Strip Me Bare (12 page)

“Got something on your mind, girlie
girl?”

I bite my lip, “I think I’m going to go
inside tonight.”

Lorenzo raises his eyebrows surprised, then
nods and unhooks the rope. I step past him with a small
appreciative smile and walk through the front door.

“Why does she get to just walk right in?!” I
hear someone in line yell, all pissed off.

“She’s VIP hoe,” Lorenzo snaps back. Then his
voice travels up behind me, “Shelly, no cover!”

I look at Shelly; she’s the door girl
collecting money. She’s a short little thing with curly black hair
that looks like it’s been doused in Soul Glow. She smiles and I
catch the glint of a gold tooth on her left incisor. I smile back
timidly, and then with a deep breath, step through the two black
drapes behind her.

Culture is one big sprawling room packed with
people. It’s a dark space with white and blue strobe lights dancing
on the ceiling. The music is deafening, the DJ pumping out a dance
mix of
Died in Your Arms Tonight
through the speakers. There
are half naked men walking around everywhere in tight, little,
metallic blue shorts. Some are dancing with women; some are
carrying trays of drinks; others are suspended overhead, spinning,
twirling and flipping from aerial ribbon like Cirque du Soleil.
Okay.
I definitely wasn’t expecting artistic entertainment.
But it adds a bit of taste to the risqué environment. Really
though, I didn’t know what to expect. The strip show was so much
raunchier. This just feels like a New York City nightclub with some
extra edge.

I make my way to the back of the room,
bobbing and weaving through the dense mass of people. It’s mostly
women, but there are some men too. I look for Ryan, but I don’t see
him anywhere. Suddenly, someone grabs my hand and spins me around.
It’s a tall, dark-haired, good-looking man dressed in metallic blue
Speedos who I don’t recognize at all. He slips his arm around my
waist and begins to move against my body. Paralyzed by momentary
surprise, I allow him to touch me, then as nicely as possible push
him away. That just felt weird. He lets go of me respectfully, but
there is still a glint of persistence in his eyes.

“Do you know where I can find Ryan Pierce?” I
yell to him over the music.

“Who?” he asks.

“Ryan Pierce!”

“You mean Jack?”

Oh God.

Yes. Yes, Jack the goddamn Stripper.

I nod.

He points behind me to a half wall hung with
silver beads.

“Thanks,” I mouth and head off in the
direction of the beads, when I feel a tug at my arm.

“If you can’t find Jack, you can always come
find me,” he ogles. “I’m Nick.”

I smile awkwardly. Okay Nick
, thanks, but
no thanks;
I’m a one-stripper kind of girl.

I slip away through the crowd and walk up to
the beaded wall, the smell of lavender incense assaulting my
nose.

I brush some of the heavy beads away and get
only a glimpse behind the curtain when someone grabs my hand.

“There’s nothing you want back there,
honey.”

I glance up and recognize Divan, AKA the
Dominator. He’s dressed the same as all the other men in the club;
mostly naked. He’s tall, dark and lovely, and when he looks at me,
I feel completely at ease to spite his alter ego.

“What’s back there?” I ask intrigued.

He shakes his head no, and then leads me a
few feet away. “Looking for Ryan?” his deep voice resonates over
the music.

“Yes, have you seen him?” I ask loudly. The
music has changed to a relentless thumping sound.

“I can ask one of the bouncers to find him.
They’re all mic’d up.”

I nod, and he walks over to a guy standing in
a corner that is absolutely huge, and has the word staff plastered
across his chest in big white letters. I see him put his hand to
his mouth and speak.

Still curious about what’s behind the beads,
I glance behind me and see Ryan sliding out with a girl on his arm.
They’re laughing and smiling and before they part she gives him a
long, drawn-out kiss on the cheek. It feels like someone just
smashed me in the chest with a brick fist. When he looks up he
notices me, his expression twisting into an
oh fuck
face.

Oh fuck is right, friend.

His whole demeanor changes as he saunters
toward me; morphing into someone powerful and intoxicating, someone
who commands the entire room owning every cell and every atom and
every organism in it. He’s different here. His eyes, his face, his
energy; it’s all different from the Ryan I know outside these
walls.

In fact he’s not Ryan at all. He’s Jack the
Stripper.

He snakes one arm around me and nuzzles his
face into my hair. “I would kiss you, but I don’t want to give the
other women any ideas,” he hisses in my ear.

“Kissing is off limits?”

Why did I just ask that?

“On the floor it is.”

Why did he answer?

Ugh.

I stare at Ryan, he’s dressed in jeans and a
button up, unlike all the other men in the club. Why? I have these
crazy emotions splitting me in two. On one hand this arrangement
eats away at me, knowing he gets paid to spend time with other
women. On the other hand I can’t help but be curious. What makes
this so appealing? For him and for them?

My head is spinning from the environment, the
change in Ryan and the overpowering perfumy smell of lavender
radiating off him. Not to mention the fact he just admitted kissing
is permitted behind closed doors.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, digging his
hip into mine.

I want to say yes, because I am, but I also
want to know what the fuck is behind that beaded curtain.

I feel like this is my decisive moment before
we take the next step. I need to find out if I really can try with
Ryan, or if I’m fooling myself and need to cut my losses.

“What’s back there?” I ask him, thrusting my
chin the direction he just came from.

“You really want to know?”

I consider for a beat and then nod my head
yes.

Ryan’s eyes become intense, like two blue
storms of sexuality. My whole body locks up. Holy shit.

He takes my hand and leads me towards the
hanging beads, my pulse accelerating. On second thought, maybe I
don’t want to see the wizard.

We slip through the heavy room divider and
into a hallway of more dangling beads. Except these are dense
crystals in all different shapes and sizes, with bright orange and
purple lights shining behind them. And if you look hard enough you
can see silhouettes; bodies of men and women doing scandalous
things in provocative ways.

One term comes to mind as I follow Ryan down
the hallway.
Champagne Room.

We stop in front of some hanging crystals.
They clink as Ryan pushes them aside, “after you.” I walk under an
orange spotlight, into a small space with a white leather couch
deep enough to lie on and walls a warm golden yellow.

Ryan steps in behind me and presses his body
flush against mine. My mind races.

Is he really going to do this?

Am I really going to let him?

Can I even handle this? Five minutes ago he
was with another woman. Quite possibly in this same room doing God
only knows what.

“Why do you do this Ryan?” I expel. I know he
explained it in words, but I need to experience it to truly
understand.

He ambles around me so close; the only thing
separating us is a whisper of air.

“I told you, the money,” he says as he
unbuttons his shirt.

“You said women too,” I watch him cautiously,
my gaze jumping between his eyes and his chest.

“That was before you walked back into my
life. You’re the only woman I want to touch now. The others, like
you saw before, it’s just an act. A business transaction. It’s what
I have to do to get what I want.”

“Doesn’t it make them feel used?” I flick my
eyes up at him.

“It mustn’t. They always come back.”

“You like it. I saw your face. That wasn’t an
act.”

Ryan stands right in front of me, his shirt
unbuttoned and dangling open. “I won’t lie to you Alana, I’ll never
lie to you,” his tone is hard, but seductive. “I do like the
attention. But it’s not real. It’s my job to sell attractiveness
and fantasy, and I do it well. But that’s all it is, fantasy and I
know it. When I’m with you, that’s my real.”

My breath catches when he says the word real.
I can’t help but find the irony in his words; I’m exactly to him
what he is to me. Two people one and the same, both living a double
life to get what they want; a future and each other.

And that is what I want. A future, with
Ryan.

I go to put my hands on his chest, but he
steps away shaking his head no. “In this room, it’s all about you,”
he walks around, stopping right behind me. “You have to tell me
what you want Alana,” he whispers in my ear and I almost go limp,
the sound of his voice is erotic as hell.

I swallow hard, but can’t utter a word,
because truth be told, I have no freakin’ idea what I want. At
least, not in this scenario.

Ryan starts to rub my shoulders. I think he
can feel my hesitation.

“Why are you so tense? This is supposed to be
fun.”

Fun? The word rattles around in my head. Fun
- a time or feeling of enjoyment or amusement.

Okay, let’s have some fun.

I turn around to face him and our eyes lock.
“Show me.”

“Show you what?” his tone dripping with
sensuality.

“Show me Jack the Stripper.”

Holy fuck!

His chest starts to heave as his breathing
becomes heavy. He pushes me down and I land with a little bounce on
the edge of the white couch. He slips his shoes off and I vaguely
hear music playing in the background; a trippy remix of Muse’s
Madness.
The melody sounds like something straight out of a
Quentin Tarentino movie. I think it’s louder than I perceive, but
I’m not sure, this whole situation is clouding my head.

Ryan starts to move, snaking his body to the
rhythm. Slowly, he slides his shirt down his arms and drops it onto
the floor, exposing his well-defined chest; it’s hard and toned and
looks slick, like he rubbed baby oil all over it. Then he starts
with his pants, undoing the button of his jeans with one deft,
smooth flick. After that, he leisurely slides his fly down, teasing
me with glances of his shiny blue briefs. His body is so agile and
provisioned, like each move is tuned to exhilarate my senses. And
exhilarate them it does. Because now he’s standing in front of me,
one article short of naked. He’s beautiful and seductive and
bewitching; and he knows it.

My heart is racing because all I want to do
is tell him what I want. What I really want. And that’s him, inside
me.

My head is racing because everything I know
is telling me this is taboo. Something frowned upon in my social
circle.
In my father
’
s social circle.
My rationale
and my desire are slicing me right in two.

Ryan forces my knees apart and then crawls on
top of me as my head and body go to war. He urges me onto my
elbows, all my nerve endings throbbing as his body overtakes mine.
I grab onto his neck with one hand as he grinds and rolls, every
inch of him surging against every inch of me. And it’s So. Fucking.
Hot. I can barely stand it. Then I look up into his eyes and I’m
shocked at what I find; emptiness, nothingness, just a vacant
stare.

He really has given me what I want; he’s
shown me Jack the Stripper.

My heart constricts, because this isn’t the
Ryan I know and definitely not the one that I want.

I hear Emily’s voice inside my head:
Don
’
t be scared. Show Ryan who
’
s boss, then let
him break you down. Let him know you can be strong and confident,
and still be vulnerable in his arms.

Well, I guess now is as good a time as any to
take her advice.

I push Ryan off me and onto his back. “Alana,
what the-”

“Shhhh,” I put my finger over his lips to
silence him; his eyes are huge as he looks up at me. I wonder if I
can kiss him? I want to, but I don’t.

Then I stream my fingertip down his jaw, over
his chest, teasing his skin, stroking and caressing until I reach
the line of his shiny blue briefs. He throws his head back and lets
out a little moan. Then I start to move, channeling my inner
Brittney Spears.

No, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but this
is the effect Ryan has on me. He pushes my limits, he always has.
That’s why I love him. Why I’ve always loved him. He makes me feel
alive.

I mimic his moves, rolling my body over his
to the rhythm of the music; bumping and grinding, amplifying the
friction that’s already crackling around us. Then I sit up and
straddle him, shake my hair out and smile temptingly. Ryan runs his
hands up my thighs with his fingers splayed as I circle my waist in
a seductive dance. I stop him with an impish finger wag before he
gets too far. He bites his lip and groans as I place his hands over
his head. He strenuously watches my every move with parted lips,
ragged breath and a spellbound expression.

I start to untie the string of my wrap dress,
a little, white sexy number I thought Ryan could have some fun
with.

Little did I know how
much
fun we were
going to have.

Slowly, still keeping with the seductive drum
of the music, I unwrap one side of the dress, then the other,
revealing a blush pink mesh bra with a diamond studded front clasp,
and panties that match. Both completely see through.

“Fuck, Alana,” Ryan growls, grabbing my hips
and bringing my body down to his, showing me just how much he
approves. I brace myself with one hand on his chest and feel his
heartbeat pouring out from underneath it. Then I lean down and kiss
him, closing the distance between us. And not just the physical
distance, the emotional one. If I want to truly know Ryan, I need
to walk a mile in his shoes, although tonight, I feel like I’m
running a marathon.