Page 2 of The Mafia's Property

“No,” a voice replied. It sounded different from the other one. More curt and bored.

Being a stripper, they probably expect me to get onto the pole and grind it up and down. It would be obvious. Being obvious was probably all those other women lasted less than a minute. I went to the chair. I don’t have a chair routine and never done one before, but I try to do the best, sexiest routine I could think of. Starting slow, I grind against the chair like I am giving it lap dance before sliding off, shimming back up and flipping it back, and sliding back down. I danced as if I was the only person in the room and I am doing it for myself. That’s how you get their attention. Make it seem like you aren’t aware they’re even there. Only after some time do you cast a glance at them, holding their gaze as if they mean the world to you. That part’s hard to do when you could barely make out your audience, but I try staring at the direction of the voice. My confidence grew as I went into an improvised routine of opening my legs only slightly, then closing them quickly and bending down, turning around and getting up on the chair, riding the back before—

“Stop,” the bored and curt voice said. It was so abrupt I paused mid-grind. “That’s enough,” he added.

“What. Why?” the other voice said, less to me but to the other one.

“Not my type,” curt and bored replied.

I’ve made it less than thirty seconds and I’m being rejected. Was it like this for the others? No wonder it took little time. But I cannot get rejected. Not when I am this close. I’m in the same room as them. I have staked everything I have on this. Used my one connection to them to get this opportunity. My eyes strain against the blaring spotlight as they search into the room. The two men were arguing with each other. I could only hear harsh whispers, but what they were saying exactly, I cannot tell. For a few minutes, I just stand there as they argue. “Not right,” one phrase pops out, and “too much” was another.

They couldn’t dismiss me, a rash thought said. I had to show them what they would get if they got me. I will never get another chance like this. You only live once, I think as I make my way down the stage and over to the couch. The closer I got, the clearer their faces became. Handsome faces. They were better looking up close and in real life than they were in images. Theirs is an unnerving beauty and I try to not let it phase me. One chance. My steps towards them grow more confident until I finally stop right in front of the casual one. They call themselves twins, but they look nothing alike. The one who was leaning forward had softer, more boyish features, while the casual one had more angular features. The latter was staring hard at me as if I have committed some grievous error. His features became harsh with anger. He doesn’t look too pleased with my brazen attitude. Well fuck it, what’s done is done. At least the man seems surprised but curious. That’s promising.

“I don’t like doing my act with chairs,” I said to the angry one. “It’s better when done on the real thing.”

I’ve never done a lap dance before. I’m strictly a no-customer-interaction girl, but they don’t need to know that.

He glared at me. I hold the stare.

“Come on Rico,” the other said, “let her.”

‘Rico,’ that must be Enrico’s nickname. He looked like he’s about to get up and bodily throw me out, but he instead gave an imperceptible nod. Good. Now I have to impress him with a skill I don’t have. I start with a slow dance while facing him. My hands went up and down my body, lingering on my breasts, my best asset, and drifting down to my center. He looked unimpressed. I turn around out of embarrassment but make it part of my routine as I lower my ass onto his lap. He was hard. The jolt of confidence I get from the knowledge emboldens me. Was he hard for me or for other women before me? Does it matter? What matters was he wasn’t as immune as he was pretending to be. I ground my ass against his length, riding it forward and backward, leaning against his chest and lifting my chest the same way I had seen it done so many times at the club I worked at.

Rico had an impressive body, from what I could tell. His chest was hard and tight and his thighs feel strong beneath my hands as when I use them for balance. Rico, for all my work, made zero movement. He sat still as a statue and if it wasn’t for his hard cock, I would have thought my act was having no effect on him. Meanwhile, I am getting into the mood and getting hotter as a result. The little black bikini bottom I have on does little to contain my wetness. I’m pretty sure I was leaving juices all over his crotch. Could he feel it? If he does, he doesn’t show it. His body was unresponsive.

I glanced at Niccolo. He seemed to enjoy it more, even though he was only watching. I held his gaze as I ground against his brother. His gaze traveled down my body, from the top of my head down to my crotch. He looked like he wanted to touch it. A bold thought entered my mind. I took his hand and placed it on my pussy. Niccolo gladly accepted the invitation and rubbed his hand against my clit. The thin material of the bikini bottom felt like a concrete barrier. I wanted to feel his hand inside me. I moaned when he increased the pressure, driving me wild, my movements increasing. That sweet peak was getting close until—

“That’s enough.” Enrico practically pushed me off of him. The sudden shift in the mood was disorienting, and it made my legs wobble as I got up.

“You can go,” he said, hands crossed against his chest. He wasn’t even embarrassed to hide the tent in his pants as he gestured his head to the door on the other end.

Niccolo screamed in protest. “Come on!” he exclaimed. “She’s the one!”

“If I wanted a stripper, I could’ve just gotten one from the club,” he said to Niccolo, but his gaze holds mine. His upper lip curls. I disgusted him. He certainly looked at me like I was a stinky piece of garbage. He turned to his brother. “We need someone who can hold a conversation at a dinner party full of diplomats, not some whore.”

“I’m not a whore,” I blurted out defensively. It’s not like I have anything against the profession. Most of my friends are sex workers, but the way he says it, the venom in his words. It made me want to disprove his opinion of me.

“Whatever you call yourself, your type is not what we want.”

“I’m sure she knows how to talk to some snotty dude with a silver spoon shoved up his ass,” Niccolo said. “Right Freya?” he added, smiling. His defense was heartening. It gives me hope, but Enrico was adamant. He grabs an iPad on the small table beside him and said, “It says here you currently work at The Den. That’s Saccone’s club. An automatic disqualification in my books.”

“And now that club is yours. I don’t see why it would matter,” I replied. I tried to sound as confident as I could, but that flicker of hope was dulling faster. Anyone who knows anything about the criminal underworld of this city knows Saccone was their most hated enemy. And every kid and cop would tell you that The Morelli Family had recently taken out Saccone and his entire operation.

“Come on Rico,” Niccolo said, “It’s not like she was directly working for him.” He turns to me, “Right?”

“Barely knew he owned the place,” I said. It was a lie, but most dancers at the club had no idea who truly owned it. Enrico glares back like he doesn’t believe me. “Why did you let me go through all those excruciating steps if you thought I wasn’t worthy of the air you breathed?” I said to him.

“I didn’t,” Enrico replied, “And the little of what I saw of you was poor.”

“That hard cock says otherwise,” I retorted.

“You failed the test.” He smirked. “You were supposed to sit on the chair. Not dance with it.”

Rico

WHAT CAN I SAY, Freya is fucking hot. Striking, mesmerizing, and naturally beautiful. She can grab any man’s attention by simply walking into the room. She grabbed mine, that’s for sure. Beautiful face, nice tits, and a juicy ass to drive any man wild. But she was not the right fit. She should not have even made it this far. A stripper? Why Nico thought a stripper would be a suitable candidate still baffled me. We passed over a med student, for crying out loud. One girl speaks four languages from three different continents and we let her go. But no, this woman who could barely string a sentence in English would be the woman I would have to go on official business with. Freya, if that was even her real name, was good for one thing only; fucking.

Every part of her body was made for fucking. Those big lips look like they knew how to suck a cock dry. Her breasts would be wonderful to look as they bounced while she rode you. And that warm center between her legs? I had to stop myself from letting my hand wander to see how wet she was when she was giving me that sinful lap dance. Holding myself back was a chore. Her body felt supple against mine. When she took Nico’s hand and placed it there, an uncontrollable wave of jealousy came over me. I wanted to whip his hand away and—and do what? Fuck her? That was where my mind was going until I realized what I was contemplating. I had been that close to lifting her up, unzipping my pants and impaling her on my cock until I stopped myself and got her off me. Any second slower and she would have proven that I was full of shit. And that was why I didn’t want her.

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