Page 5 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Oh, come on,” Han drawls, swaying from intoxication. “Aren’t you having fun?” His grin widens. “We’rehaving fun.”
“I can see that.” I give Han a feigned smile. They better sign those fucking contracts, or I’ll personally see to it that their coke habits get leaked to the Hong Kong media. I give Venus, our server, a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine with water.”
“You look…” Venus scrunches up her nose as she stares at me, realization dawning once she places who I am. She beams, jaw-dropping. “Holy shit! You’re alive!” She bends over the table, swaying her hips side to side as her voice dips to an alluring rasp. “Baby boy, where’ve you been?” She pouts. “We missed you.”
“You’ve missed my wallet,” I state, gaze cold. She frowns. The truth hurts. “Don’t look so upset, V.” I tip my head at the Li brothers. “I’m sure my friends here would love to hear about your modeling aspirations.”
“Your friends, huh?” She bites her lip, pupils converting to dollar signs as the melodic house music blaring around the club fades, and a deep, rhythmic beat begins to thump out of the speakers. “Where you boys from?”
“Please welcome to the stage,” the DJ announces as Venus lures the Li brothers into her vortex, “the angelic…the cosmic…” A thigh-high glitter heel peeks out of the black satin curtains. “Luna Lush.”
She must be new. I sigh, sinking into the booth as the lights dim and fog coats the platform. Fog? Since when? How excessive.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I skim the stripper’s curvaceous silhouette as she steps further onto the stage, her bare back facing the crowd. She moves her hips in slow elegant circles, gliding her hands down her hips, until the bass drops, and she snaps down, her platinum blonde hair sweeping across the floor. Her movements are practiced and perfected and raw, so raw, like she’s dancing only for herself, no one else. Playing with the building music, she drops to her knees, rocking her hips side to side before flipping over and seductively licking her plump ruby red lips.
I sit up.
Blue and purple lights illuminate her sharp features as she crawls on all fours through the thickening fog to the edge of the stage. Like a well-behaved dog. Like areallygood girl. Her tits bounce side-to-side with every calculated stride as she sweeps her hypnotic gaze across the room. When her bright green eyes lock with mine, my pulse quickens and blood rushes straight to my fucking cock.
An alien feeling of caged desire spreads through my body and mind as I stare at her. It doesn’t make sense. Everything about her is artificial. Her hair. Her nails. Her skimpy little outfit. This shouldn’t be happening. Thisneverhappens. Not since…
My breath turns shallow as I watch her move, so nimble and free. The type of freedom that only comes from an incarcerated past. I can’t explain it, but there’ssomething in her soft green eyes that piques my morbid curiosity. She radiates a perplexing dichotomy of wild and tamed, and it doesn’t make sense.Shedoesn’t make sense. It infuriates me. Drives me mad.
Her unwavering gaze stays locked with mine, and I notice a sliver of a taunting smirk spread across her flawless face.
Whoareyou?
She answers me silently as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and air, that’s desperate for answers, leaves my lungs.
I dare you to find out.
THE SPIDER WEB
EMERY
Look at them all.Drooling. Gawking. Wishing they could touch me. I’ve had lights in my face my whole life, but not like this. These people aren’t trying to find out what’s wrong with me. They’re not searching for explanations or methods of treatment. No. They’re looking at me because I drive them crazy.
Because I’m a fantasy.
A dirty little desire that pricks at the most deranged and degenerate parts of their psyche. They’re staring at me because I’m an amalgamation of everything they’ve ever wished to touch, to hold, to fuck.
And I love it. The attention. I sweep my gaze across the room, acknowledging my regular tippers so they can toss their entire life savings on this stage, so they can tuck their kids' college funds into my lacey blackpanties, so that when they leave, they think they’ve taken a part of me home with them. To their beds. To their wives. To their miserable lives. Hey, I don’t judge. I get it. I get it all too well.
Once I pay a visual visit to all my generous fans, I look out into the audience, to the center alcoves. Those seats are reserved for VIPs. They’re not as generous. Not as loyal. They’re what the girls and I call takers. We don’t fuck with takers at Lux. It’s a little funny to think about. The more money they have, the less they’re willing to part with it. This isn’t the 1 percent I’m talking about. It’s the .001 percent. The rarest of the rare. Like cancer. Like a malignant tumor that only a handful of people in the world are unfortunate enough to grow. I give them all a glance, nonetheless. It’s important to be polite.
When my rehearsed gaze floats across the alcoves, I catch a set of obsidian black eyes glaring at me, and I freeze. My chest expands as I inhale a sharp breath of air. I know those eyes. I’ve seen them somewhere. Somewhere dark and deep; a place I seldom let myself visit.
I discreetly scan the man’s other memorable features: sharp jaw speckled with stubble, strong nose, big and juicy lips, and his hands. Clasped. Strong and commanding. The rings on his fingers interlocked like a complex puzzle. Inwardly chuckling at his simping demeanor, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as he refuses to pull his icy gaze from mine.
Someone call TMZ. He’s baaack.
Continuing my routine, I make sure to check in onthe missing billionaire every so often. Make sure he’s still looking. And he is. Always. Even when I’m grinding my pussy on a football player’s arm, Ifeelhim looking. His stare stabs me in the back, the blade first hot then cold, then scolding then frigid. I like it—the unknown. It’s cute when they get jealous. He doesn’t even know me, and yet here we are, already having our first argument.
When my song is near its end, I position myself center stage, thighs spread apart for one last view. They pack dozens of bills into my panties as I lick my lips, open my mouth, and suck on my index finger; every man in this joint, visualizing it as their tiny little cock. His jaw visibly tenses as I snap my gaze upward and slowly drag my finger out of my mouth, a string of saliva glistening under the light like a spider web. And he’s the poor little fly trapped inside.
He doesn’t like that. Not one bit.
“Give it up for Luna Lush,” the DJ announces as my set comes to an end.
