Page 2 of His Princess Brat
Like I would ever do that to a woman in real life, screw her on the floor like I couldn’t get enough of her or wait to get her to a bed. I honestly wouldn’t know. There weren’t a lot of women, in my experience, who stuck around long enough for sex once the initial get-to-know-you conversation reached the whole ‘yeah, I work, I’m a stripper’ part. Most seemed to have a problem reconciling the ‘faithful boyfriend’ that I would absolutely be with ‘he takes his clothes off for a living.’
I drew out that last pumping thrust to lustful shrieks. The audience was fanning themselves, laughing, groaning, reaching for their wallets. I ripped the chaps off, grabbed imaginary hips and feigned the rough hunger of me slamming home inside them. The wistfulness I could see in the eyes staring back at me said clearly most of these ladies would not have minded being held like this in my hands.
Getting down on all fours, I crawled toward this sweet, plump, librarian-looking girl, who stared at me coming—not like a submissive on his knees, but like a predator. Her eyes grew huge behind her dark-rimmed glasses, but she was cute. I could at least see myself fucking her as I got right up in her face, letting her see the hunger I might actually have if ever I was lucky enough to get a woman alone like this.
I tipped my head, noting the tightness of her throat as she swallowed hard when I leaned in close. Almost as if I were going to kiss her, though I didn’t. My mouth inches from her skin, I followed the curve of her cheek to her ear, and from her ear to the collar of her throat. I growled for her—
And that smack I had always known in the back of my mind would be coming bounced with a stinging crack off my jean-clad rump.
I reared back, shock devolving fast into fury as Lisa triumphantly crowed, “I’ll get up on that stage with you any day of the week!”
“God fucking damn it!” I snapped.
The poor librarian jumped back on her seat. Lisa only grinned, that smug ‘whatcha gonna do about it’ smirk she liked so much to flash widening on her face.
Don’t do it, that little voice in my head whispered. But too late, I was already seeing red and months past the point of caring.
The audience gasped and from the corner of my eye I saw Ezra jumping to get out from behind the bar. That he would be coming to this woman’s rescue when he should have banned her from this place ages ago pissed me off even more. To everyone’s shock, I grabbed Lisa around the waist and hauled her up onto the stage under the illuminating glow of the iridescent lights. There was one split second when the smugness vanished from her face and surprise took its place, when I could—should—have let her go. But all I could feel was the sting of that smack on my ass and the burning throb of outrage coursing molten through my veins, filling up my head and my chest.
I grabbed the leather gun belt off the stage, knocking the fake holster flying as I wrestled her down flat on the floor. Ripping her short skirt up I bared both her ass and the black lace thong she wore.
“Oh, shit!” someone swore, probably Ezra, as I whipped my arm up and brought the belt snapping down in a rain of spanks that had Lisa squirming, shouting, and then screeching within the first dozen strokes.
Someone—definitely Ezra—pulled me off her. But not before I lit a fire in Lisa’s ass that she wouldn’t soon forget.
She crab-crawled on all fours to get away from me.
“Don’t you ever—” I told her, my voice every bit as hard as the belt still dangling from my hand, “—do that to anyone ever again.”
She stared at me, her mouth hanging open, her face turning bright red. Snatching and shoving to get her skirt back down over what I hoped was a throbbing red ass, her shock dissolved into fury and she screamed back, “I’m going to have you arrested! I... I’m going to have you fired!”
Ezra snatched the belt out of my hand before I could go at her again. He needn’t have bothered. I was done. With both of them.
“No, you won’t, baby cakes. I fucking quit.”
Shaking off Ezra’s staying hand, I stormed off the stage. Every dancer backstage got the hell out of my way as I came stomping through to clean out my locker. The problem was, as I stood staring into that void of sparkling costumes, I couldn’t see a damn thing I wanted to take with me. Just the picture of Mazi and me, with his mom, back when we were teenagers. It had been my birthday back then, and even though she wasn’t my mom, she’d taken us to the zoo and then for burgers to celebrate.
She’d even baked me a cake. She couldn’t bake to save her life, but my own mother had been too busy bouncing back and forth between crack houses and rehab to care what day it was. Mazi’s mom had known I didn’t have anyone to wish me happy anything, so she had.
Patrice had been a hell of a woman.
I took the picture, left the rest, and walked out to my car. As I sat in the driver’s seat, wondering if cops were now being called and if I ought to wait for them, I saw Ezra step outside the door. He stared in my direction for a long time, but he didn’t start walking this way and I didn’t get out of the car. Eventually, he went back inside his club.
It took me a moment, lost in the quiet of my car, to process the events of the night, not to mention the repercussions, but eventually I decided to go on with my life. With a smile bigger than anyone who had just lost their job—and probably picked up an assault charge in the meantime—should have, I picked up my phone.
“I want my own elephant,” I said when Mazi picked up the call. “I’m naming it Pachysaurus Rex.”
If Mazi was curious as to what made me change my mind, he didn’t ask. He just sent the jet.
Brothers are good that way.
