few times and gave me a bland smile, never once betraying his thoughts.

The moment the door to our room closed behind us, though, he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me against his body, his lips finding mine without preamble. He tasted of warm mint as his tongue found mine, a desperate rumbling groan coming from the back of his throat. I pushed against him, taking as much as I was giving before we ran out of breath.

“Finally,” he rasped, leaning his head on mine. “I've been dying to do that since I woke up this morning.”

“You've been hiding it really well.”

He grinned, flicking my lower lip with his finger. “I was teasing you, keeping you guessing.”

“Oh, you don't want to play this game with me,” I said with a wink. “I'll test your willpower.”

“You already do.” One hand slid up my neck and through my hair, pulling me close as his lips found mine once again. But this kiss was sensual and soft with the promise of things to come. I wound my arms around his neck and tilted my head to the side, deepening our connection.

When we were nearing a critical point—when we needed to go further in order to keep from combusting—he pulled away. “We should freshen up before we go.”

“Go?” I asked, planting kisses along his jaw. “Where?”

“Dinner.”

“I'm not hungry for food,” I said, nipping on the soft skin where his neck and shoulder met.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me at bay. “Julie, there's no hurry,” he said gently, his hands continuing to slide across the bare skin of my shoulders. “I have every intention of properly seducing you, but first I'd like to get to know you.”

I nodded and stepped away, even as my entire body protested. But the mischievous glint in his eyes sparked something in me, a long-dormant playful side that was aching to come out. Without warning, I reached into his pants and dragged my hand down into his underwear, my gaze holding him in place as I finally made contact with his hard cock. His jaw ticked when my fingers wrapped around the head of his shaft and squeezed. I smiled up at him, tingling with wicked mischief.

He leaned forward until our lips almost touched. “You know what this means, don't you?”

I tilted my chin up and stroked my hand up his hard length. “Oh? And what's that?”

He thrust into my hands. “This means war,” he practically growled.

I pulled my hand out slowly, dragging my nails along his skin. “Bring it,” I said and, with a last look over my shoulder, sauntered off to the bathroom.

—

Neal had changed into a gray button-down shirt, sleeves folded back, and a pair of black slacks by the time I emerged from the bathroom. I held the towel around my body, feeling Neal's eyes on me.

“You have no idea how hard it was not to jump in that shower with you.”

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Not that
hard
.”

“Julie, Julie, what am I going to do with you?” He reached out for me, but instead of giving me a warm embrace, he flipped me around and landed a swift spank on my ass that reverberated through my flesh.

“That hurt. You'd better kiss it better.”

He immediately dropped to his knees and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek, the towel the only thing keeping me from being completely bare. His fingers stole under the towel, sliding up my legs, but right before they reached my aching core, I took a few steps forward and away from him.

“I'd better get dressed. Don't want to miss dinner.”

He dropped his hands to his thighs, a hangdog look on his face as he watched me bending over my bag. “You are a sexy, diabolical woman.”

I took my clothes to the bathroom. “You have no idea,” I said at the doorway, dropping the towel a millisecond before I closed the door.

—

Dinner was a battle, the table between us the war zone. We tried to best each other with innuendo and flirtatious touches, waiting to see who would crack first. By then it had become a game to see who would beg to go back to the room first, and I was certain it wouldn't be me.

There was something about the atmosphere in Las Vegas that allowed me to live in the moment and just be the fun-loving girl I once was. Here, for this night, it was possible to believe that I had no responsibilities and no heartbreaking past. Here, in this godforsaken city, I could live in the moment, be selfish, and do whatever the hell I wanted. And for someone who'd had to do the opposite for years, I was anxious to lap it all up while I could.

“How's your steak?” I asked when our entrée arrived.

“Perfect. It's—” He stopped, his lips falling open when my bare foot landed on the chair between his legs.

I wedged my foot deep between his thighs, only stopping when my toes made contact with something that was starting to twitch into life. “It looks like a choice hunk of meat,” I said.

“It is.” He stabbed his steak with a fork and cut off a piece, offering it to me across the table. “Try it.”

I wrapped my lips around the metal tines and slowly slid away. “Mm-mm,” I said with a moan, chewing and wiggling my toes at the same time. “Your meat practically melts on my tongue.”

He chuckled, breaking character. “You're really good at this seduction thing,” he said, setting his fork down and reaching for the foot between his legs. He pressed a thumb to the arch of my foot and drew heavy circles, causing me to moan in earnest from the pleasure. “I'm afraid I've gotten in way over my head. There's no way I can compete with you in this department,” he added, his thumbs pressing a ladder of pleasure up my foot. A hint of a smile played along his lips as he watched me enjoy his ministrations.

“I don't know,” I breathed, my entire body on fire. “You seem to be deploying a secret weapon right now.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Harder or softer?”

“Both.” I'd never had a foot rub feel so erotic before and felt the resulting shudder throughout my body. I wanted to throw my head back and lose myself, but remembered in time that we were in a public place. I retrieved my foot and slipped back into my shoes, sitting up in my seat. I took my glass of wine and brought it to my lips, suddenly thirsty.

He stared at me across the table, his gaze so intense I flushed under its glare.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked to relieve the tension.

He took a pull from his beer, then set his hands out on the table. “I'm a freelance software designer. Currently, I'm designing programs for several big companies,” he said without pretense. “And you?”

“Dental hygienist.” I considered my next question. “Where do you live?”

“Here, there, everywhere,” he said with a shrug. “My job doesn't require that I stay fixed in one place, so I put my things in storage and now I just fly around, staying in hotels until I feel ready to move on.”

“That's a lonely experience.”

“Not really. I get to meet people like you.”

“Have you met many people . . . like me?”

“No,” he said. “Only you.”

Hope bloomed in me. “So where are you going next?”

“I don't know,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps a trip to Dallas is in my future.”

I smiled into my drink, more pleased than I felt entitled to be. “That would be nice,” I said, thinking it would be a good time for Neal to meet Will. Or at least know about him.

I caught myself beginning to paint Neal into my future and quickly banished the thought. We were only at the get-to-know-you stage, nothing more. Sure, he was a nice guy, sexy and smart, but he could turn out to be nothing.

Or everything.

I finally reminded myself to live in the moment, to stop overanalyzing everything and just
be.
“Let's go dancing,” I said.

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. “Where to?”

“I don't know. Somewhere loud and crowded.” Where one could lose oneself.

“I know just the place.”

—

We went to a club called Cravings, only a few minutes' walk down the Strip from our hotel. The moment we stepped inside the club, I knew we'd chosen the perfect place. It was dark, lit up by only the purple and blue strobe lights mounted at the ceiling. People bounced and writhed on the dance floor, the mass of bodies so thick and so immense I couldn't tell where the room ended. And most interesting of all were the dancers—naked save for tiny black bikinis and Lucite heels—working the poles on top of small platforms around the room.

“We can find another place,” Neal called over the music, looking up.

I followed his gaze and gasped when I saw three dancers strung up at the ceiling, wearing little more than a strategically placed harness as they performed aerial acrobatics. Despite their obvious objectification, I found myself admiring their fluid movements, as they spun and twisted in a graceful, gravity-defying dance.

Yes, we were definitely staying.

I grabbed his hand and led him out to the dance floor.

“I haven't had nearly enough alcohol to make me dance,” he said, grabbing me around the waist and veering me off course. “You want anything?”

I shook my head and backed away, heading to the edge of the dance floor, starting to move my hips to the hypnotic, thumping beat. He stayed in sight at the bar, and a few minutes later he turned back to me with a beer in his hand, his eyes dark burning embers as I lifted my hands over my head and gave myself over to the music.

A young guy sidled over and started to dance with me, completely oblivious to Neal's glare. I danced with him, flashing a wink at Neal over the guy's shoulder.

Neal chugged his beer, set the empty bottle down on the bar, and stalked toward me. He slid his hand around my waist. “You ready?” he asked, casting a dismissive glance toward the guy before whisking me deeper into the dance floor.

“Trying to make me jealous,” he said against my ear. “That's underhanded.”

I shrugged, winding my arms around his neck. “That was your own doing.”

We danced for a time, only pointed looks passing between us as we moved to the rhythm.

“You're an amazing dancer,” he said, grinding behind me. “Better than the dancers onstage.”

Drunk on desire and self-confidence, I decided to reveal a little something about myself, something I hadn't told even the Shermans. Here, in this club, it didn't feel like such a dirty skeleton in the closet. “I'm going to let you in on a secret,” I whispered against his ear.

“Oh?”

“I used to be an exotic dancer.”

I sobered immediately when Neal pulled away.

At my confession, his eyebrows drew together and his jaw muscles ticked. “You were a stripper? When?”

“About three years ago, but it was only for several months until I was able to finish school.” I held back the fact that I'd desperately needed the money right after divorcing Kyle. Still, after years of self-loathing, I'd finally come to the realization that my past was nothing to be ashamed of. Stripping hadn't been the most respectable way to earn money, but it was the only way I'd been able to make ends meet when Will was barely a year old.

“You couldn't find any other job?”

“Trust me, I tried. Nobody wanted to hire a dancer in Dallas. Except for . . . you know.”

He took in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring.

“I have to use the restroom,” I said and left, relieved to escape his critical gaze. I found the bathroom at the back of the club, surprised to find the entire place was actually smaller than it appeared. I took my time using the facilities, prolonging the moment when I'd have to see the judgment in Neal's face again. I didn't know what had possessed me to tell him about stripping, but now I wished I hadn't. I'd give anything to have him look at me like an untouched treasure once again.

I hadn't done it for very long. During my short-lived marriage, Will and I had lived in Kyle's house, so it was only natural that I moved out after the divorce. I'd found a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a sketchy part of Flower Mound, but my job creating grocery store ads was just not enough to cover the rent, food, and day care.

“Strippers make a lot of money,” a coworker said one day at lunch as I searched through the classifieds for a second job.

She was joking, I knew that, but I couldn't get the idea out of my head. At work that day, I searched online for articles on exotic dancing just out of curiosity. And after work, before I could lose my nerve, I drove to the most respectable club I could find and talked with the owner, meaning to simply ask a few questions—enough, at least, to convince me it was a bad idea—then go on my way.

But sometimes the wind changes direction and we are forced into uncharted territory simply to survive.

I went onstage for the first time a week later, my stomach empty from having thrown up a few minutes earlier. I hated it all, especially the tiny clothing designed specifically for the enjoyment of those leering men sitting at the edge of the stage, holding out their one-dollar bills as if it would somehow make them less loathsome.

After I got home that first night and paid the babysitter, I sneaked into my son's room and watched his peaceful little face with tears running down my cheeks. But despite the urge to sit on the floor and lament the loss of my dignity, I reminded myself of my purpose: I was doing this for Will, the only thing that mattered in my life. So what if lecherous men had to see me degrade myself night after night? As long as my son was happy and healthy, I could endure.

To make the nights bearable, I started to incorporate contemporary dance moves into my performance, eventually earning a name for myself as the “artistic stripper.” It wasn't much, but I held on to that moniker with the delusion that it gave me some class. And for a while, at least when the music drowned out all my doubts and the stage lights obscured everyone in the room, I almost enjoyed myself. Dancing was dancing, after all. And the money was good.

I went back to school to become a dental hygienist, and after many months of burning the candle at both ends, I finally graduated and was able to close that filthy black door on my “exotic” life.

I shook my head to clear it of the past, the water streaming into the sink coming back to focus as I finished washing my hands. Leaving the restroom, I noticed a door swing open next to it and was able to get a glimpse of the room beyond, with a leather couch at the back and a stripper pole in the center.

“What's back there?” I asked the person who had just exited, an older Hispanic woman dressed in a black shirt and pants.

“Private room,” she said. “Why, you want to rent?”

An idea planted itself in my head and quickly took root. “How much?”

She looked me over. “Are you a celebrity?”

“No, why?”

“Fifty dollars for one hour.”

“Okay, can you wait a few minutes?” I asked, already moving away. “I'll be right back.”

I snaked through the crowd and found Neal waiting for me by the bar. I grabbed his wrist and shouted excitedly, “Come with me.” I pulled him, burning with anxious need to prove myself.

The woman nodded at me when I handed her fifty dollars in cash, then she turned and unlocked the door. “Just sanitized,” she said before allowing us inside.

Once Neal and I entered the room, the lock snicked in place, letting us know we wouldn't be disturbed. At least for the next sixty minutes.

I led Neal over to the couch without saying a word.

“Care to tell me what's going on?” he asked, studying the dark velvet-covered walls, the glittery floor.

I put a finger against his chest and pushed, sending him folding to the couch. “I want to show you what I did for a living.”

“Julie, you don't have to do this,” he said, getting back to his feet. “You don't have to prove anything to me. I'm sorry I acted like a dick. I was just surprised.”

“Sit,” I said, kicking off my heels and dropping my clutch beside them on the floor. I approached the pole, relieved to see that it had indeed been cleaned. I took note of my clothing, glad that I'd worn a sleeveless dress with a loose skirt that would not impede my dancing. My black lace boy shorts would show him plenty of cheek, but that was a bonus for him.

This dance, this performance, was for me, a way to acknowledge the past and no longer be held back by it.

“Ready?” I asked, grasping the pole with one hand and slinking around it.

Neal sat back and gave a short nod. His face said he was resigned to this, yet the bulge in his pants betrayed his thoughts.

Despite the thumping outside, I focused on a different song in my mind, a slow, melancholy tune that I'd choreographed a dance to. I leaned my back against the pole and gripped it above my head, then slipped down, the movement telling of a girl feeling trapped and demoralized. The choreography came back to me as if only a few days had passed instead of years, my muscles remembering every twist and transition I had to execute.

I kept up eye contact with Neal as I slinked around the stage, using the pole as a means to fly, holding on with two hands as I spun around with my back arched and toes pointed. For the finale, I made my way up to the top of the pole and maneuvered so that I was upside down with my legs outstretched in a split, spinning gracefully down. Halfway down, I twisted so that the bar was clenched between my thighs and I leaned forward, my arms extended as I swirled downward all the way to the floor.

Neal leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees, and watched me with a dark expression on his face. I knew how my performance was affecting him, how his heart was thumping wildly and sending copious amounts of blood to his dick. But there was something else there, the way his eyes followed my every move, making me feel beautiful in a way I'd never felt before.

I finished with a flourish, a simple spin around the pole with my legs bent that sent my skirt fluttering around, until I came to rest on the ground. Every nerve ending in my body was alive as I sat there, waiting for his response.

Neal rose from the couch with his hand held out and helped me up. “That's how you danced?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, straightening my dress. “The club had a rule that the dancers had to wear pasties and G-strings, so I was never completely naked. And most important, there was a no-touching rule.”

“You don't need to explain yourself to me,” he said gently. “What you did right there was beautiful. You were grace in motion.”

I felt tears stinging my eyes. If only all the men had reacted to my dancing in such a way. “Grace is actually my middle name.”

He slid his hands up my shoulders and onto my neck, cradling my cheeks in the palm of his hands and letting out a slow, sighing breath. “Julie Grace,” he said, bending down to touch his lips lightly to my cheek. “You are, without a doubt, the most surprising, amazing, confounding woman I've ever met.”

“Confounding?”

“Yes,” he said with a rueful smile. “I can't figure out how I'm going to keep you when all of this is over.”

—

We left the club not too long after and headed back to the hotel, unable to keep our hands off each other any longer. He touched me, kissed me, from the taxi to the hotel lobby and up the elevator, where he continued eye-fucking me even as we stood with other hotel guests. When the doors finally slid open, he bent down and threw me over his shoulder, taking long, confident strides down the hall.

He set me down inside our room and immediately relieved me of my clothing as easily as if he'd been doing it all his life. When he was done, he stepped back and took me in, devouring me with his eyes as he undressed until we were both completely exposed and unguarded.

“My imagination has been running rampant since you closed that bathroom door on me earlier,” he admitted with a dark smile before he swept me up into a kiss that scorched me from the inside out. “But I have to say: the reality far outweighs anything I could have ever dreamed up.”

I took hold of his wrists and held his palms against the sides of my neck, sliding them around my shoulders and down my chest. I closed my eyes, overcome with the need to feel his hands all over me. Whether it was my direction or his own, it no longer mattered; his hands traced the undersides of my breasts then slid downward, past my stomach, around my waist, and came to rest at my backside. His fingers bit into the skin of my ass as he jerked me against him.

My skin tingled with the rough handling, but he threw me off guard when he trailed his fingers up the curve of my back, his touch light and teasing. Done waiting, I sat on the edge of the bed and gripped his shaft, bringing him closer toward me. For the first time, I was able to study his cock in all its hard, veiny glory. It was thick and long with a slight curve upward, second only in magnificence to the man who wielded it.

I bent down and wrapped my lips around the large head of his shaft, sliding my tongue through the slit, the drop of precum salty on my tongue.

“Get on the bed,” he said with a rough quality to his voice. “On all fours.”

I did as he asked, crawling toward him to take him into my mouth again. Gently, he started pumping his hips, fucking my mouth. I took him in deeper and deeper until he was hitting the back of my throat.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned, grabbing my hair. He leaned forward, reaching down my back, startling me when his finger slid down the crease of my ass and dipped into my cleft. He fucked me with his finger as I sucked him off, his other digits dragging deliciously along my clit with each pumping motion.

I moaned around the cock in my mouth and squeezed tighter.

“I have to be inside you,” he said, and pulled away from my mouth. He grasped my hips and spun me around, pushing my shoulders down into the mattress and leaving my ass up in the air. There was a crinkle of foil, and a few seconds later he was pushing into me, sliding in easily from the moisture that had accumulated all night.

I hissed his name between my teeth, feeling complete. I held my breath when he pulled nearly all the way out then slowly thrust back in, repeating the process in an unbearably slow rhythm, stretching out the thick thread of pleasure.

Then he reached for my hair and twisted it around his hand, tugging my head back. A whimper was wrenched from my mouth when he pulled out, and I looked back in time to find him getting on his knees. He buried his face in my folds, pulling my ass cheeks apart as he feasted on my sensitive flesh, stabbing me with his tongue and sucking on my clit. To keep me from squirming, he grabbed both my thighs and locked them together, holding me captive against his mouth.

A second later, his cock was back, penetrating me, shoving into me so hard our skin was slapping together. Over and over he thrust into me, letting out deep, rumbling groans that riled me up even more. Still embedded in me, he twisted my hips down to the bed so that I could face him, my legs trapped to one side.

“I want to see you,” he rasped, grabbing the side of my head and bringing our faces together. “See your forehead crease in concentration and your mouth turn into a delicious O when I give you the best orgasm of your life.”

“That's fairly cocky of you,” I breathed, even though I knew there was a definite possibility of it coming true. “What if you can't deliver?”

He grinned and speared into me. “Then I'll just have to try—” He thrust again. “And try—” Another thrust that had me clenching hard. “And try again—” He began pounding in earnest, each stroke long and powerful. “Until I succeed.”

My insides quaked and I stared into his eyes, my mouth indeed falling open as the orgasm surged through me. He continued the assault, a confident smile on his lips. He covered my mouth with his own, sealing shut my cries of pleasure.

When I came to my senses, he stilled, waiting for my reaction. “That was damn good,” I said. “But not the best.”

He grinned, all confidence and sex. “I didn't say I was done.”