Page 93 of For Pleasure Or Worse

I pulled out my scavenger list as a distraction.Get the DJ to play your song request.

That was easy enough, right? What kind of DJ didn’t take requests? The stage he was on was the most challenging part. It was higher than the dance floor, made to look like a bird cage or maybe a jail cell, with a tiny ladder in the back and an opening through the bars to come and go. There was hardly enough standing room for one guy and all his equipment, and I wasn’t entirely confident in the stability of the thing after watching him jump to the beat of a bass drop and rock the floor like a boat.

My first try was shouting through cupped hands toward the guy with no luck. I wasn’t going to throw a drink, but I wasn’t seeing too much of an option outside of climbing the ladder myself. That would likely get me ripped down by a meathead bouncer and thrown out of the club entirely. I opted to backup enough into the crowd to wave my arms like I was directing airline traffic. After a solid two minutes of lifting eagerly onto the balls of my feet and doing my sedentary jumping jacks, I caught his attention. He lifted one of his headphones off his buzzed head and beckoned me up toward him.

The second I reached the top of the DJ platform, I could feel a thousand eyes on me from below. I easily picked my bridal party out in the crowd, watching me skeptically. Natalia had a worried, confused dimple between her brows.

“You okay, man?” the DJ asked. Below the booth was loud, but inside it was deafening. My brain recalibrated taking in all the switches and knobs, the buttons glowing green and red. I clocked an open laptop at the center of the setup and squinted at a Spotify playlist actively running. This dude wasn’t even fucking mixing at all.

The platform we were on started to sway and I cut to it. “I have a request.”

“Nah, man, I don’t do that. I have a pretty strict setlist. You don't want to mess with the flow, you know? Can lose the whole crowd that way.”

My attention darted to the laptop again, and he took one step in front of it, blocking it from view.

“I won’t tell anyone your secret if you play one song for me—for my wife,” I added, knowing if anything he’d care more about her. His blue eyes sliced toward the buttons and he pushed one back and forth as if he were actually doing anything. “We just got married. Think of it as a first dance song. The crowd will love it.” I was a few inches taller and about fifty pounds heavier than him, and I used that size and practiced intimidation to make it seem like there was no ultimatum. “Please,” I tacked on.

He scratched the back of his head and stuck his tongue into his gums. Another beat picked up, skipping over itself, and the music man twirled his fingers around a turntable and threwhis fist out in the air. Tapping a button, an airhorn screeched, followed by a blast of smoke on the busy dance floor. This was the equivalent of an adult sensory table.

“What song,” he shouted. There was no question, just reluctant acceptance.

“Good man.” I clapped his chest.

My song request was personal, somewhat of an inside joke but more an anecdote of Natalia and me. And despite thinking it mightruin the flow, or whatever unremarkable words he used about the stolen setlist, it slipped into the tracks like it always belonged. It met the alluring vibe of the club right in the middle between sensual and euphoric. I waited for the first few bars of the song to play before slipping back down the ladder and into the crowd toward my wedding party, feeling extremely pleased with myself and awaiting the reaction of my bride.

chapter thirty-four

Natalia

That slick bastard.

Mateo had not only snuck himself into the high tower of the DJ booth to request a song and cross another item off the scavenger list, he’d picked one that I used frequently in our live cam sessions, almost so often that the response was Pavlovian as soon as the deep bass ruptured the room. My body replied in a stomach flipping, nipple perking, cunt fluttering way. It was like he’d done it on purpose. Which, clearly, he had, based on the surly way he rejoined our crew, watching me arrogantly, like he could see right through my skin to the blood in my veins rushing around trying to find a place to settle with nowhere to go but down.

My ache to get him alone was just as needling, but I was more demure about it. I could keep a poker face in a crowded room. Mateo on the other hand was unapologetically horny, but our group was too tipsy and blithe at that point to realize there was something else going on between my husband and me.

My husband.

My cheeks actually hurt from smiling.

Mateo sat across from me, a smirk on his lips. “I picked your favorite song.”

The chorus bellowed and I could picture the way I usually moved my body along with it, rolling my hips like a wave, running my hands through my hair, arching my back. It became obvious Matty was imagining the same choreography we’d practiced before, except he’d seen it half naked and on his back.

An idea poked at me. Not poked, it stabbed me urgently. If Angelo could kiss my sister for a point on the boards, I sure as hell could give my husband a lap dance to accomplish the same. I tapped Phee eagerly, grasping for her scavenger list and the little pen she slid into the spandex shorts under her dress. She didn’t even blink an eye. The queen of fashionable and functional struck again. I circled the lap dance item and slid out of the booth beside her. My hot thighs peeled off the leather in the least sexy way possible, and I let out a shaky breath.

Find yourself, Natasha.

This might have been the most mortifyingly embarrassing thing I ever did. Not because I couldn’t pull it off—that was easy—but because for the rest of my life I’d need to make peace with dry humping Mateo in front of his brother, his best friends, and my sisters. It was best that I just rip the bandage off and treat it like any other day at work. I was used to doing this completely naked with a hard dick between my thighs for paying subscribers, for fuck’s sake.

Matty was gawking at me, taking his time tracing my body up and down with heat simmering in his stare and a wrinkle between his big russet eyes as I stood in front of him. I kicked his thighs apart with the toe of my heel and stepped between his legs, draping my wrists over his shoulders and clasping my hands together behind his neck. I tugged the long tendrils of hair at his nape, forcing him to look up.

God, I’d seen that expression a million times. The far-gone glazed eyes, his defined brow bone flattening, jaw flexing. I felt so powerful. Mateo’s hands slid up the back of my thighs, warmand calloused. My heart thumped, and the nerves between my thighs begged for some attention.

“You’re going to be a bad girl in front of all these people, Tal?” he whispered. The song continued and I closed my eyes, using the familiar feeling of Mateo’s body to put myself right back in our studio at home. I climbed over his lap, rolling my hips sensually, eliciting a tortured sound from the depths of his throat. Matty’s chest rose and fell faster against mine.

My dress climbed up my thighs, and Mateo’s hands splayed over the bottom of my ass, keeping my modesty hidden as much as physically possible, and that little quirk of possession pinched me somewhere deep and lust-filled.

I swirled my hips again, catching against the seam of his pants just enough to make my eyes roll back. Fucking dammit, I knew this would rile him up, but I sincerely underestimated the way my professionalism would go flying out the door once I felt even a tidbit of an erection. My shoulders dipped backwards, and I held on around his neck for dear life as I let my long hair and head roll, pushing my tits forward and dragging Matty’s face down into my cleavage.

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