Page 41 of Rough Rider (Bad Boy High)
That's all I need to keep moving forward. I relax my throat and take as much of him as I can. My lips tighten around him. I can't get all of him in my mouth, so I use my hand to jack the bottom of his cock as I continue to move up and down.
The taste of him drips from the head of his cock, and I suck it down. "Andy," he starts to warn, and I know he's about to come. I don't let him stop me; I continue to work him the best I can, needing to give him pleasure.
A deep, guttural groan leaves him as he explodes into my mouth. I drink all of him down, like his release is my prize, and honestly, it is.
"Hey," I protest when I'm gripped under my arms and pulled up Niki's body. His mouth takes mine as he rolls to pin me under him. "I didn't say I was done yet." I lick my lips.
"It's my turn."
I lie back, letting him love my body with his mouth. The rest of the world falls away, the same way it always does when I’m with him. I wish it could be this way forever.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NIKI
The next day, before we get our assignments, I ask Bam if he can handle the jobs alone. “Take a recruit with you,” I suggest.
He arches his brow. “You got family stuff I should know about?”
When you have a partner you work with every day, there’s no hiding from them. They know your schedule, your obligations almost better than you.
“Personal business.”
Bam hoots. “Is that what you call it?” He wipes his eyes. “Whew. Don’t know why that’s so funny. You need me to read tonight? Is this some special date? Like a four week anniversary or some shit?” He tilts his head back and forth, checking for a sign of something like flowers or chocolate.
“Nah, I’ll be home in time for Julie.” Collecting a paycheck isn’t going to take me long.
There’s another donut on my desk when we arrive to the classroom. I split it with Bam.
“How come you get donuts but I don’t?”
“I’ve always been the better looking of the two of us.” I swallow down my half in one bite. “That’s why I have Andy and you’re alone.”
“I could have a dozen chicks if I wanted, but I choose not to. They’re expensive and time-consuming. Look at you not making any money today all because of some girl.”
“What’s the point of making all this money if you’re not gonna spend it?” I dig around in my pack for a bottle of water. Bam gestures for me to share after I pour half of it down my throat.
“Your choice, I guess, but if you see that kid, tell him that he’s not getting anywhere without giving me a donut, too.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that you’re whining for attention.”
Bam throws a notebook at my head. Sadly, the teacher comes in before I can retaliate. Bam takes off after lunch, and I stick around, sleeping through my last three classes, since the strip club doesn’t open until four.
When I arrive at the club, I’m surprised at the number of cars in the lot. Don’t people have jobs or families? Shouldn’t they be getting off work and driving home to the kiddos instead of stuffing dollar bills down a woman’s G-string? A bored-looking bouncer asks to see my ID. He frowns when his eyes hit my age.
“Problem?” I ask. I’m old enough to be here. This place serves food, making it technically a restaurant with live entertainment, so you only need to be eighteen.
“You’re eighteen. You should be hooking up with hot girls in high school.”
I do hook up with a hot girl from high school, but that’s none of his business. He hands me back my ID with a faint look of disappointment on his face and kicks the door open with the back of his boot. The place is dark and not as big as I thought it would be. There’s a couple of stages each with three poles. Only one of them is occupied, and the woman using it looks stoned.Her eyes are vacant, and her moves look like she’s on autopilot. The bouncer’s expression makes a lot of sense. Anyone with a pulse would not be in here. There’s a bar at the back and a small buffet set up full of what looks like overcooked steak and chicken. A sign next to it says$20 all you can eat steak buffet.
Unsurprisingly, there are not a lot of people eating. The tables surrounding the stage are full of middle-aged men, leaning forward in their chairs with small denomination bills clutched in their sweaty hands. No one here is under the age of forty.
A waitress stops beside me. “Can I get you something, sugar?”
“Office?” I ask.
She clucks her tongue. “We’re not that kind of strip club, honey. This is a woman’s only stage.”
