17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Aaron

"A aron, wake up," Lucy says. Her voice is angelic and sounds far away. I don't like leaving the dream I was having, and I come out of it like I'm coming out of anesthesia. I was out like a light, and I blink around at the sparse room, trying to remember where I am.

Maybe it's because I fell asleep in the employee break room at the club where Lucy was rolling through security footage, and she was the last thing I saw when my eyes gave out. Maybe it's because the entire room smells like the lotion I watched her rub on her arms before we left the house. Whatever the reason, I dreamt of her while I napped. I don't know if it was sexual, but my face was in her hair.

I check my watch. "How long was I out?"

"Three hours."

I groan. "Shit. You can't do my job for me. Thanks for waking me up."

She laughs and tightens her ponytail. "I would have let you sleep, but I found something."

I straighten my shoulders and wipe my eyes, blinking again. "Did you see Todd Daniels with Murphy?" I ask. I stand, stretch my arms above my head, and walk to the small television where we've been watching grainy club footage. Lucy has the screen paused, and I expect to see Todd Daniels.

"Will Justin Hammons do?"

I squint at the screen, and a chuckle starts low in my throat. Turning to Lucy, I wrap my arms around her and swing her around as she giggles, the sound ripping through me like a punch. I haven't heard her giggle like a schoolgirl…well, since we were in school.

I set her down and wipe my eyes again, picking up my phone and dialing Coleson's number. "This is even better than Todd Daniels."

"Why?" Lucy asks.

I run my hands through my hair and lean forward again, kissing her on her cheek. "Murphy had ties through paperwork with George Cannon. Todd Daniels was a member of the motorcycle club. A third victim has now been filmed going to a strip club with Murphy. All three victims had ties. If this doesn't get us a warrant to search Murphy's house, I don't know what will."

I spin around in a circle, my hands on my hips. "Let's celebrate."

"Um, it's four in the morning."

"Is that why the club is so quiet? I could have sworn it was four in the evening."

"No, we've been here for eighteen hours."

"No wonder my eyes feel like they're crossing. What's open this time of night?"

"Nothing. Even the club is closed. Peter went home an hour ago. We're only open until three. He said we could stay as late as we wanted." She bites her lip and tentatively reaches out a finger, touching my chest with only the nail. "Do you want a dance, Aaron?"

"A dance?"

"I was thinking the other day that I've never given you a proper dance."

"Proper?" I ask, a small smile inching half my lips into a smirk.

"Nobody else around. No waitress asking if you want a shot while I dance. Just for you."

She snakes her arms around my waist, and I bury my face in her hair. It's familiar but also surreal since I was just dreaming of this. Was my dream a prophecy of sorts? My heart pounds in my chest, and I wonder if she can hear it or even feel it against her head.

"Let me dance for you, Aaron," she whispers against my chest. "It's what I can give you for helping me. Just us."

I let her hand slide down my body until she winds her fingers with my own. I let her lead me out of the small room and down the hallway to the main floor where she pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit at the edge of the stage. She leaves and goes to the DJ booth for a minute, and I watch her with hooded eyes as she flips through the music options, smiling when she settles on one.

"What do I get this dance to?" I ask in response to her smile.

"An oldie from a few years before our time. Ever hear of Samantha Fox?"

I nod my head. "My mother listened to it."

"Do you know ‘Touch Me' by chance?"

A small groan comes from my throat from the innuendo of the song name, and she bounds out of the DJ booth as soon as the first notes play, probably trying to reach the stage quickly to take advantage of as much of the song as possible. On her way to the stage, she drags her hand across my shoulder and kisses me on my temple.

I bite my lip as I watch her climb the stairs to the freshly-mopped platform and grab the pole with one hand as she circles it, preparing for a dance.

And she dances with abandon. She closes her eyes as she works the pole, doing the moves from memory. A full climb with a perfect and graceful martini spin back down, followed by a gyrating backward somersault before crawling on her knees back to the pole and doing another fancy spin.

This is just for me.

As Samantha Fox sings about feeling her heartbeat next to her lover's, my own heart swoops in rhythm to whatever move Lucy does on the pole. When a note draws out for longer than a couple beats, she uses her core strength and flips herself upside down as she looks at me for the first time since the dance started.

Her strength is almost intimidating. She rights herself and does a few more climbs and spins, all done with such fluid precision that I wonder how long she spends practicing. When did she learn this skill? I've never thought of it before, but a lot of work goes into this preparation.

That hair. I can't take my eyes off the auburn strands as it moves in time with her – fanning her shoulders when she's upright, moving with her as she spins, and barely whispering across the floor as she hangs upside down.

She slides down the pole and finishes with a backward roll until she crawls to me, her eyes black holes of want, as I wait patiently at the edge of the stage. My breath comes in short gasps, and I realize I'm panting for her. My shoulders tremble with desire and the urge to have her long legs thrown over them. Our eyes lock as she crawls like the animal I want to fuck her like, and she rears up on her knees, her breasts in my face.

The first rule of a strip club is that you don't touch a dancer in the main area. Not on the stage. Not during a lap dance.

But I touch her. Actually, I lick her. I lazily drag my tongue from under her breasts, over the fabric of her bra, and lick the top of her left tit as an unmasculine whimper comes from my chest. She gyrates and rubs my back, fisting my hair every few seconds as I give the same attention to the other side of her body.

She's done things to me in this club. I've watched her fuck another guy while I took his ass from behind in this club. This is the first time I've done anything to her body but kiss her since I was nineteen, and I want more. Need more. My hands circle her waist and push her back to the floor. Any non-dancer would fall ungracefully, but she's graceful as she simply bends back, pulls her legs out of the fall until they dangle over the stage, and pulls me by my hair as she leans back.

I'm half on the stage and half standing at the edge of it as I kiss her breasts, and her stomach until I can't stand it any longer. I stand, selfishly pull her hips to me, part her legs, and move the short shorts she's wearing to the side as I press my lips to her cunt like I'm a starving man.

Her taste overwhelms me. Did she notice my familiar taste when she sucked me off the first time I came here to see her? It's the first thing that crosses my mind. She still tastes the same – slightly sweet with a savory undertone I could never place. The skin around her clit is salty, but her pussy tastes of something dessert-like. Eating Lucy is like bingeing on pretzels and then wanting something sweet to cut the salt.

Back and forth I move over her skin. I fuck her pussy with my tongue and then swipe up, circling her clit until she gasps and rocks into me. I'm driving her insane as I move away from her clit, desperate for another taste of every hole at her center.

"Fuck, Aaron," she moans, fisting my hair and spreading her legs wider so I can lick, nip, and suck every inch of her core.

But I know how to really drive her nuts. I push two fingers into her pussy and make a come here motion that arches her back. I take her engorged, throbbing clit into my mouth. I flick my tongue over her as I suck, and the trifecta of sensations is too much for her.

Her legs clench my head, and if I wasn't so intent on getting her off, I'd giggle at her exuberance. Her legs shake against my ears as she bucks into my face, working my mouth without shame. She moans and her fingers either grip my hair or scrabble against the stage floor like she doesn't know what to do with them and what part of me to grab.

Eventually, she settles on fisting my shoulders and curling into an abdominal crunch as she squeezes her eyes shut and says my name over and over.

I know she squeezes her eyes closed because I watch every flicker of pleasure roll across her face. I watch every muscle twitch. I watch her bite her bottom lip so hard I worry it'll bleed. If it does, I'll lick that too. Wetness coats my tongue, and I lap it at it like a dehydrating man in a desert.

When she's spent, she flops back on the stage and loosens her leg grip around my head. I don't stop licking her, though. I lick away every drop of wetness she released with her orgasm and give her clit one long lick before saying goodbye for the moment with a soft kiss.

I work my way up her stomach, moving her bra to the side as I kiss her nipples, and move to her collarbone. My lips find their way to her neck until I kiss her cheek and move so my mouth is next to her ear.

"Let's go home, Lucy. This time, you'll stay in my bed."