Page 14 of The Price of Forever

He nodded eagerly, his imaginary tail wagging.

Jesus Christ.

I lingered outside the champagne room, trying to look like I wasn’t keeping tabs on what was happening inside, though really, I was logging every bit of activity within. Did sex acts occur? How far did Jordan and any of these men go? Who was there to stop them if they pushed it past the limits? Had that happened before? Was she worried it would happen again?

All questions I needed answered ASAP. While I knew how some strip clubs worked, I needed the insider scoop on how this strip club worked.

The champagne room session lasted about an hour. But as soon as she finished, she was whisked away to another booking. From what I could tell, her one dance set her up for an entire evening of private performances. Smart, and likely lucrative from the way I saw these guys slip her twenties, fifties, and hundreds as they got their time with her.

This time, she was escorted into one of the private VIP rooms by a bald man in a designer suit. He could easily be the CEO of some Fortune 500 company. Hell, some of these patrons were likely D-list celebrities and I had no idea. I saw one group that looked like a rapper and his entourage, dripping with bling. On the opposite side of the room, a man who must have been in his seventies with a blond bombshell on his arm. There was an immense amount of wealth in this club. I had to hand it to Jordan—if she wanted to make a living, she’d come to the right club.

Once the door shut behind them, I decided to test the boundaries. I waited a few moments, then I strode up to the door and turned the knob.

The door swung open, revealing Jordan sitting with her legs crossed on a huge velvet couch, leaning into the man. The entire room was bathed in sultry red lights with black, velvety walls. Everything screamed sensual delights. A small stage and pole took up the middle of the room, but the couches in here were much wider—more in tune with lying back, stretching out, and seeing what happened.

Both sets of eyes turned my way. Jordan looked surprised, but Mr. CEO was just pissed.

“Hey! I paid for time alone with her—get the fuck out!”

“You okay?” I asked Jordan, offering a thumbs up.

She nodded quickly, sending me a grateful look. I retreated, lingering near the door to listen for sounds of foul play. It was just the two of them in there, and on my brief sweep, I hadn’t seen any cameras. That didn’t rule out the possibility of some other type of surveillance. It didn’t appear the door could lock from the inside or outside, which was a plus. If there were locks, Jordan could get trapped in there by some sick fuck and get taken advantage of—and nobody would ever hear it over the loud music.

They were in there for an interminable amount of time. All I could do was lean against the wall and try not to imagine what I’d be doing in there with her. Or back in her bedroom in Chinatown. Or even, impossibly, back in my king bed in my Tribeca bachelor pad.

I imagined a hundred other men were having similar thoughts, now that she’d teased us beyond belief with her amazing skills on the pole.

I ground my jaw as I tried to corral my thoughts. The club was effective, that was for fucking sure. I considered myself a rigid man of honor. In here, I was one sexy look away from asking Jordan for a half hour in the VIP room. It had to be the lights. Or maybe the relentless ass cheeks. Whatever it was, I was just as much as victim as the next guy.

I definitely need to end this contract as soon as humanly possible.

I checked my watch. They’d been in there for almost two hours. I’d left once to piss, and another time for water. She had to be making good money—or maybe they were just having good sex.

I didn’t like that last thought.

When the door flew open, Jordan bolted out, tossing her hair over her shoulder, a fat wad of bills stuffed under the clear ankle strap of her heels. The man came out a moment later and heaved a sigh. He spotted me there, his eyebrows went up.

“You been waiting this whole time?”

I shrugged. “Nothing better to do.”

“Sapphire’s worth the wait,” he confirmed, then he staggered off. I couldn’t tell if he was alcohol drunk or sex drunk. My stomach twisted at the thought of it being the latter.

I spotted Jordan across the club, entertaining a small group of guys with a lap dance. On the main stage, another dancer used the pole, but she wasn’t nearly as captivating or skilled as Jordan. Half the audience engaged with different girls or chatted amongst themselves. I cut to the bar along the far wall and ordered another root beer. The bartender, a brunette with pigtails and volleyball-sized tits smushed together in a sport bra, lifted her brow at me.

“Again?”

“It’s all I drink on nights like these.”

She filled my glass with a wry grin. “I’m gonna call you the Root Bear.”

“Bear?” I considered myself pretty trim, not nearly as bearlike as some gym rats could become.

“It has a good ring to it, for a stage name.” She pushed the glass my way across the countertop. “You’re a big guy, you could get away with it. You trim your body hair or no?”

I hefted with a laugh. “I do.”

“Mmm. The trim Root Bear. Gotta get you on the stage sometime, sweetie. We do get women in here, and they’d eat a guy like you alive.”

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