Dark Queen

“Help yourself to what you need. Just be quick before the dancers arrive. It’s a bitchfest in here when they’re all together.”

She signals around the room. “You’re not allowed to take anything with you when you leave. Your uniform goes here to be steam cleaned after use.” She points to a chute in the wall.

“If you need help tightening the corset, give me a shout.” She winks before leaving me alone in the space.

I go to the rack of clothing and find the server outfits. Picking my size, I strip my clothes and slip into the leather it’s harder than putting on leotards, sticking to the skin.

Closing the corset around my waist, I tug on the bindings getting a tight pull, my boobs pushing up, matching the other girls.

Walking to one of the full-length mirrors I stroke a hand down my body, I don’t look like myself, but maybe tonight, I don’t have to be me.

Swiping on a little lipstick, I pull my hair into a high ponytail and opt to wear my own leather boots. They’re comfortable and won’t risk blistering my feet.

I can do this.

Plastering on a smile I head back out to the bar.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like that.” Simon dips his head, a rose tinge heating his neck as he leans over the bar checking me out.

“Bad weird?” I ask, looking down my body. The leather is like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Just different weird. You pull it off. I think that’s what makes it weird.” He chuckles.

“I’m not going to be working the pole, Simon,” I tease.

“Hey, that’s how the favors start out,” he jests, and I throw a coaster at him from the bar. He ducks, and it hits another bartender on the back of the head.

“Sorry.” I cringe, biting my lip to stop from laughing.

A dark-haired man walks out onto the club floor, and all talk ceases, a shift in the atmosphere brings my eyes to him.

“It’s our first night opening since we lost Serena,” he booms. “I know most of you are eager to get back to work and others apprehensive. But let’s give them high energy and show them what they’ve been missing.” Cheers ring out, and the lights dim.

Show time.

One hour into my shift and the place is packed. The ambiance is seductive, with a relaxed energy, despite how busy the servers and I have been.

I walk over to one of the private booths taking away their empty glasses ignoring the hand that slides money into my back pocket.

I’ve had more hands slipping cash down my pants tonight than some of the dancers. “Thanks,” I wink down at the guy. I’m getting the hang of how to work the men out of their cash.

Swinging my hips as I leave, noting them watching my ass a grin lifts my lips. I can see why the girls work here, it’s easy money.

Getting back to the bar Simon points to a table close to where the pole dancers are working their bodies like gymnasts.

Their agility and fluid movements are so impressive, where do they learn to do this, is there schools for pole dancing?

“That table wants a booth when one opens up.” Simon informs me, looking ruffled.

“You, ok?” I ask, seeing his eyes keep flitting around my body. Is he watching the dancers?

“Heads up,” he warns, motioning to something behind me. I chance a look and feel a warm glow heat my skin.

Mr. Leto is walking the floor. He shakes hands with a couple VIP guests before heading in our direction.

His eyes find mine, and my heart flutters violently in my chest when his features darken. The anger transforming his face steals my breath.

Hooking me under the arm, he marches me through the staff door, I attempt to pull myself free but he just tightens his hold.

“Oh my god, you can’t keep grabbing me like this and dragging me away like a caveman.” I snap. As he pulls me down the long hall into an office.

Finally releasing me with a gentle shove, making me almost stumble. I right myself and wail on him. “Excuse you!” I shove at his chest, and it doesn’t move him one inch.

“Stop manhandling me like I’m a child, do you know how many of your bruises I will be wearing tomorrow because you’re an asshole?”

The atmosphere is heavy, his breathing like a snarling beast.

I attempt to pass him to get out of the room, but he grabs me from behind as soon as my palm touches the handle.

His hand wraps around the front of my throat, placing pressure on my windpipe. He jerks my head against his chest and tilts my chin up, using my ponytail as leverage.

Every damn inch of him closes in on my body, his heat scorching all the sacred places inside me.