At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

Belle stops talking when Ariel reaches over and pinches her lips together with her thumb and two of her fingers.

“No more talking. No more interviewing. I can dress the two of you up, but I can’t take you anywhere without the stick in your ass showing,” Ariel says, pointing at me before turning her finger toward Belle. “And your purity blinking like a neon sign above your head. We’re at a strip club, for fuck’s sake. Yes, we are doing some recon for our business, but we also need to have fun.”

“Technically, you only dressed me up. Why does Belle get to wear what she always wears and I have to dress . . . skanky?” I question, looking down at my outfit and then pointing to Belle’s modest, light-green sundress.

“Because Belle is a colt, just learning to walk. We have to ease her into this or she’s going to fall flat on her face. We had to grab her arms and pull her out of a first-floor window tonight just to get her here,” Ariel reminds me as Belle nods in agreement, grabbing the shot glass the bartender refilled for her again and tipping it back. “And you’re dressed like a skank because you are a skank. Deep down, under the beige and pearls and PTA bake sales, is a Clone-a-Willy and fetish-porn lover, screaming to get out. Let the skank out, Cindy. Let her out and let her fuck shit up.”

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, letting the sultry beat of the music piping through the club flow through me and get me in the right frame of mind. I need to stop complaining and stop worrying so much. I can’t exactly be the strong, independent woman I know is inside me if I can’t have a little fun. The problem is, it’s been so long since I had anything even resembling fun, that I’m not sure I even know where to begin.

Ariel smiles at me when I open my eyes and move closer to the bar, resting my elbows on top of it to push my cleavage together as I make eye contact with the bartender. He quickly refills my shot glass with more pink liquid and gives me a wink.

“It’s on the house. Courtesy of Mr. Charming,” the bartender tells me, lifting his chin in the direction of somewhere over my shoulder before walking away.

I turn around with the shot in my hand, and the three of us stare at a booth in the far corner of the room, where PJ is currently sitting, staring right at me.

He’s all alone on the long leather seat, his arms outstretched on the back of the couch, like he’s just waiting for someone to come over and sit down next to him. He’s traded in his usual uniform of jeans and a casual shirt for a pair black dress pants and a white button-down, with the cuffs unbuttoned and pushed up to his elbows. I can see the magnificent muscles in his forearms as his hands grip the back of the leather couch. And even from all the way over here, every time a few of the club lights flash over his face, I can see how intently he’s staring at me, and all the skin I’m showing tonight heats under his perusal.

“Well, your tits just got you a free shot. Now it’s time to really put those babies to work. Get over there and fuck shit up,” Ariel tells me with an encouraging smack on the ass that causes me to jump and give her a dirty look over my shoulder.

“Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t like that. Lezbehonest, you like a little spanking and hair grabbing every now and again, don’t you? Get over there and get that man to pull your hair and make you howl like a bitch in heat,” she tells me, holding up her hand for a high five.

I ignore her hand as I try to straighten a few wayward strands of hair that have come loose from the updo Ariel gave me.

“Stop messing it up,” she complains.

“I can’t mess up something that already looks atrocious.”

“It’s called a messy bun for a reason. It’s better than having your hair pulled back so tightly you almost give yourself an aneurism. You look hot. Get over there and getchya some,” Ariel adds with a laugh.

“I’m not getting some of anything. I’m going to go over there to talk business. Pick his brain. Show him that we’re serious about this,” I remind her as I quickly do my shot, hand her the empty glass, and start walking in PJ’s direction. His eyes are still boring a hole right through me.

“And I’m serious about you going over there and riding his frickle! Ride that frickle, Cindy! Ride it all night long and loosen up!” Ariel shouts after me as I push my way through the crowd of people toward the booth where PJ is sitting, letting the outfit I’m wearing and the little bit of liquid courage I drank give me some of that confidence I was looking for.