Page 65 of Roleplay at Randy's
16
MATTY
Elias takescare of the cover charge to get me into the strip club, and I’m overwhelmed the moment we walk through the doors. There’s a decent sized bar area to the right as soon as we enter, and it has a good view of the stage across the room. Chairs litter the immediate area around the stage, and surrounding those are a handful of semi-circle booths.
Women line the chairs, hooting and giggling at whoever is currently on stage, and Elias pulls me into his side before I can get swept up in the chaos of it all. The lights are low, a heavy thumping beat plays through the speakers, and I can see how easy it would be to lose yourself in this place.
“You can hang in the back with me while I get dressed, but then you’ll have to park your cute little booty in the showroom.”
“I’d rather park my cute little booty in your lap.”
Elias chuckles warmly, rubbing his hand along my arm as he holds me tighter. “Maybe if I make you sufficiently jealous, you’ll give me a lap dance when we get home.”
I’m half tempted to give him one right now, in front of all of the ladies that will surely be looking at him all hungry andpredatory the moment they lay eyes on him. He’s one sexy motherfucker, that’s for sure.
My sexy motherfucker.
Well, maybe notminemine, but mine for now, and the only person allowed to put their hands on him is me.
The back room is a decent sized space behind the stage with a row of lockers, a bench, and a makeup table off to the side. There’s also an open doorway covered by a red curtain, and when I quirk my brow, Elias grins.
“Not super exciting,” he says, kissing the side of my head. “Showers. Communal. So not even somewhere I can get you off when the show makes you hot and horny.”
He’s been talking like this all night, riling me up, keeping me at the edge of my sanity. Every little touch lights my skin on fire, has my cock throbbing and begging for attention—something it surely won’t be getting until we get home.
Elias plops my ass on the bench with another wide grin, opening one of the lockers and going straight for a strip show. His hoodie is pulled off quickly, tossed in my direction with a playful wink. He pulls his shirt over his head slower, arms crossed so his muscles flex while he completes the motion.
It’s all much too erotic for me not to be breathing like I’ve been tossed into a sauna.
He toes off his socks and shoes, flicks the button on his jeans and lowers the zipper.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and do my best not to imagine the jockstrap I saw him slip on before we left the house. I also know he has to slip it off for a little more protection: the dance belt, which is basically a more secure jockstrap.
“You know I don’t mind if you ogle me, right?” Elias’ teasing tone makes me open my eyes in a glare.
“I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman here.”
His lips tip up into a playful grin. “Oh yeah?” He’s pulling on some hot pink mesh crop top that instigates the exact ogling he suggested, which only makes his smugness worse. “A gentleman wouldn’t let me be the only one losing some clothes.”
I raise a brow and bite my own growing grin. “You want me to hang out in my underwear?”
He gives me a quick once over, licking his lips and stoking desire deep in my body. “No, but you could lose the outside clothes. You’re too hot to stay bundled up like that.”
Even his dancer’s belt is a matching pink, and goddamn do I want to tear it off of him.
“You can strip me with your eyes all you want, but if you don’t show some skin, I’m going to be extra flirty with the ladies out there.”
Oh, he really wants to play up this jealousy thing. He’s havingfunwith it.
I huff but unzip my jacket and let it slide off my shoulders. I’ve got a long-sleeved Henley underneath—which he knew because he watched me get dressed—and Elias is prepared because he tosses me a bright blue tank top from his locker.
“It’s clean. I like to keep backups. Any chance I can convince you to lose the pants?”
I’ve just cleared the Henley over my head, and I tamper a smirk at his wide-eyed gaze. Even I’m wearing jeans tonight—which is a rarity—because the possessive streak he’s awoken in me has my more masculine urges skyrocketing. Jeans are a bulge’s best friend.
Before putting the tank top on, I lean back on the bench and flick open the button on my pants, tugging the zipperdown while maintaining eye contact with Lee. At least, until he spots what I’m wearing beneath.
