Page 1 of Pretty Dark Vows

1

RILEY

One of mymany past mistakes liked to say I had a body made for fucking.

He was wrong. Good sex is great for letting off steam, but I’ve yet to meet a cock—or a man attached to one—who didn’t show his true colors in the end and let me down.

This, though?Thisis what my body is made to do.

It’s made to dance.

I close my eyes, shutting out the club full of sleazy, married shitbags who come here to pant after my body every night, and focusing instead on the thud of the bass as the pulsing rhythm infuses my limbs.

I arch my back and roll my hips, then release the clasp between my shoulder blades that holds together the barely-there lace of my top, letting the scrap of material flutter to the floor. The music picks up, and I swing around the pole, eliciting a few whoops and hollers from the crowd.

“Hey, Destiny! Over here!” A tatted-up musclehead calls out my stripper name. He’s at the edge of the stage, raising his voice to be heard over the music as he beckons. “Come a little closer, baby.”

He’s not showing me any cash yet, so I ignore him and wind my body around the cool metal pole in the center of the stage instead. I wrap one leg around it so all that hard steel is right where Musclehead wishes his cock could go, then let my head fall back as I roll my hips against it, waiting for him to get a clue.

His eyes track every move, and he finally licks his lip and pulls out a few bills. “Come on now, quit fucking the pole already and come on over here,” he calls, waving the cash at me as he grabs his crotch with his other hand. “I got what you need right here.”

I smirk at him. Like I haven’t heard that before. Heard it and won’t be falling for it—not ever again. Especially from anyone I meethere.

But I still let go of the pole and take his money, because as much fun as it may be to pretend I’m dancing for myself, that’s not really why I’m here.

I’m here for Chloe.

My little sister has no one to look out for her but me. Our worthless dad proves that fact every time he lets one of us down, but now that I’ve finally gotten her out from under his roof, things are going to be different.

Once Musclehead stuffs a few bills into my g-string, I twist away before he can try to cop a feel. Standing back up in my stilettos, I run my hand down the center of my body and turn in a slow undulating circle to survey tonight’s crowd.

Club M is a shit hole that doesn’t exactly attract the highest level of clientele, but it’s Friday night, which means a lot of these guys have just gotten paid. I can work with that.

The edge of the stage is packed, and I drop low at the same time the music does, pulsing to its beat with my knees spread wide as I let my hand slide down my body. More men call out my stripper name, more bills start to litter the stage, and I work every asset I have, determined to bring in as many tips as I can before my shift is over.

When the DJ finally changes the music to signal that my set is wrapping up, I spin myself around the pole one more time, then lower myself to my knees and move into a slow crawl that’s guaranteed to make every man watching beg to get me into one of the private rooms in the back once I step off the stage.

Not happening.

Not tonight.

Theydon’t know that, though, and I make sure to hold some eye contact with every man who has cash in his hand as I advance across the stage, collecting the bills that they’ve already thrown down for me.

When I finally get to the edge, I roll smoothly to my feet and hook my fingers in the thin straps of my g-string.

The musclehead from earlier is trying to say something, but his hands are empty and I’m not interested in hearing it, so I turn to the man closest to me and tease the stretchy scrap of black lace I’m wearing down to the top of my sleek, shaved pussy.

“Put it right here, Daddy,” I purr, even though I’d shoot myself before calling anyone that if he wasn’t about to pay me. Biting my lip, I add in a breathy voice, “You know you want to.”

And sure enough, he groans and shoves his wad of cash in my g-string.

That’ll go right toward your college fund, Chloe. You’re welcome.

I could probably get more out of him, but my time really is up. A dancer who goes by the name of Cherry is shooting daggers at me from the edge of the stage, waiting her turn with the pole.

She was friendly enough to me when I first started, but she’s been talking shit about me to the other dancers ever since Rob, the waste of space known as my ex-boyfriend, fucked her and then dropped her just to try to make me jealous. I warned her about him, but she wouldn’t listen to me.

“You could’ve left some for the rest of us,” Cherry whispers as I head off the stage, and I bite back a satisfied smile as I organize the wad of bills I’ve collected into a more manageable stack.

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