Page 47 of Church Girl
“Tubi’s great!” So I might’ve become a bit of a Tubi addict since moving in with Tamara. The movies are so terrible and ratchet, and I love them.
He snorts. “Okay.” He nods toward the dancer, who straightens, winding her hips as her fingers run through her hair. “Have some fun, Liyah. Get some lap dances, drink and let go. Here.”
He shoves the handful of bills at me, and I gingerly accept it. He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Let that money fall on that ass, ma.” Taking a few of the bills back, he rains the money down on the dancer, and the stripper bends over again, hands on knees. She glances over her shoulder at me, grinning. “Go ’head.”
Slowly, I imitate him. The more dollars I sprinkle on her, the harder she twerks.
“Put some in her G-string,” Von instructs, and I cautiously obey, slipping bills between her hip and the red string riding it.
“Thank you, babe.” The dancer turns, her body twisting and grinding, and she’s beautiful, the way her gorgeous body moves, hypnotic.
Another woman in a gold bra and G-string set with hair to match joins us, and she straddles me, her barely covered breasts almost touching my face as she grabs the couch behind my head and simulates grinding on my lap. The first stripper presses against her back, and they double team me.
In front of us, the third dancer twirls and swings around the pole on the small, raised platform in the middle of the section. I can’t lie. Lust takes me by surprise, hardening my nipples and pooling low in my belly. I glance to my right and slam into Von’s molten gaze. I’m unable to look away. The same heat that has moisture drenching my panties is reflected in his eyes.
God, I’m so turned on.
And yes, it’s partly being surrounded by beautiful, undulating women. But more than that, it’s his gray gaze on me.
Shame tries to spread like a virus through my blood. If my father saw me now, he would lose his mind. And then lay hands on me in intercessory prayer to save his prodigal daughter.
Yet, the shame, the guilt, don’t get a foothold. They slip on the desire and longing filling me. The greed and hunger clawing at me.
Somehow, I whip my gaze away from Von’s and focus on the dancers. When I run out of bills, more miraculously appear, shoved into my hand. And soon, just like Von encouraged, I let go. Push everything else out of my mind but the music, the alcohol, the strippers and Von.
A couple of hours and three cranberry and vodkas later, I find myself sandwiched between two dancers, arms raised, hips winding. Laughing, I peek over at Von, who hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He’s been like my guardian angel—or bodyguard—tonight, allowing me to let loose with no interference. A few times, some guys tried to enter the section, but one look from Von, and they all backed up, hands raised. Tamara came by, but after giving a head nod to Von, she shook her head and left, too.
Winded, I make my way back to the couch and plop down next to Von with a grin.
“I’m havingthe besttime,” I say.
He smirks, lifting his glass to his lips. When he lowers it, his full, sensual lips shine with the dampness from the amber alcohol. I slick my tongue over my own lips as if tasting the potent liquor off his mouth. His gaze lowers, tracking the movement of my tongue, sending liquid heat bursting through my belly.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I blurt out.
The vodka swimming inside me grants me eighty-proof courage. There’s no other way those words would’ve escaped me. I let them sit out there, though, echoing louder than the music bumping in the club. The memory of exactly what magic he’d wielded with that mouth haunts me, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, imagining I can still taste him.
He leans back against the couch, watching me through hooded eyes that lower over my frame. He can’t possibly miss the quick rise and fall of my chest or my thighs restlessly shifting, squeezing. When he lifts his gaze back to mine, his darkening eyes confirm he saw everything.
“C’mon, ma. I’m taking you home.”
He stands and fire rushes to my face, setting my cheeks aflame. I duck my head, embarrassment over his rejection riding me hard and hanging me up wet. And not the good wet. The glowing buzz from the alcohol starts to thin until my mind is clear. Too clear.
As I scan the VIP room, I no longer feel free, but heavy and silly. A little girl playing at adult games.
“I should wait for my cousin,” I say, avoiding his scrutiny on the pretense of scanning the club past the VIP entrance. “I came with her, so that’s how I should probably leave. You can go, though. We won’t be here too much longer.”
Tamara had danced over an hour ago, and my cousin had nearly brought the club down with the applause and cheers. The stage couldn’t even be seen under all the money thrown up there.
“I’ll send word that I got you.” He walks toward the entrance. When he realizes I’m not behind him, he stops and turns. “Don’t make me have to carry you out of here, ma.”
His previous warning of me not liking it if he had to put me in a car echoes in my mind. For a brief moment, I consider making him come through on the threat. But I’ve humiliated myself enough for one evening, and I don’t put it past him to do exactly what he said. Snatching up my phone, I rise and wave goodbye to the dancers, following Von out of the section and the club.
“Don’t you need to let your friends know you’re leaving? Won’t they wonder where you’re at?” I ask once we’re seated in his truck.
I shiver in the early October air, having walked a block to reach his ride. He glances over at me then presses buttons on the dashboard. Soon, warm air streams from the vents and over my bare shoulders and arms. I lean forward, closing my eyes to bask in the heat.
“No, I don’t need to check in with anyone. Here.” Twisting his body, Von reaches in the back seat and hands me a black jacket. When I hesitate, he gives it a shake. “Take it. You’re going to get sick wearing that little shit out here.”
