Izzy swallowed hard. This was it. Showtime. She was twenty-four years old and had never shown skin on purpose. Well, not intimate skin. There had been a few hot make-out sessions in her dorm room, but she had purposely stayed away from men, concentrating on surviving and not going down the same miserable road as her mother. Izzy worked part-time as a research assistant to a law professor and went to school full-time. That had been her life. Now she was wearing six-inch heels and a micro bikini in a room full of testosterone-laden cops and she was expected to give them a tits and ass show.
Deep breaths, Izzy, deep breaths.
“Earned It” by The Weekend pounded in a slow seductive beat from the speakers. Perfect to bump and grind to.
It was just skin, Izzy told herself. Everyone had it. No big deal, right? Just her top had to come off. No bottoms. Surf’s Up wasn’t a full on nude club. Not that Boris wasn’t working hard for that license. She’d be long gone by the time he got it.
Keep it cool, she repeated in her head. Just own it. Loosening up some, she shifted gears and to her surprise and relief, Izzy got her strut on.
“Which one of you is the guest of honor tonight?” she asked her escort.
He smiled mischievously at her but before he could answer, a tall Adonis, standing in the background, called to her. “Let’s see how good your ‘That’s-the-sucker-who’s-getting-married’ meter is!”
Izzy stopped, as she considered the request. Putting her finger to her pursed lips, she said, “Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to check each one of you out for myself to make the ultimate determination.”
She was answered with wide grins and eager encouragement.
Slowly, she approached the tall blond in the back who had suggested it. He was smiling good naturedly, his blue eyes bright. Placing her finger beneath his chin, she asked, “Is it you?”
He grabbed her finger as she dragged it down his hard chest. “I wish.”
Izzy winked at him and gave him a pretty pout. “Me, too.”
The guys laughed as she made her way to the next one. He was tall, too, dark-haired, smokin’ hot, and his green eyes danced with lively fun. He held his left hand up and wiggled his fingers, showing off the gold wedding band. “Oh, now that’s a travesty.” She pouted again and moved on to the next man.
One by one she made her way around the room. Each man she passed grinned, but shook their heads. When she came to the one who had turned her world inside out, she didn’t touch his chin the way she had with the others. Instead, she placed her fingertip at the base of his throat. His pulse beat thick and hard. “Is it…” She traced her finger slowly down his hard chest to the waistband of his trousers. Then ever so slowly, with barely any pressure, she slid her palm down the growing rise in his pants. “You?”
The men in the room whop whopped, urging her on. Her mark’s warm breath puffed across her face. His lake blue eyes snapped with an emotion she couldn’t put her finger on. Desire but also irritation. Did their crazy chemical reaction bother him as much as it bothered her? He grabbed her hand and held it still for several seconds before he moved it away from the rising swell. But he didn’t let her go. “Unfortunately, no.”
He turned her to face a tall, handsome man who stood safely behind several chairs and who looked like he was ready to run.
The man put his hands up and shook his head. “Stevie will geld me. Go for it, Flynn. She’s all yours.”
Flynn’s fingers tightened around her wrist. Pulling her toward him, he sat down on a nearby chair. Grinning wide, he spread his knees and pulled her between them. “I guess tonight’s my lucky night.”
Izzy laughed as she swayed erotically to the slow, thumping beat of the music. “You have no idea how lucky.”
Call him a dog, but Flynn found himself riveted to his seat with a raging hard-on for this sexy little stripper. He couldn’t turn off his reaction any more than he could not draw a breath. She did something to him no other woman had ever done: captivated him. The cheers of the guys became white noise as he watched her slow, sexy moves, teasing him as she ran her fingertips along her thighs, up her slender waist, tugging at the thin golden waist chain attached to the tiny crystal belly button ring he wanted to tug with his teeth, to her voluptuous breasts. She had great tits. They moved with her body, the sway telling him they weren’t store-bought. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric of her suit. It wasn’t cold in the room. Hell it was blazing hot.
She turned and thrust that sweet ass of hers at him, doing a slow air grind, her fingers sliding the edges of her bikini bottom down, giving him a glimpse of her lush cheeks. She turned slowly and as she did, she slipped her thumbs along the edges of the fabric and shimmied the bikini bottom down, teasing him with a peek at the smooth rise of her mound. He wanted to drop to his knees and bury his face there. Her soft bubble gum scent teased him. She turned with the panties drawn taut, her butt crack peeping at him. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look that speared him right in the dick. Her big sultry eyes closed, her full pink lips parted in invitation. Her hands trailed from her bottom to her top. Cupping her breasts, she slid her fingers beneath the sliver of a strap and slowly lowered it. Just when he thought he was going to view what he knew was a set of knockout tits, she raised the strap.
His muscles clenched tight, his breathing shallow, and damn it, he wanted to take this tiny dancer somewhere private and lay her down. Mentally, Flynn shook himself. Then he actually shook his head. He didn’t do women like this. She was the complete opposite of his “type” and he sure as hell didn’t do strippers!
He didn’t move. Hungrily, like every other guy in the room, Flynn imagined what she looked like beneath that skimpy piece of fabric.
Turning her back to him, but facing the majority of guys, Wild Style swayed to the seductive beat of the song and untied her top. He knew the moment her tits were revealed because there was a collective groan born of lust from every man in the room.
Flynn pushed out of the chair and swung it around for one of the other guys to take. Angrily, he strode from the suffocating heat of the room into the main club. The music slammed into his ears like a baseball bat. The scent of sweaty bodies and cloying perfume choked him. He hurried to the front door and finally made it out into the cool night air.
Swiping his hand across his clean-shaven chin, he shook his head. “What the hell?” What was wrong with him? He felt like an antsy, horny teenager.
He’d come reluctantly tonight and only because Jack was one of his closest friends. Frankly, he was surprised Jack went for this kind of gig. Jack wasn’t the guy who got off on this stuff, and his fiancée, Stevie, was not the calm, “sure, honey, go sow your wild oats,” type. She knew what was up tonight, no way would Jack have not told her, but the guys had insisted on a traditional send-off. They were big boys. Might as well, right?
None of that was bugging Flynn. What riled him was that bubble gum-lipped little stripper who called herself Wild Style. He wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman before and that bothered the shit out of him. He wasn’t like his father and his brother. The women Flynn associated with were class acts. Polished and educated. He bet Wild Style hadn’t made it past tenth grade. And that potty mouth of hers… “Jesus.”
“Can’t stand the heat, Slick?”
His blood warmed at the sound of her husky voice. Her bubble gum scent wafted across his nose, testing his resolve. Dragging his eyes from the busy street, he turned to look at her. She was wrapped in pink silk, but held out a glass of water to him.
“Here, looks like you need to cool off.”
He took the glass, but didn’t drink. Instead his eyes raked from her spiky blue wig across her full featured face, where he noticed the tiny diamond nose ring for the first time, down the pink wrap to her shapely legs and six-inch open-toed pink heels. His dick thickened. She was a beautiful exotic promise of nail-scratching, sheet-tearing, sex.