Whitney & Dax
Whitney & Dax
Whitney
My mouth drops open, and I stare at my boss. I don’t know if I’m relieved or terrified.
He just offered me the job that I’ve been both wishing for and hoping I wouldn’t have to take. And now here it is. A “promotion.” From cocktail waitress to full-fledged stripper.
“Um, okay,” I stammer.
He gives me a harsh look. “Do you want it or not, Whitney? There are plenty of other girls willing to take Poppy’s place.”
“Yes. I want it.” The words fly from my mouth. I’d be an idiot not to. The kind of money the strippers make at this club is insane compared to the tips I make handing out drinks to the horny guys that come to see them.
“Good. After that stunt tonight, she won’t be coming back here. You start tomorrow.”
One of the club’s strippers just left without a word, yanked offstage by some guy that I was serving drinks to only minutes before. Apparently, you don’t get a second chance here.
I nod and gulp. Tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours I’ll be taking my clothes off for money. Part of me thinks I’ve lost my mind. The other part is turned on by it. Knowing that all eyes will be on me. Wanting me. Hot for me. Cocks hard as I peel my clothes off piece by piece.
A shiver runs through my body, and I feel a needy throb between my legs. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen action if just the idea of it has me aching for someone to make me come.
As usual, I’ll be taking care of that myself when I get home. Most likely to fantasies of my fuck hot roommate. Also as usual.
I can’t help it. Dax has a body made for sex. I’ve seen it more than enough times to know what nearly every
perfect inch of that man looks like. He’s not exactly modest, walking around our apartment in nothing but boxer briefs half the time. It’s like he wants me to look.
But that’s just my fantasies again. He hasn’t once acted like he wants me. So I’m doomed to lust after his perfect body until the end of time. Or at least as long as we share our apartment.
“Get back to work, Whitney.” My boss’ words snap me out of my fantasies, and I rush back to the bar to pick up the drinks waiting to be delivered to the club’s patrons.
I finish my shift, knowing the way these men look at me in my tiny skirt and even tinier top will be amplified a hundred times over tomorrow. When they’re looking at me naked.
After I change from my heels into some comfy sneakers and throw on a hoodie over my uniform, I walk out the back entrance.
“Hey, princess.”
I jerk my eyes up at the voice.
“Dax.” The words come out a little breathier than I mean for them to. Probably because I’m already gearing up for the session with my vibrator, my mind already thinking about the man standing right in front of me.
It’s not unusual for him to meet me after work and take the 6 Train home together. He’s a partial owner of a bar just down the street. But tonight it feels weird. I’m not sure if it’s because I was just fantasizing about him or because I feel weird knowing that this will be the last time he picks me up from this job. The next time, I’ll have just spent the night taking off my clothes for a bunch of horny assholes.
We fall into step beside each other. Should I tell him? I don’t think I want to. Even though he doesn’t look at me the way I really want him to, at least I know where we stand. That could all change if he knows.
He pulls me out of my internal debate when he laughs. “You won’t believe what I saw on my way over here. That girl who strips at your club—Poppy?”
I nod, unnerved at where this conversation might be going.
“She was all wrapped up in one of my other partners that owns the bar. Dominic. Small world, huh?”
“Yeah.” I force out a laugh as we make our way underground, but he doesn’t seem to notice how strange I’m acting.
“If I’d known Dom came to your club, I might have come with him.” He gives me a cheeky grin. “Maybe the two of us will hit up one of your tables sometime. Though I don’t know that I want him checking you out in that sexy outfit you wear.”
I look over at him as we wait for the train. Is he serious? I want to believe he thinks I’m sexy. Then I catch the joking smirk that’s nearly always plastered on his face. Nope. Not even a little bit serious.