Page 15 of Jagger

Somewhere in themidst of my spectacle, Betty manages to yank me off Vida and drag me all the way to her office by the ear—like an errant kid about to get his ass whooped. I suspect if she could’ve taken the belt to my ass like my momma used to do, she would’ve without question. You see, Betty doesn’t quite care for us kissing or making out with clients.

In fact she preferred us not to at all.

Another one of her golden rules.

But Vida was too delicious for me to play by the damn rules. I had to taste her.

Regardless of the new one my boss tore me, all day, every day for the next week, Vida is all I can think about.

Her eyes.

Her lips.

Her tight little body gyrating in my lap.

Her fucking everything.

I can’t get the woman out of my head, have her ingrained in every thought to the point I consider the fact I may very well be possessed.

And we hadn’t gone any further than that kiss.

Can you imagine if I’d actually buried my cock inside her?

Fuck me.

Not the smartest thing to be thinking about as I’m rolling my hips against the stage, all but feeling her beneath me. The screams that resound from the audience only make me go harder, a concept my dick does not appreciate in the slightest when the closest thing in reach is the glimmering floor. Fucker’s pounding by the time “Sex Therapy” fades out and the signature blue lights dim low.

Once the stage is bathed in darkness, I hustle my way behind the ebony curtain, palming down the Vida-induced hard-on I’ve given myself for the third time tonight. I don’t even bother heading back into the dressing room for a break. I need a goddamn drink, something strong as fuck to distract me from all this ridiculousness.

Several tables call for me, but I keep on at a steady pace, flashing them grins and a wink along the way to sate them for the moment. They can wait. If there’s any hope of me actually getting to them and doing my job, I need my head on straight.

Or at least straight enough that Vida isn’t my every thought while another woman stuffs bills under the waistband of my jeans.

But as I close in on the bar, I literally skid to a stop at the sight not twenty feet away from me.

Vida.

It’s fucking Vida.

I rub at my eyes, blink a dozen times. I’m convinced it’s all a figment of my imagination, but the image doesn’t change.

It’s really her, and she looks as delicious as I remember—in this black strappy cut-off top and tight leather knee length skirt that only shows off enough to make my head spin. Don’t get me started on those fuck me heels. I can very vividly imagine them digging into my back as I fuck her straight into next week.

I’m blatantly ogling her—more like drooling if I’m being honest—and when those green irises lock with mine, I swear I feel that current burn right through me, down to the tips of my toes.

Sucking in a deep breath, she spun around in a flurry, leaving me with a mouth-watering view of her from behind. Loose dirty-blonde waves hand down to her slim waist, accentuating the pert swell of her ass. An ass I want in my hands as she makes herself come on my dick.

Her head thrown back.

Rivulets of sweat dripping down her body…

Goddamn.

I can’t get to her fast enough. My chest brushes her back, hands instinctively falling to her hips as my lips find their way to the shell of her ear.

“Back for another dance, I see?”

Vida shivers in my grasp, her fingers clasping the edge of the bar for dear life. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for this squeaky little gasp.

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