23

Idon't want to be here. Well, I never want to be here, but tonight, a burning ripple bubbles in my stomach and an invisible weight sits on my windpipe. Like a bad feeling, a warning or premonition of sorts. My body is trying to tell me something, but there's a connection failure. As per usual.

Typical me. I never listen to my gut.

My shoulders roll with a need to ease the tension, but it's no use. Instead of figuring out a way to relax, I adjust the chain dangling over my ribs. I have on a cute pleather brasier with six rings dangling down the center, and six chains connecting the rings to both sides under my armpits. My black lace undies are covered by a ruffled skirt that looks like a tutu. I flip my hair so that the confetti from earlier falls to the floor, and adjust my black and silver fox mask.

I hate birthday celebrations at Nym-Pho.

Greedy motherfuckers with slippery hands–there aren't nearly enough bills being thrown at us for the extensive and prolonged ass shaking we do.

This is my second outfit for the night, and now I'm off to a private dance reserved by someone unknown to me. I want to go home.

And not the trailer. Nope. The shit box hasn't felt like home for a while now. Maybe it was when Noah fucked me over, or perhaps when his posse beat my ass in my own home. Or when Dylan moved in next door.

I'm not sure. When the fuck did my life take a sharp left at FML Lane?

I close my eyes before leaving the breakroom and the ranch appears before my closed lids. It's the first time I feel this overwhelming need to jump into my old truck and race to the lot my parents left us. To one of Helena's home-cooked meals and the warm duvet covers of my bed. I want to crawl underneath their secure embrace and turn my back on the life I created for myself here.

An annoyed voice clears their throat behind me. "Can you move?"

Shit. "Yea, sorry." I open the door, shake the sadness away, and head out to the dark and cool hallway that leads to the main floor.

The veiled goddess that stood behind me struts ahead and flips her hair. I swallow, hoping that the act soothes a dry tickle threatening to cower my body back into the safe confines of the staff room.

The flashing lights dance across my face and hit my eyes, stinging them. The music tonight is a seductive and promiscuous staccato of hip-hop and the crowd is eating it up. The club is packed tonight. The birthday of some hot and filthy rich broker brought in a crowd of hooting men ready to smack asses and toss singles on the floor like raindrops.

I was supposed to be headed to a cage above the stage, but some mystery man reserved the last hours of my shift for himself in a private room. I fucking hate private dances.

I wonder what Dylan would say.

He's a no-show tonight. I hadn't heard from him since he last texted me while I was with Jas in his kitchen. Something about our fuck sessions made me think he'd reach out by now and I don't know why. He's got tabs on me, and there's no need to message me to find out where I'm at. He can figure that out himself. I don't feel foolish so much as somewhat empty.

I'm comfortable with ‘fuck and forget', but not with Dylan. I can't forget him and I don't want to. Especially not after I confided in him.

He says I'm his, and he is mine. Whatever the fuck that means.

I was intoxicated by his entire persona and the words that left his sexy lips were like a siren song pulling me to the deep. This has never happened to me. It feels like I'm both drunk and high and roaming about, starving for a man covered in tattoos, with calloused hands tainted by unknown sins. Searching for him blindly, desperate to be consumed and ruined by him in whatever fucking way he wants.

I need him.

"Hey. Shake it off, Justice."

Jasmin collides with me at the circle where all the halls connect. How long have I been standing here?

"The client is waiting. Here."

She hands me a matte black card with a shiny, embossed black wolf on the surface. I nod and tuck the card in my bralette, then saunter toward the right corridor.

Spine straight, shoulders back, tummy tucked, tits perky, ass-bone up. I go over the mental checklist detailing what I have to present myself as and swallow back my sudden cowardice and sulking thoughts. Once I reach the door with the same card now stored in my bosom, hanging on the magnet just above eye level, I turn the copper doorknob.

The room is cooler than the heated hall and the music is unrecognizable but sultry. Like something you'd hear on a tantra, erotic album.

I skim the bar surface and frown. Normally, clients purchase a bottle of something and leave it for dancers to sip from. Instead, there's a glass canister of water and a matching cup next to it. I clear my throat and avoid looking at the man covered in shadows below the steps, sitting comfortably on a single leather couch. His hands rest on the armchairs and he waits motionless.

The room is darker than I expected; the only lights come from the soft red glow of the decorative staircase lighting. Most of the light shines on the small stage where two black metal poles stand. I walk slowly behind the bar and open the fridge and pull out a bottle of Patron. I pop it open and fill the glass cup next to the water canister and smile into the darkness.

No one tells me what to drink. I'll sip whatever the fuck I want, and at the moment, I don't want water. I set the glass down and walk around the top until it leads me to a decline in the carpeted ground and onto the round podium-like stage.

A glimmer catches my eye, and I sneak a glance at the mystery man. He wears a silver wolf mask, complete with fangs and carved to look realistic and intimidating. It has a smoke colored finish with blackened markings so it appears textured and so fucking real. Darkness stares back at me through the carved out eyeholes, turned down in a glaring stare. It only covers half of his face, but I can't see anything else. Only the lights that reflects off the metal wolf mask.

A shiver runs up my spine and sputters my body into a short quake. Contrólate.

I start my movements slow and try to pace them to the music. I use one of the poles for support and bend and shimmy seductively. The chains over my ribs glide and roll, tickling my sensitive flesh.

Jasmin convinced me to keep on the black pumps—she'd said the added length they gave me was hot and that my ass would thank me. But all I want to do is chuck them across the fucking room. My hips feel the burn as I sway them slowly, enticing the stranger.

Ten minutes later, and I need another drink. With this in mind, I walk as best I can, attempting to look sensual, and hop onto the bar. I take off the shoes and drop them to the floor. My poor feet ache, but I ignore the need to rub them and reach for the bottle and take one long swig. The stinging meets my throat in a soothing burn that melts away the nausea creeping below my nerves. I tuck it away and lower my back and arch my spine. Wolf man wants a show, and he's going to get one.

I sit up and tuck my legs under my ass. Water seems like a good idea, so I reach for the canister and drench my face with it. The liquid cascades down my breasts, past my thighs, and collects near my shins. I perch onto my knees and set the glass canister down, then take a look at the man who's shifted in his seat. He's leaning back with one hand tucked under his chin.

I think he's smiling, and the contents in my stomach threaten to climb up and out. His smile turns the water on my skin to ice, and I sit on my heels and cover my mouth. Why the fuck did I spill the entire contents on me? Now I have nothing but tequila to drink. Shit!

The shape of his mouth turning upwards causes a delicious wetness to gather at my center. A frightening gnaw eats at the edges of the hole that lives where my heart used to beat. An electrifying buzz bangs there instead and fuels me to hop off the bar and saunter back to the pole.

The man's eyes don't leave me, and his masked face follows my every move. I grip the pole and give him my best moves, swaying in perfect unison to the music. Something weaves between us, a thick thread spinning to the beat of our hearts. Warping the air and spinning out, tangling itself and uniting us somehow. I can't explain it, I can only feel it. And like a fucking lightbulb being flipped on, I know exactly who the mystery wolf man is.

As if he's guessed this, he reaches up and pulls back his mask.

Dylan.

I grin my big toothy smile and toss my head back, a laugh escaping me.

I don't stop dancing and swivel slowly down to bob my hips. My chest moves like it would underwater. I hang on to the black metal pole and use it as leverage to keep me steady while I continue to move up and down. I flip my hair and almost laugh again when I catch Dylan's jaw tightening. His perfectly chiseled face reveals nothing, but I can sense his hunger for me burning through his coal-colored eyes.

He pats his leg for me to approach, and when I stand to climb down the first step, he raises his hand, halting me.

Dylan shakes a finger at me. "Crawl to me, little fox."

The command in his voice melts my bones and brings me to my knees. I never even decided to follow the order in his words, but my body is compliant to him in ways I still don't know or understand.

He pats his leg again, and I slither toward him slowly, the plush carpet soft against my knees and palms. I stop before him on all fours, my core buzzing with anticipation. I swallow, the need to throw myself at him has my limbs trembling. When I look up to his perfect face, the blackness of his eyes consumes me, and I rise up and sit on my heels, waiting for his instructions.

He unzips his pants, and I lick my lips when he suddenly stands up and his hard cock springs out. It's like seeing it for the first time, the sheer size of it, covered in veins and already wet at the tip, and I bite my lip in response to it all.

I open my mouth and move toward his hips when he lifts a finger to stop me. He makes a low tsk sound and my lower lip sticks out in a pout. He chuckles and reaches for it, pinching my lips between his fingers.

He parts my lips with his thumb and grazes my bottom teeth. "This isn't going to be soft and slow, Niki. I'm going to fuck your pretty mouth until I spill the contents of my balls into your throat. And you'll swallow every drop."

I'm salivating, and I close my lips around his thumb and bite down. "You promise?"

There is no warning. Like a rabid animal, Dylan squeezes my jaw and lets out a low growl while he thrusts his cock into my mouth.

My eyes water at the sudden intrusion and I stretch my mouth wider. While I concentrate on breathing through my nose, the forceful thrusts of his hips push me back, and I spread my knees and angle them for better support. I grip his thighs for leverage and blink back the tears that have collected in the corner of my eyes. The plush rug burns my knees, and I want to smile, but my lips are already pushed back taut. Dylan groans deeply while he pounds my face, pushing deeper and deeper. He isn't holding back; instead, he shoves himself into my mouth and swivels his hips, thrusting like a mad man.

Saliva gathers on the corners of my lips and leaks out, coating him and causing delicious sounds that have both him and me trembling. I think he's expecting me to gag, which I'll gladly do if that's what he wants. But I don't and it seems to fuel him. The mask is slick on my cheeks and uncomfortable over my nose, but I ignore it.

Dylan grips the back of my neck and looks down, his eyes ablaze with desire. His free hand smooths my hair back and then he twines his fingers and yanks my head back, tugging at the strands and gripping tightly to hold my face steady.

"Good girl," he purrs.

His words force my chest to puff up with pride, and I attempt to lick up his shaft while he's fucking my throat. Sloppy wet sounds fill the space and Dylan grunts and picks up speed. I imagine his dick multiplied and fucking me in every hole at the same time, and I moan at the idea of how exquisite that would be.

He suddenly trembles and pumps my throat more deliberately until he momentarily freezes.

"Fuck, Niki."

He thrusts into me, his balls slap my chin, and a tremor shivers through us. I feel the warmth of his cum filling me, and I try to smile, but greedily swallow back each drop until he pulls out slowly.

Before he can retreat, I grab the corner of his shirt and dab it over my mouth, and he chuckles. Dylan grabs my wrists and pulls me up, then lifts me, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist.

He takes my mask off and tosses it somewhere near his feet. "I missed you, little fox."

Then he buries his face in my neck, breathes me in, and bites down at the hollow of my neck. He sucks and then licks at the indents his teeth most likely left behind.

"Did you now?"

I rub my hands over his scalp, loving the way the buzzed cut scrapes along my palms. My thumbs smooth out the wild hairs of his brows and then glide down his chiseled face to trace over his bottom lip.

"Thank you for the food. It was delicious." He kisses my thumb, and the air escapes my lungs.

So he went back to his trailer and found the plate I left for him. It must have been after Jas and I left. I'd been watching his property like an obsessed hawk. I wonder at what time he got back and what he's been up to all day.

Fuck, I'm tormented by his absence. But he's here now, and the need to leave with this man besets me. Where? It doesn't matter. I just want to be in his arms, on top of him, underneath him. Just smelted into one body, one complete being. But doubt eats away at the hollow cavity in me, and I sigh as my thoughts take over. I press my forehead against his and throw my arms around his neck.

"You don't think this is moving too fast?" Says she who just got her mouth shamefully fucked at her place of work without a single protest.

I want to rewind and take my words back. I can read his eyes. Here we go again, he's thinking. Dylan clears his throat. "No."

I could laugh, but I don't want him to take this as a fucking joke. Of course he would give me a one word, flat response. I suddenly want to choke him, but instead, I squeeze my thighs around his waist like an anaconda would its prey.

"How long have you been looking for this?"

I look at him questionably, and he gently sets me on my feet and pushes my hair back behind my ears.

"Home." The word makes my head snap up to meet his eyes. "Trust this… trust me. I don't want to hold back when it feels like I've finally found my home. Do you?"

I shake my head. "No." Of course I don't. "But," I look around sheepishly, "I don't know who you are. Where you come from, the truth about how much you know about me. About everything."

"Okay, that's fair."

My palms press against his hard chest, and I lean into him. I definitely hadn't expected his response. His hand searches the inside pocket of his jacket and he produces a black leather choker with a wolf embalmed at the very center. Dylan wraps it around my neck and easily secures the clasp at my nape. It fits comfortably snug, and my fingers graze the glossy figure at the center. I look up, and I'm sure I wear a big ass question mark on my forehead while he wears a smug grin.

"Now everyone will know. Dances are allowed, touching what's mine is not."

I punch a closed fist playfully at his right pec and roll my eyes. I can't with this man, and I opt to change the subject. Either way, a black collar is better than a red one. Patrons won't fuck with the rules and hands will stay off. I can live with that.

"So, what do you know?"

Dylan's lips spread into a wide grin. "Everything."