30 Days (Morgan Family Series Book 1) (2 page)

a private dance with her. She was much too tempting on stage. I can’t imagine trying to control myself if I were alone in a room with her. Her song was right.

She’s a dangerous woman.

“How’d you do tonight?” Leah asks, counting her money. She looks like she’s done well. I don’t like discussing my earnings with the other girls. They never mind telling each other their exact earnings. I just like to keep my business private.

“I did well.” I answer, vaguely. I’ll count my money when I get home.

“I made $1,200 tonight. It was a good night. You get any private dances?” she asks.

“A few.”

She looks around the room until only me and a few girls are left.
Ones

I know she doesn’t mind talking in front of.
“I set up a date with a birthday boy. He was very eager. Rich too.”

“I’m happy for you.” I reply, dryly.

I pull the red wig off and run my fingers through my hair. I change back into my jeans and pull my shirt over my head. After I slip my shoes on, I tell them goodnight and slip out the back door.

When I get to my apartment, I sit on my bed and count my money. I made

$1,700 tonight. I can’t complain. I make good money to dance and show my tits to leering strangers. It pays my bills and takes care of my sister. I keep telling myself I won’t do it much longer. I’ll get a real job and I won’t have to take off my clothes for money anymore.
Soon.

The thing is, I’m starting to get numb about it.
Hell, I am numb about it.
I go on stage, do my dance, and go off stage. I go to the private room and do my private dance for whoever paid for it. I can touch them, but they can’t touch me. The more up close and personal I get with them, the more they pay me.

Only tonight, for a brief moment, I wasn’t numb. I locked eyes with him and he saw me.
It felt like he knew me.
I wanted to run off stage and hide. I didn’t do that of course.
I’m a professional.
I kept dancing. Then he’d tossed out four crisp one- hundred dollar bills like they were chump change.
Damn.

I shed my clothes and step into the shower. While I let the hot water run over me, I let my thoughts briefly wonder about what his name might be.
What he does for a living? If he’ll be back?

I only let myself think about these things for a moment. It doesn’t do any good to think about it any longer. Even if he did come back, it would never work out. Trevor was proof of that. I can never date someone I meet at work.

I turn the water off and step out. I towel dry my hair and dress in a pair of panties and a t-shirt. I climb into my bed with my hair still damp. It’s after three in the morning. It doesn’t take me long to fall asleep.

When I get up in the morning, I go for a run. I run three miles before I come back to my apartment. My phone buzzes and Anniston has sent me another song. I remind her that she should be studying.
She doesn’t respond.

I’m a couch potato the rest of the day until it’s time for me to go to work. I walk in the dressing room and Leah is all smiles. I start shuffling through my

wardrobe rack. I don’t ask about how last night went for her. I know it’s just a matter of time before she tells me.

“Birthday boy was freaking amazing!” she gloats. “Five thousand bucks!”

Five thousand bucks!
I don’t comment. Every time I hear these stories I get a little jealous. Sometimes I only make five thousand in a week. Sometimes two weeks. It depends on how good the week is.

What I made last night is not always typical. Weekends are always better than weeknights, but it’s really hit or miss. I’m not guaranteed to break a thousand on the weeknights. Leah made that just for screwing the guy.
One night…and she enjoyed it.

“His cock was magnificent. It was like he had coke-dick or something. He just kept going and going. Took him forever to bust a nut. Not that I’m complaining. The longer he went, the more I came.” she grins. “I love twenty-four-year-olds.”

“You’re only twenty-nine.” I tell her. I don’t comment on the whole ‘coke-dick’ comment.
Never even heard of that.

“My experience makes me feel way older.” she explains.

I know what she means. I don’t feel twenty-two. I feel much older. At twenty- two, I’m supposed to be young and carefree.
I was never that.

It’s late when I get there, but I couldn’t stay away. I had to see her again.
Just one more time.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself. I just couldn’t keep listening to Rhys brag about how much fun he had and not go back.

I follow the hostess across the room, scanning it for any sign of her. It’s crowded tonight. She’s not on the stage. A blonde is up there. I keep looking.
Where is she?

I take a seat in the chair the hostess indicates, but my eyes continue to peruse the room. I order a scotch from the waitress when she comes by. I feel myself growing disappointed. Maybe she isn’t working tonight.
Maybe I came here for nothing.

A flash of red catches my eye and I see her. She walks out wearing a silky negligee, garters, and heels. Black sheer stockings cover her long legs and my fingers twitch to unhook the garters and peel those stockings down her legs. Men immediately start flocking toward her. I finish my scotch and head her way.

“I’d like a private dance.”

Her green eyes meet mine and her lips part in surprise. She licks them and swallows without speaking a word. She walks towards the private rooms and I fall into step behind her.

We walk past several rooms with closed doors. I know those must be occupied. When we come to an empty room with an open door, she walks inside. The room is dimly lit with a large white leather chair seated in front of a stripper pole. There’s a table off to the side adorned with accessories.
Feather boa, leather whip, handcuffs, blindfold.
A sign on the wall states the rule that she can touch me, but under no circumstances can I touch her.

She motions for me to sit in the chair so I do. She steps near the table and takes her heels off. I hear music start to play, but I don’t recognize the song. Doesn’t

matter because she’s moving now. I rest my arms on the sides of the chair and remind myself not to touch her.
Despite how badly I want to.

She comes to stand between my legs and her fingertips grip the bottom of the negligee. My fingertips grip the leather of the chair as she slowly pulls it up and over her head. She’s encased in black lace again. She rests one leg on my chest and her hand goes to her garter. She pops the stocking free and rolls it over her leg and off her foot. She does the same with the other leg.

When she straddles my lap, I’m certain she can feel my straining erection. I’m wearing slacks and it’s not easy to conceal it. She doesn’t sit all the way down though. I guess she knows not to do that.
She’s close enough though.

I wonder what she’d think if I took control of this situation and bent her over this chair? I snap myself from that thought when her tits graze over my shirt.
Don’t touch her.
Her lips are just inches from mine as she moves over me.
Don’t touch her.
Then she stands up. I want to pull her back down.
Don’t touch her.

She walks over to the table and picks up the handcuffs. When she comes back, she takes my hand and tugs. I stand up, not bothering to try to hide the bulge in my pants. She turns me until my back is against the pole and she cuffs both of my wrists behind me. I tug, but I’m securely fastened to the pole.
Fuck me.

She places her hands on my hips and moves down my body. I’m rock hard by the time she moves back up. She unclasps her bra and slips it off her shoulders. She tosses it onto the chair. She presses her back flush against me and cups her tits in her hands. I look down over her shoulders and I can see her pinching her nipples as she massages herself.

The lyrics to the song resound in my ears.
Space was just a word made up by someone who’s afraid to get too close.
We’re definitely close. She’s rubbing her entire body against mine.
And I can’t touch her.

Without warning, she bends over and moves her ass against my cock. She looks back at me and those green eyes bore into me. She rises back up slowly and faces me. She’s close enough that if I were to lean forward, I could kiss her.

“Come home with me.”

She ignores me and keeps dancing.
Torturing me.
When the music stops, she reaches behind me and I hear a click before my wrists are released. She steps away from me and picks up her bra from the chair.

“The dance is over.” she states. “Put the money in the slot on the door.”

I clench my jaw, but I’m not ready to give up so easily. “I’ll pay for another dance.” I offer.

“My shift is over.” She picks up the negligee.

“Then let me take you home.”

“I don’t do that.” she informs me. “Try one of the other girls.” She slides the negligee over her head.

“$150,000.”

I know that gets her attention because she stops pulling the stocking up her leg. I just blurted a number. I’ve never even considered paying for sex before.
Never needed to.
I don’t even know where it came from. I had to get her to stop moving.

Even if it only lasted a few seconds.
She pulls the stocking up and starts on the next one.

“Like I said, I don’t do that.”

It’s been a week since my private dance with Mr. Sexy. I don’t know what else to call him. He’s definitely sexy. Dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes.
Big dick.
Couldn’t help, but notice. He didn’t exactly try to hide it. I don’t know that he could’ve if he’d tried. Even so, he tried to buy me.
$150,000.
Probably didn’t even have it. There’s no telling what I would’ve had to do for it either.
If he had it.

When he comes back in, I’m sure Stacy, Leah, or one of the other girls will take care of him. Honestly, with the way he looks, he shouldn’t have to pay for sex anyway. But I’ve learned that a lot of good-looking men pay for sex. They like the no-strings attached part and they like being able to do whatever they like with a woman. When you pay for it, you don’t have to feel regret about not calling.
You also don’t get questioned about your strange sexual preferences.
Maybe he has some really strange sexual preferences.

“There’s someone asking for you.” Stacy says. “He’s fucking hot.”

I frown at her words, but follow her out. My shift is almost over. She points across the room and my stomach does a flip-flop.
It’s him.

“You’re not done for fifteen minutes. Go get paid!” she encourages.

I try to muster up some confidence as I saunter over to him. When his blue eyes meet me, he almost looks amused. His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. Part of me wants to see him smile.
It would probably be earth shattering.

“I’d like a private dance.”

I debate on telling him I’m off work and letting someone else take him back.

But he asked for me.
I lead him to the private rooms. I give him another private dance that his him rock hard and white-knuckling the chair. For some reason, it makes me feel good to know that I have that effect on him.

I keep my back to him while I work on clasping my bra. I’m struggling with it when I feel his fingers brush across my back and clasp it for me. This makes me tense and step away from him.
He’s not supposed to touch me.
I’m damn sure not supposed to like it so much.

“Come home with me.” he pleads. “My offer still stands.”

“You should try one of the other girls. Maybe they’ll take you up on your ridiculous offer.”

“I don’t want them. I want you.” I laugh at his confession, shaking my head. “Do that again.”

“What?” I ask.

“Smile. Laugh.” he answers. “Come home with me.” “I can’t.”

“I can’t keep coming back here. I don’t handle rejection well.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I expect him to say more, but he doesn’t. He pauses at the door to pay and then walks out.

Two weeks pass and I don’t see him again. I accept that he isn’t coming back.

Probably for the best anyway.
He pays too well and I can’t get used to that. It’s nice,

but I don’t want to get used to money that won’t always be there. I decide I can just fantasize about him and move on.

Now that it’s my day off, I make my deposit at the bank and then walk down the street to find somewhere to get lunch. I order a hot dog from a vendor and start eating it as I walk back to my apartment. I’m only halfway finished when my phone rings. I fish it out of my purse and see that it’s Anniston.

“Why aren’t you in class?” I answer.

“I’m in between classes.” she replies. “I have something to tell you and please don’t be mad.”

“I don’t like the way this conversation is starting.” I toss the other half of my hot dog into a garbage can so I can focus on whatever bad news she’s about to tell me.

“My scholarship has been revoked.”

I stop walking. “Already? How did this happen?”

“The dean called me into his office today and told me. I’m good for half of this semester, but the other half is not paid for.”

“I thought they just put you on probation. How can they revoke your scholarship already?”

“I don’t know! They did though. What are we gonna do?” she cries. “My grades are getting better, Memphis. I swear!”

“Are you sure you’re telling me everything?” I ask. “When did the probation

start?”

I hear silence on the other line and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I

knew she had to be keeping something from me.

“The end of last semester.” she answers, truthfully. “But my grades are improving!”

“I can’t afford to pay for your dorm and your tuition, Anniston!” “I’ll get a job or I’ll take a semester off.” she offers.

“No! I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry.”

I hang up and head home. I pick up a newspaper on the way. Maybe I can get a second job. If not, I’ll have try and get a loan.
Something.