Page 3 of Copper

A stripper can’t be too choosy, and there are worse dicks to suck in this joint if my mouth wasn’t spoken for by the dick I’m more than familiar with. Sure, I don’thaveto suck dick. I could just work the pole. The difference between the two jobs in this joint is that one gets singles stuffed in the G-string. The other gets hundred-dollar bills stuck to your face with cum afterward.

Truth be told, I sigh with relief when Aaron walks into the joint. It’s not just the fact that he keeps me from having to blow or dance for other men, and it’s not just that he would never disrespect me by sticking a bill to my face.

I miss his hands on me. His mouth. He’s the only client I’d ever kiss if we could get away with it. It’s hilarious that the club lets me suck a dick for extra cash if we’re in the VIP room, but I can’t give the man I still love deep down a goodnight kiss at the front door.

I let him touch me while I go down on him. Most men have to keep their arms on the top of the couch. But Aaron’s hands are free to roam wherever they want.

And his fingers enjoy roaming to my face, trailing a finger up my jaw, and swiping my hair back like he did before cheerleading practice years ago.

“If it’s any consolation, sweetheart, you’re the only woman who really knows how to suck me off,” he moans, leaning forward a little and stroking the hair he was just fisting. He could be leaning to speak to me so Sheri, if that’s her real name, won’t hear our business as she blows another customer in the next cubicle. More than likely, he’s just reaching for my tits.

I huff and pull my halter tank top down, letting him palm my breasts while I suck him. “You want a tit jack?”

He laughs and a bit of spit lands on my cheek. I used to kiss this man every moment I could, so it doesn’t bother me the way it would if another man’s spit landed on my face. “Blow jobs are better. Everyone knows that.”

Aaron tweaks my nipples, and I yelp with the exquisite pleasure of it. Fuck this man and his memories of just what I like. He knows exactly what to do to drive me insane. My body hums under his hands, and I suck harder on his cock, using my tongue on the spot just under the head that drives him bonkers.

“Fuck, Lucy,” he grunts. He grips my face along my jawline and bucks into my mouth.

I move to his balls, pulling the left one in my mouth and humming around it as I look up at him, watching his expression. I will always love his face right before he comes. He’s a lip chewer. He gnaws at his lips and moves his mouth in a circle when he’s close.

He throws his head back again as his chest heaves. He’s still wearing his work uniform, but his three bottom shirt buttons are undone, revealing a happy trail I’d idly lick if he wasn’t paying me to focus on his dick and balls.

He slouches in the seat and pulls his pants further down so I can really get after his balls or even lick that spot just under them I know he likes. “Anyone going to come in?”

“No. Even if they did, is anyone going to cause a ruckus with the sheriff if I’m not kicking up drama?”

He laughs, and I’ve missed the sound of his chuckle. It’s low. It reminds me of the way he used to growl when I did something really naughty or when he’d chase me and throw me onto the bed before kissing every inch of me.

I push his thighs further apart and tongue the head of his dick. “Tell me how the victim was murdered. I’m curious.”

“You’re a ghoul. You know that, right?”

I bite my lip and wink before lifting his leg a little and sucking his left ball again. He reaches for his knees and pulls them to his chest into an unholy position a pillar of the community would never want to be caught in, especially inside a strip club. That’s a headline from hell.

“Indulge me, Aaron,” I drawl. “I’m curious. Besides, it’s not like anyone in the press will talk to a stripper.”

It only takes one flick of my tongue over his taint spot and up his sack before my ex-boyfriend sings like a fucking canary.

George Cannon. Age fifty-two. Divorced. No kids. His dog was well-fed and even given fresh water by the attacker. Aaron thinks that’s odd. After all, why would a murderer give the dog water? Cannon was tortured before his throat was slit. Rope burns were found on the man’s wrists, indicating forced restraint while the attacker carved his arms and torso apart. The initial forensics say the man’s fingers were removed one by one before death. There were no signs of forced entry, so he knew the attacker.

“Right fucking there,” Aaron moans, breaking me out of thoughts of his latest murder case. His thighs tremble on either side of my head, and he adjusts his grip on his knees. He pulls himself wider and allows a whine to come from his throat with little concern for an audience.

“I know, Aaron,” I coo into the center of him. “I know how to do this for you.”

My hand moves to his cock, and it takes two jerks before a warm spray of cum coats the webbing between my thumb and index finger. I drag my tongue up his balls and over my hand. Opening my mouth, I show him what I just picked up off my skin and swallow it with a smile.

He bites his lip and looks at me with kinder eyes than I deserve, still panting from his orgasm. He laughs a little and bends to situate his pants into a decent position as I stand and pull my halter top down. I watch him dress while I take a swig of water from a bottle on a nearby table and marvel that this is probably the millionth time I’ve seen this man pull up his pants. It’s hard not to admire the sculpted biceps and the wide shoulders I used to wrap my legs around. They’re wider now. He lifts more than he did when we dated.

Then again, he’s different now. His hair is darker, if that’s even possible, and it curls at the nape of his neck. There’s a lock of hair that curls at his temple, and I itch to lick my fingers and push it back. His jaw is more defined, and there’s a new scar at the top of his forehead. You have to be close to see it, and it’s small, but I wonder if he got that from police work. There’s so much I missed of his life in the last decade, and it seems a pipe dream that I’ll ever be close enough to Aaron Dwyer again so I can learn how he got it.

“Same time next week?” he asks when his pants are buckled. The static from his police radio crackles through the low beat of the music being played for whatever girl is on the pole downstairs.

Aaron’s been here twice a week since I moved back and started stripping. I have no idea how he found out I work here because Peter said Aaron never came to the club before. He was an upstanding city leader and a widower before I got this job and dragged him down to my depravity. But he was here the second week of work with a smile on his face, dollars in his pocket, and lust in his eyes.

I swallow the water and push a lock of hair back from my face. “Of course. But I’ll charge you double for the ball play and the taint spot lick next time. Don’t make me tell Peter.”

I’m only joking. I have no desire to tell Peter I’m licking the sheriff’s balls. There are just certain things you don’t talk about with your cousin.

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