Two Weeks Later
I sit in the back of the room watching the dance floor through the smoke. I shake the ice in my glass before downing the last of my scotch. I may own the Dive, but it’s not my scene. I keep it to launder my money through. It serves a purpose, just like most things in my life.
That’s not the reason I’m here tonight. I’m here for Ana. I should have just walked away. I spent a week convincing myself of that. I spent the following week trying to replace her. That was a colossal failure. I couldn’t even get it up. I’d kiss a girl and instead of getting turned on, I kept remembering the feel of Ana’s body, the taste of her mouth and wanting more of her, because apparently no one else will work. It’s all I can seem to think about. Hell, I even jacked off to the memory of our kiss last night. A fucking kiss has me harder than I’ve been since I was a young kid wet behind the ears.
Now, the plan is to fuck her out of my system. Ana will be mine—one way or another. I still hesitate to use the brother, but I might if she forces my hand.
She is even more beautiful tonight. Her blonde hair is short, falling down in a straight, silky and sleek golden halo at her shoulders. It’s beautiful, but too controlled. In too much order. It’s not hard to imagine it rumbled and messed up in bed, though. Her whole body screams sex, with the way her hips move and the way her legs tighten against the pole as she gyrates around it. It’s enough to make any man wish he was the object she was holding on to, which explains why she’s developed such a large following in a short amount of time. Big Joe wasn’t kidding when he told me she had become popular. The men here are all screaming her name. She doesn’t notice, I can tell. As far as she knows at this moment, the room is empty. She’s lost in the music and has tuned out all of the screaming.
I don’t allow the men to touch the dancers. My girls don’t dance for singles. I pay them fucking well. If the men want a lap dance, then and only then can the girls allow that. It’s always in a separate room and only with a bouncer in attendance. Big Joe told me that Ana flat out refuses private dancing. I found it odd because I’ve checked into her pretty thoroughly. The woman is one step away from being homeless, yet she still turns down extra money. I watch as she rotates around and around the pole, defying gravity. Her spin begins to slow down and she slides to the floor, driving the men crazy. She’s smiling.
There’s a monitor hanging over my booth. I’ve never really used it since I rarely make the time to come here. Tonight, however, I am using it. I’ve been using it the entire time. The men are going crazy for her, salivating and dreaming of taking her home tonight. They’re so lost in her body, they don’t even realize that she barely notices they’re there to worship her. Ice. It’s a name that fits her. It’s a name that begs an answer to the question: what could make her melt?
My eyes are continuously drawn to her hip. There’s a tattoo with the word: “survivor”. Just what has she survived? I wanted her from the moment I saw her, but given what’s going on with her brother, I couldn’t be sure what she was like in person. Now I know. Intriguing. I definitely want to taste her. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that I want to taste her more than once.
“What do you think, boss? I’m telling you, she doesn’t mean to give you trouble. She’s a good kid. I’d hate to see her get mixed up in bullshit and get hurt because her brother’s a dick-wad.”
“Bring her to the back. Shut down any other dancers for the room until I’m finished.”
“Boss, Ana doesn’t do private dances.”
“Don’t give her a choice. I’ll be waiting,” I tell him, leaving without further comment.