In Bed with the Beast (Naughty Princess Club 2)

“I’m the entertainment,” I tell her, smiling broadly.

“I thought you ran the library?” she says with an air of suspicion and judgment.

Forget being professional. I’m going to tell this woman she can shove her judgment right up her—

“Oh, didn’t you hear? The library is closing,” Ariel says, coming up next to me and wrapping her arm around my waist. “Poor, sweet Isabelle.”

Ariel makes a tsking sound, giving me a sad look and a secret wink before looking back at Mrs. Anderson with the same forlorn expression on her face.

“She lost her mother at a young age in a tragic accident and has spent all of her life taking care of her sweet, ailing father,” Ariel laments dramatically. “Without the library, she just doesn’t have anything else. The poor dear has had to turn to stripping just to make ends meet. It’s a shame, really. She’s such a bright, wonderful young woman, and look what’s become of her. Who knows what will happen next? First it’s stripping, then it’s selling her body for money. It’s just a sad, cold world out there Mrs. Anderson, and what’s a girl like Isabelle to do without her precious library to keep her safe?”

She’s really laying it on thick, and I’d throw my head back and laugh if Mrs. Anderson weren’t eating up every word, her expression quickly turning from disgust to worry before ending up with anger.

“The library is closing?” she asks in confusion.

I find it kind of hard to believe she doesn’t already know this, but she truly does look surprised by this news.

“Well, um, yes. The board decided it just wasn’t worth it, and since we don’t have enough funds to keep it open . . .” I trail off.

“That no good, rotten son of a bitch!” she suddenly shouts.

“I’m sorry?”

Now it’s my turn to be confused.

“The piece of absolute dog shit of a man I married promised me they wouldn’t close the library! Oh, he’s going to regret this. Don’t you worry, dear. As soon as I get home, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. You won’t have to be a hooker, I promise,” Mrs. Anderson reassures me, reaching out and patting my arm.

“Um, thank you?” I mutter.

Ariel and I watch her walk away, pulling her phone out of the purse hanging from her arm.

“Did I just save your library?” Ariel asks.

“I don’t know. I think you might have.”

“Hot damn!” she cheers, dropping her arm from around my waist and smacking my ass. “Now, get over there and make momma some money!”

I laugh at her and move to the middle of the room to quiet everyone down, trying really hard not to get my hopes up that Mrs. Anderson just might be the answer to my prayers.

As Ariel moves over to the corner of the room to stand out of the way and let me do my thing, I introduce myself and give them the short list of rules we state at the beginning of each party. I feel a little strange saying them since they’re mostly geared towards men, but it still has to be done. I just change them up a little, since telling these women they aren’t allowed to jerk off in front of me would be weird.

“No touching me, no touching yourself in front of me, and no removing your own clothes during the performance,” I tell them with a smile.

“Did you hear that MaryAnn?” the owner of the home and the bride’s mother shouts to Mrs. Anderson who’s over by the fireplace, still on her phone. “No diddling yourself during the performance!”

The women all start cheering, and Mrs. Anderson shoos them away with her hand, turning away from everyone to continue with her call.

Grabbing the bride-to-be’s hand, I guide her over to the folding chair in the middle of the room, and everyone takes a seat on couches and chairs as Ariel starts the music for me.

It’s a popular song that everyone knows—“Pillowtalk” by Zayn, and all the women start clapping and singing along as I begin my dance. I channel my sexy inner goddess and start swaying my hips in front of the bride-to-be, running my hands up and down my body. Ear-piercing screams almost bust out my eardrums when I easily rip my dress off and toss it to the side.

I put everything I have into this dance, sitting down on her lap facing away from her and rubbing the back of myself all over her as I sensually move to the beat of the music.

“This is my first lap dance, and my first time ever seeing a stripper, and it’s awesome!” the bride tells me.

“Did you know the first account of a woman getting paid for dancing erotically can be traced back to the Bible, where some interpreters tell us that Salome, the daughter of the Jewish princess Herodias, seductively performed the Dance of the Seven Veils to please King Herod during his birthday celebration?” I tell her, bending forward in her lap to touch the ground and shake my ass before coming back up and pressing my back against her chest.