19

"He's here."

Jasmin smooths my next outfit on the bathroom vanity countertop. The white plastic resembles marble, but only in appearance. There's a standup shower, and in order to wake the fuck up and start fresh, I needed to wash away the first half of the night. My goal was to get in with Carlton, and I couldn't approach him stinking of sweat, tequila, and whatever else this place consisted of.

"Who's here?"

The lace is soft and comfortable, and I splash on my favorite citrus-scented body spray and loosen my waves. I flip my hair and adjust my breasts, then reach for a black leather fox mask and adjust it over the top half of my face. "The rookie," I whisper.

"What? How can you be sure?"

We exit the bathroom and walk toward the far wall that's covered with a ceiling to floor length curtain. I move the velvet, burgundy-colored drape to expose the one-way glass window and point.

"I'm sure."

"Fuck!" Jasmin bites her nail, and I reach out to tug her hand away from her mouth.

"He's here to keep tabs on me, Jas. He's not working tonight."

She eyes me suspiciously. "Are you two…"

"No." I shake my head. "I don't know."

"Well, go out there and pretend it's any other night."

I peer out again and he's serving whiskey to a woman. Expensive whiskey. "Who the fuck is that?"

Jasmin looks over my shoulder and whispers. "Elite client named Dominica. She wears a mask, but that's just because of the rules. Everyone knows who she is."

Lava fills my veins, searing away any and all clear thoughts in their path. A red film drops over my irises and then my fire-filled vessels turn to stone. A long and fluid ring fills my head, and I don't even notice that I'm moving out of the staff lounge and back onto the club's floor.

The base pulsates over my skin, but I can't hear it. I make my way toward the incline to the second floor and freeze when the red bimbo's hands sweep up Dylan's arms and toward his chiseled, masked face.

His jaw tenses, and his nostrils flare slightly. And it's the only thing that holds me back. He doesn't want her touching him. Then why the fuck is he letting her?

I can't stop watching. She hands him a cobalt blue card, which basically means she wants them to fuck.

He takes it, and my heart sinks to my stomach. I think I'm gonna fucking throw up. Maybe those three tequila shots were a mistake. I look away.

I can't fucking handle the pain that seizes me, holding me prisoner in my own body. I imagine his eyes undressing her, his dick growing hard for her, and I snap. For a reason beyond me, I fight the urge to claw her fucking eyes out and smash her to the floor like a WWE wrestler, and instead, take my sulking self to the nearest dance pole. I don't want to keep watching.

I knew it was him, the same mystery guest who couldn't take his eyes off me for the past three shifts. But perhaps I was wrong, and he wasn't here for me. Fuck!

Noah's betrayal might have left me more vulnerable than I care to admit.

This … this is exactly why I never allow feelings into the mix. I find a man, flirt, fuck, and then I'm done. I don't want to let them in. For what? So they can stab me in the back like Noah? So they can flirt, fuck, and leave like I have for years since I lost my v-card? The route Dylan apparently wants to take things. Shit.

I lean against the pole, and the naked dancer reaches for my hand. I let her guide me in a dance where our hands roam one another's bodies in a carefree yet gentle manner, almost romantic. The idiots in front of us are eating it up, but I'm not even paying attention to them or anything else. I'm using all of my strength to not look back.

I can't. If I do and he isn't there, I'm going to fucking blow. I can feel it.

A frantic lunatic searching for him as if I have any sort of fucking claim.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Fuck, snap out of it!

He's in my head and I need to get him out. Now.

As if the universe heard my idiotic and desperate plea, a man who was sitting next to el cerro approaches me. I recognize him. He's the silver fox with green eyes that handed me his card on my first night, requesting a private dance.

He's as handsome as I remember, tall and lean. Muscular, but not too buff, and with salt and pepper hair. I don't care if he's twice my age. My heart is pumping in my ears and I can't hear shit, but he hands me a card and I smile and signal to the nearest security guard and hand it to him.

He gestures to the man to follow, and I force my legs to move toward the bar.

"Give me a double," I say, but hold up two fingers just in case. I chug it back and it tastes like fucking water. Shit. "Otro." I don't even know if the bartender speaks Spanish, but he does as I ask.

I need this. I can't even look back to where Dylan was. Fucking ridiculous. Stressing about this rookie is no fun at all. A fling is exactly what I need. If the silver fox wants more after this private dance, I'm in. I haven't had sex in over six months. Maybe that is why I'm acting crazy.

I slam the shot glass onto the bar and take two deep breaths before walking to the opposite end of the club. If you stand in the center on the first floor and look up, you can see all the way to the very top floor. I can't look up right now, I'll bust my shit. Instead, I focus on my steps, and I keep my spine straight, my head over my shoulders.

I don't walk across; I don't want to cross the path Dylan and the red-haired bimbo just stood at. So I take the long way, which ropes around the center of the club like a maze. I turn left and then right to a long and dark corridor with flickering lights hanging near each door like a candle would during ancient times.

The wallpaper is a luxurious black and gold with blue specs that shimmer in the dim lighting. Each room has a magnet that the card attaches to, notifying guests which room is occupied by whom. I stop in front of the room with a black and gray card with a small white fox on the front and adjust my own fox mask.

My insides twist, and I stare at the tiny onyx animal Dylan attached to my mother's charm bracelet. Out of all the charms she added, this one stands out. Hers are a collection of sorts, a memorabilia of her life. Her horoscope: libra, a piano: her favorite instrument, a pink gem: her favorite color, a volleyball: her favorite sport. Dylan's charm stands out like a bright light in an otherwise pitch dark room.

I pinch it between my fingers, my little fox.

My eyes blur, tears pool and threaten to leak past my lids, and I squeeze them shut.

These rooms are for private dances. The rooms for blue cards are on the opposite side, and they're for exclusive clients that pay a ridiculous amount of money for discretion and a fucking bed. Literally.

All sorts of kinks are included.

Stop. I shut those thoughts out, forcing a wall between Dylan's soft lips on mine, his nightshade stare, his overpowering presence, and calloused hands touching my skin. Fuck.

I can't do this.

I can feel him. That same feeling that first made me realize he wasn't just any other client. The magnetic force stitching our souls together with the thread of life, and it pulls at me now. I take one step back and stumble into a hard wall.

Suddenly, strong hands shove me back against whatever barrier I stepped into and hands grip my waist and twist me around.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, little fox?"

His voice melts me the way a solid stick of butter on a sizzling skillet would. "Dylan?"

I'm too relieved to see him, but when I remember Dominica trailing her hands all over him and how he hadn't even tried to stop her, I recover by shoving a finger at his masked face. "What the fuck are you doing here, Detective? Canvassing for clues?"

He grins and gently pushes me until my back touches the wall next to the door I'm supposed to enter. It's cold against my shoulder blades, but Dylan's heat warms me to my core.

"You go ahead and give him his little dance, but if he touches you," he cups my chin and forces me to look at him, and his pupils disappear, "I'll fucking kill him."

I press against his chest, but he doesn't move. I try a smidge harder. Nothing. I sigh in frustration. "Oh, so it's okay for little Miss Jessica Rabbit to put her hands all over you and invite you to a fuck fest, but I'm not allowed to be touched?"

Dylan reaches into his custom-made Tom Ford suit jacket, and I swallow back a lump in my dry ass throat. I think a noise escapes me, something similar to a croak. He produces the vibrant blue card and a red heart glimmers and threatens to slice my cornea in three parts.

"I'm only yours, Niki."

He folds the card in half, bends it back, and it cracks easily in his hands. He folds it until there are six metal pieces on his palm and then he sprinkles them over the plush carpet at our feet. His hand seizes the back of my neck and his lips collide with mine.

I open his jacket and fling the sides open and hungrily glide my hands over his torso and around him. I press my palms onto his back and crush him closer. Our masks collide and slide over our faces. It's a desperate and hungry kiss. As if our lips will feed our starving souls and bring them back to life.

He slows and kisses my lips gently before taking my bottom lip between his teeth. He pulls at it softly and then licks the tiny indentations before sucking them. "Y tu eres mia." And you are mine. "I'll be watching, fox."

He lets go and disappears down the hall. He isn't heading back to the club, and I watch his silhouette disappear. Just one fucking kiss and I'm smiling like a damn idiot alone in a dark hallway.

Did that even just happen? I look down to the scattered metal pieces of Miss Rabbit's blue fuck-me card and smile big. Yes, it happened.

Is he really going to be watching?I snort out loud. Whatever.

I adjust my mask and turn the gold knob to let myself in. I helped Jasmin stock the mini fridges in all the rooms, so I know my way around. It's a fair-sized circular room, definitely bigger than the inside of my trailer, with two exits. Leather couches circle around the center where there's a stage and a silver pole. The walls are lined with a deep blue velvet and red, elegant strip lights line the floorboards.

The stocked mini fridge is to the left, and a bluetooth stereo sits on a black table. The silver fox chose his music, and it plays over the room's built-in, unseen speakers. He sits directly across from me in a gray leather lounge chair with a bottle of scotch in hand. The second door is directly behind him.

He points to a small bar to my right where there's a sealed bottle of Patron x Guillermo Del Toro, a copper-colored brew, and an empty shot glass waiting for me. I step toward it, pop off the ornate topper, and serve myself a shot and slowly toss it back.

Fuck, that's some good tequila.

"You're fucking exquisite."

I go down two steps and walk to the pole. I'm surprised by his playlist. A track by Lady Gaga—Love Game—is playing.

Interesting choice, I guess.

Whatever, this private dance will put three grand in my pocket. He's spending a pretty penny for a mere strip. He could've watched me dancing in a cage with barely any clothes on.

Behind him, dark irises are brooding from across the room, and I struggle not to roll my eyes. As promised, Dylan stands motionless, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

I focus on the song's lyrics and stare straight into the darkness, right into Dylan's eyes, and I allow them to drag me into their depths. I unzip the corset. Underneath is a matching lace bra; the elegant pattern covers my nipples but reveals the creamy skin of my large breasts. Dylan smiles and I toss the girdle to the ground, then grip the pole and twirl, pushing off my feet and circling twice before landing on my toes. My hips gyrate to the beat, and I flip my head so that my hair falls to one side. I circle my waist and lean my ass on the pole, then drop to my knees.

My eyes stay on Dylan, and I dedicate each move to him.

The beat changes and I realize it's a mix curated by the club and not a selection made by the man I'm not even looking at. It's one by Rihanna—Where Have You Been—and I smile at the man standing in the dark, watching me.

I use the pole and balance my body on it and twirl. Then I lower myself to my shins and arch my spine like a cat. I whip my hair and lean back. The song changes again, and I shimmy the skirt off my hips and kick it to the ground. I turn and touch my toes, only the thin string of my thong between my ass cheeks separating my goods from the two men eating me alive.

I straighten my spine slowly and twirl on the pole again.

I unclasp my bra, and with one hand, I hang on to the pole and lean my body out as if I'm going to fall, then I toss the bra at my guests' feet. I hold my breasts with one arm and turn.

Dylan's smile falls when the man stands and approaches me. I freeze as he climbs the steps up to stand before me on the small stage. He pushes my hair back gently, the movement allowing two of his fingers to graze my collarbone, and my skin turns to ice.

Dylan's shadow moves on us and he whacks the silver fox on the side of the head with his gun. How the fuck did he manage to get that in here? The man collapses to the ground and Dylan points it at his limp body.

"Wait," I shout and run to move his arm away. "Don't fucking shoot him."

One of his eyebrows arches. "I warned you, fox. He touched you."

I breathe in deep and exhale hard. "He barely touched me! You can't kill him."

He sighs, exasperated, but relents and puts his pistol wherever the fuck he was hiding it, somewhere behind him. Then he lowers himself and easily carries the man up and sits him on the lounge chair like a rag doll. He grabs the bottle of scotch and places it between the man's legs.

He turns slowly and sweeps his gaze hungrily over me. I'm suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm naked except for a thin lace thong and my heels. Love on the Brain starts playing and Dylan smirks as he stalks toward me.

He takes his mask off and then pushes mine back until it falls at our feet. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his torso.

He bites my lip then, prying them open with his tongue. Dylan walks until my back is pressed against the wall from the side I came in from. He sucks on my lower lip and then kisses his way down my jawline, then my neck, sucking softly until his mouth finally closes around my nipple.

He moans appreciatively, and I let out a soft wheeze, relishing in his touch. I'm held in place, existing from one touch to another. My body awaits expectantly, leaning into his perfect body, begging for more. He kisses up the center of my throat until our lips are at it again. Teeth colliding. He suddenly lowers me to the ground and drops to his knees, then lifts up one of my legs and places it over his shoulder.

Dylan licks up my inner thigh, my breath hitches, and then he presses his nose into my covered pussy and breathes me in.

"Fuck," he murmurs to himself. Then he moves the thong over and slowly draws his thumb over my wet slit. "Is this all for me?"

I nod, incapable of putting words together. His finger moves delicately over my clit, outlining it in a slow, circular motion. It"s like adding lighter fluid to a flame.

My back arches, and his mouth is on me. He licks, then nibbles my clit gently. Dylan wraps my other leg around and presses me further into the wall, his palms digging into my thighs. He devours me, as if he's famished and desperate. I'm highly aware of how he holds me up soeasily, as if I'm a fucking feather.

I rub my hand over the stubble of his scalp and press his face into my center. I almost squeeze my thighs shut when I feel my body trembling, my breaths turning shallow and quick. I look up and yell his name at the same time the telltale buzz finally reaches my core.

He continues to lick me, lapping up every drop, before placing me back on the ground. Dylan touches his lips and uses his fingers to clean up the moisture from his chin and then he licks me off his fingers.

My shoulders tremble, then my legs begin to quiver and he unzips his pants.

My lids droop, and I'm sure I appear lust driven at the sight of him. His erect cock springs upward and reaches his midsection, hidden by his black button-down shirt. He moves his shirt and grips his shaft tightly and my mouth waters at the sight. The room is poorly lit, but I spot drops of precum, and I lick my lips, suddenly thirsty for him.

Dylan scoops me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He pumps his length, dragging his hand up and down before pressing the hard tip against me, and I'm dripping wet for him.

He stares into my eyes while he forces past the tight threshold, almost closing them when my muscles relax to allow him inside.

I keep them open and gasp at the intrusion. I think his shoulders shudder. He's enormous, and he pulls out before he's even in all the way and then plunges into me.

I scream out and Dylan grunts approvingly. I press my fingertips into his shoulders and wish he were naked as well. My fingers fumble to the top buttons of his shirt and clumsily work through the top few and tear the rest open, ignoring the sound of his expensive shirt ripping in the process. His taut skin heats my palms, and I dig my nails into him and rake them across his shoulders.

He pounds into me, never looking away, and my world pieces itself back together. Like tectonic plates shifting, but in reverse, a shattered glass on rewind to when it was pristine once more, winter melting to summer, skipping right over spring. A dead flower coming back to life, plumping to its original, healthy form.

One of his hands moves up behind my neck and he presses his forehead against mine.

I'm close.

I can feel my core flexing around him, pumping him, and the tingling rush starts up at the pit of my spine again. I bite his lip and then suck on it and breathe his name. "Dylan."

I moan and he grunts with me, and together, we come undone. He thrusts into me, five pumps before we're both spent and breathing heavy. Our bodies tremble and take in air erratically.

"Eres mía."

I nod while he kisses my lips. "Yes."

I can't be sure when, but the background music changed and Muse-Undisclosed Desires blasts on the speakers. Somewhere in the more solid and level-headed parts of my mind, I wonder if Dylan himself chose these songs. He's definitely capable and insane enough to get it done.

"Say it, Niki."

He grunts when I squeeze my muscles tightly around his semi hard shaft still buried deep inside me. "Soy tuya."

Dylan's dark eyes gleam and a possessive air blazes through him. He nods and a soft smile tugs at his lips. He exits me, and I suddenly feel empty as he bends and takes my thong off and then stuffs it in his pocket. Then he takes my heels off and rubs each foot in his strong hands. The ache subsides in his heated grip.

I watch as Dylan walks to the bar, his towering stance full of confidence and power, seeping of masculinity and sensuality. He reaches around and brings me a black satin robe and a water bottle, then kisses my forehead while he covers my shoulders and guides my arms into the robe. I gulp down the entire contents while he retrieves our masks. I toss the now empty water bottle behind me into a small trash can.

"I knew he was going to touch you." Dylan gently puts my mask back on.

I chuckle. "Now what?" I look behind him to the knocked out man snoring loudly on the leather chair.

Dylan shrugs. "Nothing. He'll wake up and assume he passed out while you danced for him."

I shake my head. "My shift is over in a couple of hours."

"I'll be waiting."

I roll my eyes. "You don't have to do that, rookie. Jas and I can find—"

"I'll be waiting." He lifts my chin up and bends down to kiss me, then nudges me toward the exit. Before closing the door behind me, I watch as he leaves from the same door he stood by just minutes ago.

I close the robe and clutch my heels to my chest. The door clicks shut, and I practically sprint to the employee's only section. It's buzzing inside. Dancers are heading to the back showers while others are stuffing their night bags with leather thongs, lingerie, props, and fishnet outfits. I make my way to my locker and hunt for another outfit before freshening up and shuffling into it.

It's a simple black one piece with a slit across my stomach and another right above my breasts. I match it up with thigh-length boots. I pull my hair up into a sophisticated-looking bun and attach a pair of long faux silver earrings to my lobes.

I hurtle through the motions of getting ready, placing a matte fox mask on, and head back out to the main floor, still alive with patrons.

I smile stupidly and brush my fingers over my lips. My skin tingles, and the soreness between my legs prompts a delicious throb, reminding me of Dylan's impossibly large and hard cock pounding into me. He said he was mine, and that I was his. What the fuck does that mean?

"There you are."

I jump back, startled. It's a tall, fair-skinned, light-brown haired man with piercing blue-green eyes, a simple gray mask over the top half of his face. I recognize him instantly. Charles, Piper's man. He looks uncomfortable and out of place. He shifts his weight from one leg to another. Pretending that I don't know him is easy, I mean, it's basically true. My chin rises to meet his tall stance.

"We've been looking for you. You're cordially invited to attend a ball. The rules are within this envelope. If you'd like to attend, follow the instructions, and an address will be provided to you one hour before the party begins."

He hands me a shimmering black envelope and disappears.

It's four in the morning as Jasmin and I exit the club. It's two hours til closing, but we came in a couple of hours before opening and get to leave early. I'm still dressed in my one piece with my thigh-length boots, but I throw on a black trench coat and practically run out. Jasmin managed to throw her sweats and a shirt over her outfit and seems overly excited when Dylan takes our bags and opens the door for us.

"I can get used to this." Jasmin smiles big.

I roll my eyes at her. "Don't."

We climb into the back, and the cool air conditioning tames the fire threatening to melt the clothes off my body and turn me into a hissing puddle.

Three minutes later, Dylan makes it onto the highway and I breathe in deep. His car embodies his scent. Leather, patchouli, and rose. I want to reach out and contain it, then lather my body in it.

"I got an invitation to Mayor cerro's little ball."

Jasmin's sleepy eyes pop open, and she sits up. "Really?"

I nod and peek at Dylan, my expression guarded. "A henchman delivered it."

Jas's eyes blanch, but she keeps her cool and takes the envelope from me. "There aren't very many details. Doesn't say when, where, or even a time. Just rules and shit."

"Yea, secrecy is key. Plenty of high rollers are sure to attend, political henchmen among them. Obviously, they know one another. I'll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement."

"It says here you can take guests, who'll have to sign that shit too, of course."

"You and Sara up for crashing a party?"

Jasmin smiles wickedly. "You know it."

"I'm attending with you." Dylan's voice startles us and we both gape at him.

"You can't go as my date. I'm supposed to attend as a possible treat."

His jaw tenses, and he turns the soft playing music off. Jasmin's face contorts and mouths, oh shit, but I ignore her.

"Then I'll go as your bodyguard or your fucking pet if I have to. But I'm not letting you step foot into their hell without me."

I nod, and my face elongates while I stroke my chin. I point my finger at him. "I like the pet idea."

His lips break into a wide toothy grin and the air leaves my lungs. I squeeze Jasmin's hand and struggle to breathe in. Fuck.

She squeezes back, and when I look at her, she's beaming. She closes her eyes and nods approvingly. I like him, she mouths.

Me too. Too much.

Dylan's phone buzzes and he thumbs through it, then places it near the gear shifter. The dark pools of his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and just as quickly, his gaze shifts back onto the road. His expression is guarded and stealthy, fixed on something dire.

Who the fuck is messaging him?

He pulls up into the lot and Jasmin and I both pop up and lazily snake out of his car. Max barks and Dylan shushes him.

"I cannot believe you left him outside." I bend and Max rushes to me and lets me lean into him for a hug.

What if he ran off? What if he got hungry or thirsty? What if the bugs crowded his space? I look up and shoot Dylan an angry glare.

"He's fine. He loves it. He's got his own shed out back and it's stocked with water."

I scratch behind Max's ears, and he leans into my hands. "Yea, what about snacks?"

Dylan crosses his arms, and Jasmin clears her throat.

"Right, well, I'm gonna head on inside, and I'll leave you two to discuss pet care arrangements."

I stand, and Dylan takes my hand. "She's staying with me tonight," he says to my best friend, who's retreating to our trailer, her eyes drooping and body ready to collapse.

I look up at him quizzically. Am I now?

Jasmin waves at me and winks. "Goodnight, Justice."

Dylan brings my knuckles to his lips and nibbles them gently. "Come on, I'll let you in. Make yourself at home. I'm going to feed Max."

Dazed, I follow him to the door and watch as he unlocks it and guides me inside. The screen door closes behind me and I'm alone in his tiny mansion.

The inside is temperature controlled and impeccably clean. Nothing is out of place. Everything is sleek, new, and sturdy. The last time I was here, I was in a complete funk. Denial guided me and tore me open from the inside out.

Today is different.

I look out the window; the night sky is reaching its end, and a dull orange is creeping up the horizon. In less than forty minutes, the brightness will take over. I lean away from the shutters and search for a bathroom.