Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I never thought I’d be a dancer.
But when I moved here four weeks ago, I applied for a job as a bartender. Unfortunately, it turns out I suck as a drink slinger. I don’t know my Jack from my Jimmy, and that’s kind of important to folks around here. Lacey, the owner, fired me the first night. But I was desperate for money, so when she asked if I could dance, I figured I’d give it a go.
Turns out I can dance.
And I like it.
Tell people you’re a dancer, and they get that amused gleam in their eye like it’s something dirty and seedy. That you’re somehow a lesser person because you dance for cash. But I flip that stigma the bird every time I go on stage because I enjoy it, and I’m proud of what I do out there.
Hell, why shouldn’t a woman be proud of her assets? And if those assets earn them a decent wage, tell me where the problem is because I’m not seeing it.
Tonight, I weave my magic around the pole to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”
I’m halfway through my song when I see him.
Ares.
Standing back from the seated area. Almost seven feet tall with arms as big as my thighs and the face of a god. He’s watching me just out of view of the light, lingering in the shadows, his eyes taking in every move I make.
My skin tingles knowing he is watching me.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly, every move is for him, and I feel myself getting more and more turned on with every beat that passes. I don’t ever make eye contact with the patrons, but I can’t look away.
And he doesn’t look away from me.
He doesn’t even blink.
Just sears that dark gaze onto my skin.
When the song ends, I leave the stage, but instead of heading back to the dressing room, I exit stage left and descend the steps to where the patrons nurse their drinks as they wait for the next performance.
Dove Cameron’s “Boyfriend” starts, and Layla, one of the other dancers, begins her routine as I make my way toward Ares. But before I get to him, a fat hand grabs me by the wrist, and I’m pulled onto the lap of one of the creepier regulars. His name is Boz, and he smells like stale liquor, body odor, and desperation.
“Where you going so quick, baby?”
His erection pokes into my thigh, and it makes me want to puke. “Let me go.”
“Oh, don’t be that way, baby. I just want to show you my appreciation for the dance.”
“With your hands?” I shove him in the chest. “I don’t think so—”
I don’t get to finish because strong arms rip me away. It’s Ares, and he’s mad as hell. He plants me on my feet before turning back to Mr. Grab-A-Lot. Lifting him by the collar, he drags Boz to his feet and pins him to the wall. His face is murderous. His bulging biceps are a huge distraction despite the seriousness of the situation.
He looks like he’s about to snap Boz like a twig.
“The lady said hands off.”
“What the fuck, man?” Boz shoves his arms up in surrender while I’m still in awe of Ares’ strength and those mesmerizing biceps.
“You touch her again, and I’ll cut both of them off.” Ares leans even closer. “And jerking it won’t be much fun after that.”
“Okay, okay…”
Ares drops him to his feet, and Boz takes off.
I have to crane my neck to meet Ares’ dark eyes. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“No?”
“No, I had it handled.”
“Didn’t look that way to me.”
“What is it with you trying to be my knight in shining armor anyway?”
“You know… a simple thank you would suffice here.”
“He was a good tipper.”
His expression turns serious. “No amount of money is worth him putting his hands on you without permission. And from where I was standing, you weren’t granting him permission.”
He’s right.
Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for the help.
My testiness has everything to do with me, not him.
Because ever since I saw Ares fight at Oscar’s, I can’t get the wall of muscle out of my head, and I’ve been going back to every fight because of it.
And that’s not the plan.
It’s also dangerous.
The other night when I approached Ares at Aces High and told him I wasn’t there to hit on him, I was telling the truth. I was there to ask him to kill my stepfather.
But if I’m being real honest, I do want to kiss him.
And I mean really kiss him.
I’m talking the kind of kiss where you feel every emotion, every need, every desire.
One that you don’t ever want to end because it feels too good.
Even now, standing here wearing nothing but a glittery bikini in the middle of a strip joint, I want to taste those lips. But if I reach up and brush my lips against his, we’ll end up fucking, and that’s not why I want to kiss him. I want to because his mouth is perfect and soft, and I haven’t ever been kissed into nirvana before, and I know Ares would be able to do that.