Page 49 of Dust to Dust

I needed relief from the ache between my thighs. I needed to come. Without Quinn to do it, I would have to take matters into my own hands.

Instead of coming off the stage into the crowd, I went back behind the curtain. “What are you doing?” Paula asked.

“Oh, um, I-I just need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay. When you’re done, go straight to room five. I’ve got a dance lined up for you.”

With a nod, I continued onto the dancer’s bathroom, the fire continuing to burn between my legs. After I slipped inside, I quickly locked the door. My stripper heels clicked along the marble-tiled floor. With my breath coming in harsh pants, I slumped down on the green velvet settee in the corner.

As I widened my legs, I momentarily paused. “What the hell?” I murmured. Was I actually going to do this? Masturbating in a semi-public place was completely darkside for my usual vanilla self. But then Quinn’s predatory gaze flashed before my mind, fanning the flames between my thighs.

Fuck yes, I was doing this.

Without another thought, I stuck my hand inside my thong. Closing my eyes, I went back to my night with Quinn. At the feel of my fingers against my center, I moaned. After stroking the moisture against my lips, I pinched my clit.

When I plunged two fingers deep inside me, I bit down on my lip to silence my moan. As I lifted my hips, I imagined straddling Quinn. The way his hard cock had felt between my legs. I wondered what it would feel like to have his fingers inside me. Or even better to feel his dick pumping inside me.

I wanted it all. His fingers in my pussy. His cock in my mouth. His cum down my throat.

With a cry, my walls clamped on my fingers. Throwing my head back, my hips kept pumping as I rode out the powerful orgasm. One of the best I’d ever had without a vibrator.

But the incredible high was short-lived. As I came back to myself, mortification rained down on me. Had I actually just made myself come in a bathroom while fantasizing about Quinn? What kind of freak did that?

I jerked my hand out of my thong with disgust before hurrying over to the sink to clean myself up. After wetting a paper towel, I washed the still-tingling flesh between my legs. As I started soaping up my hands, I stared at my reflection. “Get a grip, Isla. And not on yourself or Quinn’s dick,” I muttered.

After tossing the paper towel in the trash, I hurried out of the bathroom. I arrived at the private rooms to find Paula waiting for me. “Everything okay?”

As a matter of fact, no. My mild-mannered self just masturbated in the bathroom to my Irish mafia boss. Plastering a smile on my face, I replied, “Stomach troubles.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Not only had I lied, but I picked something gross to do it with. Worst of all was Paula’s sympathetic look. “Why don’t you take a break after this one?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“Okay. He’s waiting inside.”

Chapter Thirteen: Quinn

With the taste of Isla’s soup still radiating on my tongue, I wanted a taste of her. Since I couldn’t have one physically in the flesh, I had to resort to fantasy. The one way to achieve that was through watching her dance.

When I took my usual spot at the edge of the bar, Conleth noted my presence with a jerk of his chin. I’m sure he’d been running his mouth with Sarah about how all the sudden I was interested in watching the dancers perform.

Well a certain dancer.

As Isla came out onto the stage, the leering whistles and cheers rang through the room. My fists clenched at my sides as I had to fight the urge to inflict pain on any man who lusted after her.

As her hips swiveled and swayed, Isla’s gaze bounced around the room. It felt like she was searching for me. When her gaze finally locked with mine, she stared intently at me.

There was something different about tonight’s performance. A longing had entered her expression. She bit down on her lip more and arched her center harder into the pole. Her hands seemed to linger longer on her breasts–the nipples pebbling under her touch.

Fuck me, was she turned on?

And was thinking of me turning her on?

My cock throbbed in my slacks at the very thought. There would be no getting out of jerking off in my office. Just the thought of Isla’s hands or mouth on my dick made me moan.

When Isla finished her performance, she didn’t come off the stage like she usually did. Instead, she slipped behind the curtain. I fought the urge to barge backstage and hunt her down.

But I couldn’t do that with my fucking pants tented. Instead, I drew my jacket as best I could over me and ducked out to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I threw my head back against the wall and cupped my aching cock.

---