Page 20 of Together We Burn
And we are thinking about Jake again because?
Heat coated my skin at the thought of him being here, watching me dance.
In the privacy of my own home, where no one was there to watch me practice routines for nights like tonight, there was something intimate about dancing provocatively that made me feel sexy and confident. Even if it was all in my head. Usually, that feeling was short-lived when I was up on stage dancing for seedy targets. But tonight, with those cerulean eyes focused on me, focused on the way my body moved and contorted to my song, I felt all that and more.
I felt empowered.
“Diamond Velvet,” Martinez said, his voice penetrating through a club-remixed version of a country song as six dancers took to the small stages wearing assless chaps and cowboy hats.
Breaking through my thoughts, he leaned past his friends to hand me a glass containing something amber and cold. With a grin tugging at his lips, he clinked our glasses together and took a sip. Turning to his men, he silently dismissed them, all four standing in unison like it had been practised daily.
Using the wall of dark suits they created between Martinez and me, I dropped my hand under the table and tipped the contents of the glass onto the floor, letting the carpet soak up the drug-laced concoction destined to make me pliable for whatever activities he had planned in the confines of the private room.
Once alone, he perused my body, the glittery red bodysuit suddenly feeling more revealing than when I was dancing. His gaze lingered on my tits and pussy longer than comfortable before inhaling deeply, a dodgy smile morphing his face. Patting the space beside him, I slid closer–because Martinez does not move for anyone.
A girl I didn’t recognise began dancing around the pole in front of our table. My throat felt like cotton as I watched her climb to the top and stay there, only held up by her thighs. Suspended mid-air, she managed to invert herself until she was upside down and suddenly let go, making me gasp in horror. Catching herself just before her skull smashed off the stage, she placed her hands on the ground and kicked off the pole.
Martinez laughed, moving the hand perched on the back of the booth and laced it in the long lilac strands of the wig, turning my head away from the stage to face him. My eyes flew shut, my back ramrod straight, but I forced myself to sink into his touch before he could tell something was wrong.
“You were exquisite up there,” he rasped, gripping my hair tighter and leaning to run his nose up the column of my neck. I fought the scrunch to my nose and the knit of my imperfect brows–I still hadn’t mastered filling in the gap of my scar–as he inhaled the mixture of sweat and baby oil.
Dirty bastard.
“Tell me, what is your name?”
“Diamond Velvet,” I replied, remembering Abby’s warning about real names.
He chuckled. “Yourrealname.”
“Mercedes.”
His laugh was a loud bark as he slapped his palm on my thigh and kneaded into the muscle. “You were born to be a stripper.”
Slightly offensive, dickhead.I knew tons of Mercedes who aren’t… okay, I knew one other Mercedes who happened to work as a stripper and who also happened to fuck Alex “free of charge,” but that doesn’t mean the name is a prerequisite for becoming one.
“It’s a compliment, darling.” The hand in my hair dropped to my shoulder, drawing circles against my bare skin.
The music changed as a new dancer replaced the one who could be in Cirque du Soleil with her mad acrobatic skills. Martinez leaned to the table and grabbed the mirror and card left by the poor girl he’d done lines off of earlier.
Tapping some more white powder onto the mirror, he moved it around until there were three neat lines, snorted two, and held the mirror out for me. I shook my head, and his eyes darkened before taking the final line of coke up his nostril.
He then stood, stretched out his hand, and said, “Shall we go somewhere moreprivate?”
I slipped my hand into his and let him pull me from my seat, drawing me into his side as he wrapped a large hand around my waist. I wanted to recoil, slap his nasty hand away from me when his fingers gripped my hip bone, hard. The bastard was going to leave bruises, a semi-permanent mark on my body that would be a reminder of him until it healed.
He guided us toward the bar and grabbed a bottle of Louis Roederer 'Cristal' Champagne from the edge before setting off down a dim hallway where the private rooms were located.
I watched as men either entered their rooms with sleazy grins on their faces or left with sated eyes and lazy smiles, rearranging their clothing as doors closed behind them.
“I ensure my customers are extremely satisfied when visiting the Lion’s Den, Diamond,” Martinez said, stopping at a gold door that stood out compared to the others, which were a rich red in colour. “This one is specially reserved for me.”
He turned the handle and moved aside for me to go ahead. Swallowing down my excitement, I stepped into the room where this monster would meet its maker.
God, I lived for this thrill.
Martinez’s private room was something like ‘Mr. Grey’s red room’ with BDSM shit, sex toys, restraints, and stuff I’d never seen in my life. If this guy thought he’d be using any of that on me, he had another thing coming.
I glanced at an enormous four-poster bed with red sheets and black restraints hanging from each corner. Ignoring that, and the shudder that wanted to escape at the thought of him tying up one of the girls outside, I circled an oversized armchair in the centre of the room.
