Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1) Read online

  He actually doesn’t make it sound half bad.

  “You’re going to work the male revue tonight, then cash out and move upstairs to one of the main bars. After the show, the lower level closes unless there is a private party, which there isn’t tonight.”

  “Okay.” I follow him through the club and then down a set of stairs. The room is dark with black leather furniture. Couches and chairs are set up in front of a small stage with a DJ booth behind it. There are two other guys behind the long bar adjacent to the stage. Both shirtless and wearing shiny blue briefs. Divan and I make our way behind the bar, and he introduces me.

  “Ryan, this is Mike and Shayne.”

  Mike shakes my hand; he’s a stocky, short guy with dark hair and dark eyes. Very muscular. Shayne, he’s lean and skinny with platinum blond hair and chiseled facial features. He reminds me of a model. I put my hand out to shake, but he just breezes by me and slaps me on the ass instead. “Fresh meat!” he announces flamboyantly.

  In a flash I have him shoved up against the wall. “Touch me like that again, and it will be the last time you ever use your hands,” I seethe.

  He looks at me like he’s about to shit himself.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Divan breaks us up. “We’re all friends here. Shayne was just being Shayne. He’s touchy-feely sometimes. But he’s harmless.” Divan throws him a behave look.

  “Be touchy-feely with someone else,” I growl.

  Divan pries my death grip loose from Shayne, then pulls me aside. “You a homophobe or something, man?”

  “No, I just have a problem with people touching me without my permission.” I try to shake off the memory of prison and all the advances made toward me.

  “Well, you better get over that, because you’re going to get touched. A lot. Especially when you work here, by both men and women alike. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes.” I shake out my hands and crack my neck. “I was just caught off guard.”

  “Okay.” Divan nods. I don’t know what it is, but I like him. “Go help Mike set up, and I’ll have a word with Shayne.”

  Maybe that’s it. He’s a stand-up guy.

  I help Mike fill the ice bins, restock the coolers, and wipe down the bar. Shayne keeps his distance.

  A few minutes after we’re done, Shayne saunters over to us. “Ready for the show?” he asks me, testing the waters. Everything will be fine, as long as he keeps all his appendages to himself.

  “I guess as much as I’ll ever be.” I throw a bar rag over my shoulder. Shayne cautiously steps forward as I eye him suspiciously. He pulls the bar rag off me and tosses it onto one of the metal sinks under the bar.

  “You don’t want to do that. Show everything you got.”

  I nod.

  Suddenly the lights flash and then dim, as a crowd of women starts pouring in through the door. They’re loud, rowdy, and amped up. I swiftly realize I have no idea what I’m in for.

  Things start to move fast. The bar is getting crowded, and I keep catching guys coming and going out of this little room right next to the stage. You wouldn’t even know it’s there; it’s camouflaged right into the wall. But I keep catching glimpses of light every time someone opens it.

  “Staging,” Shayne says as he takes a drink order from a girl dressed in a black corset with a little tiara and a pink sash that says “Bachelorette”. “It’s where the guys get ready for their performance.”

  “Oh,” I utter blankly. Because I really don’t know how else to respond.

  I start taking orders. I haven’t poured a drink in over three years, but it’s just like riding a bike, and all the recipes come back to me quickly.

  For a good twenty minutes I serve a string of Cosmos, vodka and cranberries, and Bacardi and Cokes. There’s an occasional shot here and there, and I’m soon back in a groove that feels somewhat like normalcy. It doesn’t last long though.

  A girl — tall, maybe close to six feet — slams a twenty down on the bar and exclaims, “She wants you to come in her mouth.”

  What?

  I know Daniel said ass pours out around here like water, but I wasn’t expecting that kind of directness. I’m pretty much left standing there static.

  That’s when Shayne pulls out a squirt bottle from one of the ice bins and orders, “Open up.”

  The girl holding the twenty pulls her friend closer to the bar by her wrist, and she opens her mouth. Shayne squirts some kind of liquid down the girl’s throat until it’s spilling out over her lips. When he stops, she swallows whatever liquid is left, then licks her bottom lip suggestively while staring straight at me.

  Hell-o.

  She’s an attractive girl, like really, really attractive, with thick brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. And for the first time in a long time something inside me stirs. Something that reminds me I’m still a red-blooded American male ingrained with primitive needs and desires.

  I watch as she walks off, but not without a quick glance over her shoulder in my direction. My breathing is suddenly shallow, and my little blue briefs all at once feel like they’re trying to strangle me.

  “That one wants you bad.” Shayne nudges me. “Want me to come in your mouth, too?” He dangles the squirt bottle in front of me, and I shove him.

  “A little warning might have been nice.”

  “What fun would that have been?” He grins impishly. “You should have seen your face. I wish I had a camera.”

  I grab the bottle from his hand. The word CUM is written in big, black letters across it. “What is it anyway?” I squeeze some into my mouth.

  “Whipped cream vodka. Appropriate, no?”

  “I guess.” I laugh and squirt some on his chest.

  “Hey! I’m going to be sticky all night now.” He wipes off his skinny chest with a bar towel.

  “Just have someone lick it off.”

  “I think if anyone is going to get licked tonight, it’s you.” He thrusts his chin at the crowd, and the brown-haired cutie is staring blatantly in my direction.

  I laugh him off, but my blood is definitely roaring through my veins like white water rapids.

  I suddenly feel torn. My mind keeps telling me I’m devoted to someone else, but my body. My body screams I’m uncommitted and horny as hell.

  Just then, a male voice bellows around the room. He introduces himself as Hugo. He’s a short, stocky motherfucker with one hell of a dirty mouth. The crowd loves him. Especially when he throws rude comments, calls them hoes, and alludes to oral sex.

  He does a quick rundown of the night as he paces the tiny stage in front of the DJ booth. Touch this, don’t touch that. Yada, yada, I stopped listening after he said slick dick.

  “Okay ladies! Who’s ready to get H-O-T!” Hugo jumps off the stage and the lights go berserk. The opening lyrics to “Hot In Herre” echo around the room and then some light-skinned black dude wearing a bandanna and a baseball cap explodes from behind that disguised little door. He pauses with the music then starts to saunter to the stage as Nelly raps about heathens, penthouses, bustin’ loose, and touchin’ you. The women scream so loud I can actually feel the force vibrate through the air. Say what! Once center stage, he moves his body to the music, popping his hips while pulling his baseball jersey open, exposing his bare chest. Am I really witnessing this?

  And, for the record, please don’t ask me if he’s sexy, because I wouldn’t know.

  I can tell you, everyone is going mad over him.

  I look over at Shayne with wide eyes; he’s smiling, dancing casually to the music while enjoying the show. I love Nelly’s music, I really do, but after this performance, I may never listen to it the same way again.

  As H-O-T guy continues to dominate the stage, he slowly but surely starts shedding his clothes. First, his shirt, he drops it to the floor, then he teases the women by unbuttoning his baggy jeans; flicking one button open one at a time, causing a wave of shrieks to flood the room. You can see he gets off on it. His facial expression says it all. I’m
not so sure I’d feel the same. Stripping down to almost naked while I shake my ass? Fuck that.

  He gets his groove on a little while longer, dancing it up gangster-style, throwing one hand in the air and bopping his body to the beat. Then, he turns, and in one swift move, rips his pants off (they actually tear at the seams?) and exposes his bare ass. He’s wearing nothing but a G-string. Oh, hell no. I turn my head. Every woman in the room is clapping and screaming so loud it’s earsplitting.

  I think I’m traumatized.

  I glance back over at the stage once the cheering dies down and see money being thrown at his feet. Ladies are literally showering him with it. So much, in fact, he has to toss his clothes to the side just so he can use both hands to collect it all.

  Hmmm.

  Then he disappears back into the hidden room. I’m really not sure what to make of all this. After spending three and a half years in jail, you’d think I’d be desensitized to seeing men naked. But apparently, that’s just not the case.

  “If you liked that, just wait till you see Divan’s routine.” Shayne hits my shoulder from behind.

  “You mean there’s more?” I curl my lip, and Shayne laughs. “Yes, tough guy. So much more.”

  I inwardly groan.

  Hugo takes the stage again and calls up a girl wearing a red sash that reads “Future Mrs. Robertson” and a blinking plastic ring on her finger. The thing is so damn huge I can see it from the back of the room. I am learning so much about female birthday and bachelorette customs in such a short amount of time. For a fleeting second, I wonder if Alana has spent any of her birthdays like this. I can’t picture my perfect, proper goddess ever wearing a gaudy sash and blinking plastic ring. I’d also beat the shit out of any guy who touched her. I wouldn’t mind if she publicized she was the future Mrs. Pierce though.

  Keep dreaming, buddy! She hates you! You left her! Move on with your miserable life and leave her be!

  Just then, smoke streams out from every corner of the room as eerie music plays in the background. The distraction saves me from my self-destructive thoughts.

  A figure materializes in the back of the room. He’s dressed in black leather pants and a black mask that covers his entire face and head. He’s also wielding a whip. Scary. The girl on stage nearly falls over when she sees him. Hugo announces from somewhere hidden, “Ladies, the Dominator.”

  “a.k.a. Divan Willis,” Shayne murmurs in my ear, and I snap my head toward the Dom ambling sinisterly to the stage.

  Divan is ruthless. That mild-mannered guy I met only a few hours before has transformed into a BDSM Master. He mercilessly accosts the girl on stage, humping her relentlessly. Front, back, side, he even does a handstand, resting his feet against the wall behind her, and bumps his junk right in her face. Whaaaaat?

  This shit is out of control. But the most astonishing part, these women are eating it up.

  I catch Shayne laughing at me. “You look like you just swallowed something foul.”

  “I have no words,” I admit.

  “The shock wears off after the first time.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of shit, man. But this...” I just shake my head and let my sentence linger as I watch Divan strip down to nothing but a tasseled G-string. “Where the fuck do you even find a getup like that?”

  Shayne is doubled over. “Amazon?”

  “They actually like doing this shit?”

  “Sure. Who wouldn’t?”

  Um, me.

  “You make great money, and you have women galore. What more reason do you need?”

  “I don’t know. What about preserving your self-dignity?”

  “They don’t seem to mind putting it in their back pocket. I wouldn’t either if Daniel would let me up on that stage.”

  “He won’t?”

  Shayne shakes his head. “He’s very particular. I’m not cut or meaty enough. I do have some dance skills though, so that at least makes me money behind the bar.”

  “Gotcha.” I nod.

  Two more routines and then an hour of “free time”. This is where the performers mingle with the crowd. They dance and drink and give massages. Apparently, they hook up, too, because the Nelly guy has a girl pinned up against the wall with her legs wrapped around him. They need a room. Stat.

  Once the male revue clears out, we cash out our drawers and head upstairs into the main room of Culture. It’s already filled with people. The dance floor is packed, and the alcohol is flowing. “I Need Your Love” by Calvin Harris is pumping through the sound system.

  I follow Shayne as we make our way through the thick mass of people. The strobe lights are dancing blue and red on the ceiling, and the disco ball is reflecting off the acrobats on aerial ribbon flipping through the air. This place is a circus.

  We jump behind the bar and commence working as we’re flooded with drink orders. As I move, I feel a rush inside me that’s been absent for so very long. I can’t exactly describe what it is. Vitality, maybe? Even if I am practically naked with these little blue shorts squeezing the shit out of my package, I find a small ounce of enjoyment thriving inside me. I hate that Mac was right. Getting out of the house and back in an environment I’m familiar with is doing wonders for my depression. Well, maybe not wonders, but it’s definitely helping.

  I look up after a rush, and catch the good-looking, brown-haired girl from the revue standing in front of me. She’s wearing a sexy smirk and come-fuck-me eyes. Whoa.

  “Can I get you something?” I ask, leaning over the bar. She bites her lip. I can’t tell if she’s toying with me, or if she’s just generally shy. She goes to say something when what sounds like a whistle blows. I look over to find Shayne and the two other guys working with us climbing onto the bar top. What the fuck is this?

  Shayne motions for me to get up there with them. Hell no. He gives me a frustrated face then kneels down in front of me with a don’t mess with me expression. It’s sort of funny. He is in no way intimidating at all.

  “What are you waiting for? Get up here.”

  “No way. I signed up to mix drinks. There was no rump-shaking discussed.”

  “Look, tough guy. Dancing on the bar is part of the job. Like it or not.”

  Not.

  “Don’t waste your brooding at me. Get your tight ass up here and make your money like the rest of us.”

  I stare him down, digging my heels in the dirt.

  “You can dance, right?”

  “Yes. I can dance.” I seethe.

  “So, get the fuck up here and show everyone.” He puts his hand out, and I hesitate. Okay, it’s one thing dancing on a dance floor or behind the bar, but to actually get up in front of people and put on a mini show?

  “Pussy,” he taunts.

  Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

  I grab his hand, and he hoists me up. Standing on the bar, strobe lights flash around me as Lady Gaga commands everyone to put their hands up. There’s a moment of indecision on my part as I watch a small crowd of women gather in front of us. Shayne and the two other guys are ripping it up to the catchy beat of “Applause”. I feel like this is yet another decisive moment. Can I do this? Can I just let go of all the fucked-up shit that plagues me and have some fun? Shayne nudges me. Dance! he mouths, so I do. I release everything that’s inside for five seconds, and let the infectious beat have me. I start to move my body. I don’t think about the fact that I’m wearing nothing but tiny shorts, or my hair is too long and falling in my eyes, or that I kind of actually like this song (don’t judge). I just concentrate on the energy of the crowd, and the women standing in front of me. I move my hips, my chest, my legs, and raise my arms as the female voice screams about how much she loves the applause. This minute I can relate. The tiny crowd that gathered when I started has doubled in size, and several sets of eyes are zeroed in on me. One set catches my attention especially. The attractive brunette is looking at me like she wants to know just how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop.


  I follow suit as Shayne and the others jump off the bar and start dancing among the women. My feet barely even hit the ground before the brunette is attacking me. She wraps her arms around my neck and grinds her hips against mine. I go with it. It’s the first time a woman has touched me since... don’t go there.

  As we continue to dance, she becomes more aggressive, running her hands all over my body as she rubs up against me. She smells good, like apples.

  “I want to taste you so bad,” she whispers into my ear, and the only thing I can do is swallow the need lumped in my throat. “Would you like that?” She tangles her fingers in my unruly hair while simultaneously skimming her tongue along my neck. I nod, as I try to retain some oxygen in my lungs.

  Suddenly we’re moving – no, she’s pushing me, backwards. My backside meets a door, and we ram straight through it. A quick scan tells me we’re in the bathroom, then a stall. She locks the door behind her then attacks my mouth. The kiss is urgent and sloppy, but I don’t care. Right now, I don’t care about anything except quelling the need that has become a living, breathing inferno threatening to burn my organs to ash. I dig my fingers into her waist as she grinds against me. Then, with no warning at all, she drops to her knees. All my rationalizations come to a grinding halt. She glances up at me as if asking permission. I don’t move, I don’t speak. I just look down at her with hooded eyes and labored breaths. She takes my silence as a yes. Then she hooks her fingers into my shorts and springs me free. My whole body pulses and shakes. I need this. I need this more than she can even comprehend. Then she puts her mouth on me. Holy mother! I reach up and grab the top of the stall for dear life and let it all go as the ballsy brunette proceeds to blow more than just my fucking mind.

  I walk out of the bathroom stumbling like a drunk.

  My body feels like it’s been emptied. Drained of all energy, worry, and anxiety. I don’t know where the girl disappeared to. Once we were finished, she stood up, fixed my pants, kissed me on the cheek then vacated the premises, leaving me to recuperate on my own. I sort of feel bad. I didn’t even ask her name.

  “Hey, kid.” I hear Daniel before I see him. He’s leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door chewing on a toothpick, still wearing that ridiculous straw cowboy hat.