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“Didn’t think about it when you let me down . . .” My body turns to the side as the bass begins. The lights pulse to the rhythm and I feel the heat of them on my skin as I start to dance. My hands stretch up, my fingers entwining to make the black silky satin pull tight across my chest.
“Chase me, Chase me.” The shadows move on either side of me. One at my front, one at my back. Tall, oiled beauties in fitted black panties and nothing more. The lights stay focused on me, but their presence makes me tingle with anticipation. My body is sandwiched between two girls who know what they want. Their attention heightens the pulse of arousal through me, eyes on me, breath against my neck, fingers on my skin. “Is it feeding all your fears?”
My head tips back and I feel the press of her lips against my pulse, teething grazing along my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Fingers reach forward to lightly sweep the thin straps from my shoulders, tracing down my arms as I feel the satin slip from my skin. It drops in a cascade of silk, pooling at my stilettos. Leaving my breasts bare and my body on display “Oh . . . I know what you’re about to say . . .”
She drops to her knees behind me and I feel the trace of her chin down my spine. Lips never leave my skin until I feel her teeth pull at my lacy panties and the fabric tightens against my pussy at the front. At the same time, kisses pepper my collarbone, painting my skin with desire. I feel her panties against me as my body aches for her, and I gasp . . . “Bet you wanna love me now . . .”
Her thumbs brush over my ankle bones, then her palms glide up my stockings. Fingers fanning as they reach my thighs, inching higher as her teeth release my panties, making a snap against my skin. From the front, hungry lips travel further down my body. Placing a kiss directly between my breasts, she sticks out her tongue and paints a line of lust straight down to my navel as she, too, sinks to her knees for me.
I turn on my heels to face forward. Both of their hands inch higher. Skimming the lace tops of my stockings, finger pads on silky flesh before reaching the hem of black lace that rests against my hips.
The moment they find it, my eyes meet Willow’s. She knows me so well. She will notice the flush of arousal on my chest and the tremble in my thighs . . . “But I’ll keep that between you and I . . .”
My hand grips the pole as the women’s fingers hook, and lace drags down my thighs. It clings to my pussy . . . but their want is greater, so it peels away from me. They lower my panties all the way down to my ankles. I feel the spotlight bathe my nakedness, lighting me up. Every inch of me is on display . . . bold and beautiful. “Bet you wanna love me now.”
I look straight at Willow to see tears streak down her cheeks, just before the light cuts out.
19
Willow
Istumble out of the club and retch in the lot, throwing up whatever I ate before. I want to get away as soon as possible, but my legs are weak and my head is spinning. Instead, I sit down on the curb. Tears and snot stream down my face. It was a slap and I deserve it. I deserve that sting, to feel how much Lola doesn’t need me.
She looked so beautiful and I had been so lucky, so fucking lucky. My entire body shakes with sobs as I suddenly feel a hand on my back. I look up, startled, to see the owner of the club. I wipe my face with my coat and try to stand.
“Sorry, I’ll be going,” I say. “I didn’t mean to cause an issue.”
He looks at me with kind eyes and seems to weigh his next words carefully.
“You’re not causing an issue. I just . . . I know what you saw. But it is a show, and Lola, well, she’s the best there is. They wrote songs about her, you know, the greatest showgirl I have. Well, had.”
“Had?” I ask softly, interest piqued, desperate for any information I can get about her. He considers for a moment longer, then sits down beside me on the curb.
“I know who you are, Ms. Rutherford,” he says matter-of-factly, and I like him for his directness. “I understand the dilemma because I’ve felt it myself. I have businesses all across town and I run in some circles that don’t approve of this place. But you know what—I love it here. This place is my favorite thing that I own. Don’t ask me why. My shrink is working on that shit. But anyway, the point is, people have opinions. But they also still shake my hand. Still like my cash. My friends still hang out with me. My sister rolls her eyes but still loves me. Do you get what I’m saying? Sometimes it is hard to hold onto the things we love because of what others think, but after the dust settles, they adapt. But if you let go of what you love, that shit can be gone. Forever.” He hands me a tissue from his pocket and I wipe my cheek.
“I think the one I love is gone. Forever.”
He stands up beside me slowly. “Nah, she ain’t. Like I said, a showgirl through and through. Lola is the ultimate professional. The show goes on even when her heart is broken, and believe me, it is. She is tough, Lola. She has to be. She had a rough start to life and has had to fight hard for everything she has.”
“And yes, she is leaving,” he says. “Going back to school. Seems like someone has made an impression on her, a good one. One that showed her how to love herself, maybe.”
I nod as Landon starts to walk away. Nothing more is said because nothing more needs to be said. I know what Landon is saying, what he thinks. And as I stare out across the lot, I can’t help but think that he is completely right.
I stand nervously outside my father’s massive office, clutching the hem of my dress. It has been years since I’ve been here and a very long time since we’ve last spoken with anything other than civility. Our relationship is like a fragile glass sculpture, ready to shatter with a single wrong move.
Taking a deep breath, I gather the courage to knock on the towering wooden door. Finally he calls me in, his voice cold and distant.
Stepping into the opulent space, I can’t help but feel out of place. Expensive artwork adorns the walls, while polished mahogany furniture fills the room. My father sits behind an imposing desk, engrossed in paperwork.
I approach him cautiously, fidgeting with my fingers. “Daddy,” I begin hesitantly, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I need your help.”
His gaze darts up from his work, clearly surprised. “What do you need, Willow?”
“I need you to make it all okay, Daddy. I don’t know . . . I don’t know how anymore. I don’t know what to do. Please, please help me.”
My father has longed for me to be the little girl that turned to him for help. He has wanted to be the man I used to put on the pedestal. Maybe it’s my show of emotion, my plea for his help, and my obvious desperation--or maybe it’s because he truly does love me and wants me to be happy. But I see the relief in his face as he nods, looking me straight in the eye. “I will fix it.”
And for the first time in weeks I can finally breathe.
