Page 1 of Her Royal Daddy
Chapter One
Mazi
“Woohoo!”
“Yeah, boy!”
“Take it off, take it all off!”
I rolled my eyes at the hoots and hollers of the dick-hungry women, and turned my attention toward the one hollering “Shake it for mama!” while waving a twenty-dollar bill high in the air. Lisa. She was a regular customer and a favorite of mine, but only because she paid well.
Slowly walking to her side of the stage, I turned, giving a little jiggle, and smiled when I felt the tell-tale scratch of green being tucked into the waistband of my boxers. Then, and only then, did I give her what she had come for.
The booty dance. Women went wild for it, and it was the main reason I was one of the highest paid dancers in this godforsaken club. With my back toward them, I pumped my hips, grinding to the music and lowering the waistband of my boxers to encourage further payment while I scoped out the rest of the audience. It was a Thursday evening, so it wasn’t packed. Pickings were slim, but Lisa and her crowd were good for a few hundred bucks.
I slowly made a three-hundred-sixty-degree turn, making sure to grab my junk and putting my game face on for Lisa and her friends. As I predicted, they went wild and piles of bills hit the stage at my feet. I winked, nodding my thanks even as I turned again, scanning the other side of the room as I danced.
When I spotted her, I stopped in my tracks. Every part of me froze, and I couldn’t help but stare.
She had never been here before—of that I was certain—but she was every inch the sort of woman I would have noticed no matter where I was.
She sat at a front row table, but she didn’t seem all that interested in me, or the show, or any part of anything going on in this club. Which fit her, frankly. Little and curvy, her outfit was not the usual I saw on the women who came to cheer me on. Rather, it was the sort that would have been blended in better were she in a strict Catholic school or on the anime-schoolgirl-loving streets of China or Japan. Her blue pleated shirt was short, riding up high on thighs that had to be at least twenty-one or Benny, the doorman, risked losing more than just his mind when he found out she was in here.
Her shirt was damn-near matronly in comparison, with long sleeves and buttons fastened all the way up to the scarlet cravat tied around her neck. Warm as it was in here, she wore the uniform jacket buttoned up too and instead of fuck-me heels, I’ll be damned if her shoes weren’t Mary Janes. The only thing that separated her from the properly attired schoolgirl image she portrayed was all that honey-blonde hair, highlighted in streaks of bright purple. That hair belonged in this room. On my fellow dancers, if not on the overwhelmingly middle-class, suburban, soccer-mom clientele that paid our wages.
That outfit belonged in a porno. And any young lady who went out in public wearing an outfit like that belonged over my knee with white cotton panties at half-mast and my hand beating a steady tattoo against her red-hot backside.
I had a weakness for ‘little’ girls in outfits like that.
And she wasn’t giving me so much as a glance. Maybe because she was shy, or maybe she was just careful. Women these days had to be extra wary of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and that was a damn shame.
But, forget the wrong kind of attention, this woman didn’t seem to want any attention period, particularly not from me. Yet she had all of mine. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help it. I liked what I could see of her and I wanted to see more. I had to force myself to keep my dance moving as I peeled my gaze away. As soon as I got a chance, I was going to work the floor tonight—something I typically avoided. I preferred to leave what I saw as begging to the inexperienced newbies. I didn’t need to beg for tips, and I wasn’t desperate enough to prey upon the shyer patrons, thereby making them feel obligated to slip me a few bucks. Some might think me conceited, but I was good and the proof of that was, literally, lying in a pile of bills around my feet.
Another fluttered into view, landing on the stage at that exact moment, and I smirked as I continued my sultry dance. I usually aimed my full attention in whichever direction the money was coming from, but I couldn’t help myself tonight. My naughty schoolgirl was calling to me, and I’d do anything if only she’d look at me.
As if she could hear my silent plea for her attention, she glanced up and for a split second our eyes met. Hers matched the violet highlights in her hair, and there was something endearing about the way she blushed when I caught her checking me out. The eye contact lasted for less than a hot minute, but my breath hitched in my chest, and desire hit me hard. I had to have her.
Sadly, she didn’t seem anywhere near as strongly affected as I was. Breaking eye contact, she switched her attention to her cellphone and my ego took a minor hit. Let it not be said I couldn’t take a hint. As much as I might wish it otherwise, she just wasn’t interested and I was not going to force the issue. But neither could I just up and leave the stage, either. Lisa and her friends weren’t yet done with me. I would know when they were; they had a brutally unique way of letting a dancer know.
Forcing a smile, I stepped over the pile of bills under my feet and cast the violet-haired vixen from my thoughts. Every ounce of sexual tension I had, I threw into shaking what my mama gave me. The song was almost over before I glimpsed Lisa high-fiving her close-knit friends, giggling as she snuck along the edge of the stage behind me. I braced myself, knowing what was coming, but forcing my ass cheeks to continue their teasing bump and grind.
Whap!
The flat of her hand connected with the thin material of my boxer briefs. The small crowd around the stage dissolved into raucous cheers and laughter. There it was. I had been excused. Why did my first set every Thursday night end in my walking off the stage with my left cheek stinging like somebody had just smacked me with a hornets’ nest?
Technically, audience members were not supposed to touch the dancers on stage, but for some reason, the bouncer always let that one slide. Every. Damn. Time.
I shook it off, scooping up the scattering of bills I’d been given. Trying not to think about how much of this money I’d cheerfully have paid to watch Lisa get her ass smacked for a change, I made my way to the dancers’ lounge behind the bar. I said nothing as I entered, grabbing a bottle of ice-cold water from the mini-fridge and donning my shirt to protect myself from the icy blast of the A/C we used to cool off after each performance.
I nodded at the newest guys as I opened my locker and shoved my cash into my duffel. Counting the pile of bills at the end of the night was my reward for putting up with this job, Lisa and all the other women in the world like her, and this club in general. If I counted too soon, I might be tempted to go home early and I really couldn’t afford that.
Slamming the locker door shut, I twisted the dial on the padlock and joined my friend Azid over at the small gym we had set up in the corner of the lounge. Azid was a big guy who pumped iron like it was going out of style. He was currently rocking the bench press. He didn’t need a spotter; he was just that good, and that tough. But I went to stand over him anyway.
Azid rolled his eyes at me, and grunted as he pushed the weight off his chest toward my waiting grip.
“How’s the crowd tonight, Ma?” My name is Mazi, and Azid was the only person in existence who could shorten it to Ma without getting knocked out cold. Probably because his name shortened to Az, which with the right accent sounded like Ass, and he let me get away with calling him that, even though he could have easily kicked my ‘Az’ with both hands tied behind his back.
“Not bad.” I helped him settle the weight in the stand as he pulled himself into a sitting position and grabbed a water and a towel from the floor beside him. “It’s Thursday, so it’s a little slow, but busy enough to pay the bills.”
