“Stop talking,” I command as I shimmy my shorts and panties down. His hand is instantly on my inner thigh and sliding up. Up. Until it’s exactly where I want it to be.
I lean back and close my eyes.
And imagine Trent doing that.
Ben doesn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees to following his hand with his mouth. “God, you're sweet,” he moans. I briefly imagine fitting him with a muzzle to stop him from talking. But then he’d be no use to me. And he really is of use to me right now. Right or wrong, it’s been so long since I allowed this or even wanted it. I lean back and relax, taking from Ben what I need.
It’s all working out well.
But then Ben has to go and ruin it. He does exactly what I told him not to. He slides his hand into mine.
It’s instant shock, like I’ve been plunged into a bath of ice water after sitting in a hot tub for an hour. All pleasure disintegrates and I recoil from his mouth and his touch, shoving his face away from me.
“Dammit, Ben. Just go. Now.”
“What?” Confusion fills his face as he looks up at me, like I just admitted to a triple homicide while whisking a bowl of cake batter.
“You touched my hands. I told you not to. Leave.”
He still doesn’t move, an incredulous smirk touching his mouth. “Are you for real?”
I lean forward, unlatch the lock and shove Ben out of the stall with the most prominent hard on through his shorts I’ve seen in a while. With him out, I latch the door again and crumble to the ground, hugging my knees to my body.
That didn’t help after all.
In fact, that made things a thousand times worse.
Nausea churns inside me. How could I be so selfish? Ben’s going to hate me now. What’s more, now that that intense sex haze has worn off, I actually feel embarrassed for doing that to him. I’ve never felt guilty over my exploits. And … I gasp out loud. What if Trent hears about this? Ohmigod. My forehead drops against my knees.
I care. I care what Trent thinks. I care if it bothers him. I just … care. And no matter what I do, I’m not going to be able to shake that. Not with random sex, or being a bitch, or any of the other dozen cruel methods I use to try and push him away. Somehow he’s managed to slide a finger in under my titanium coat and touch me in a way that no one else has ever touched me.
Chapter Six
Bar well shots are two for one at Penny’s tonight so the place is hopping, keeping Storm and I on our toes all night to the point where my body wears a thin sheen of sweat. Cain has managed to find Nate’s twin—another dark gargantuan brute—to guard our bar like a grim-faced sentry, ready to toss grabby patrons to the curb in the blink of an eye. In fact, the place has almost as many bouncers as it does dancers, tonight. Including Ben. He hasn’t said two words to me since that afternoon at the gym, and that suits me fine. I’d prefer to hang my head in shame without the constant reminder.
Cain leans over the bar as I line up ten shots of vodka. “How do you like Penny’s so far, Kacey?” he asks over the music.
I offer him a nod and smile. “It’s great, Cain. Money’s really good.”
“Great. Saving that for college I hope?”
“Yup.” Just likely not for me.
“And what are you interested in?”
I pause, deciding how to answer that one. I choose honesty versus a smart ass remark. This is my boss, after all. “Not sure. Don’t have a lot of direction right now.” For some reason, Cain’s question doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t feel intrusive. “I’m more concerned about getting my little sister into pre-med.”
“Ah, yes. This famous raven-haired angel that Storm has praised.” Cain’s shrewd eyes narrow. “You’re a hard worker and you’re welcome here as long as you need the job, but make sure you find that direction soon. You can do better than slinging drinks. Keep up the good work.” He pats the bar and continues on, leaving me staring at his back.
“What’s his story?” I ask Storm.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I think he may be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. A paradox to the strip club owner persona. I haven’t seen him so much as squeeze an ass. He takes the time to say hi. Now he’s encouraging me not to work here because I’m too good for the place.”
She smiles. “Yeah, he’s definitely special. He had a hard upbringing. It had to do with clubs and the women in his life being abused.” She grabs the bottle of JD from in front of me. “Speaking of Trent …”
What? The sudden change of topic sends me reeling. With a smug grin, Storm jerks her chin over to a table not far from us. Sure enough, there’s Trent. He’s shown up for the last three nights at eleven by himself. He doesn’t approach me. He just orders his drinks and sits at a safe distance. I know he’s watching me, though. My skin prickles under his gaze. It’s beginning to get on my nerves.
“Kace.” Storm leans in. “Can I ask you something?”
“No.” I grab a knife and a lime and begin slicing it into eighths.
There’s a pause. “Why do you keep ignoring him? He stops by every night to see you.”
“Yeah, in a strip club. Every night. By himself. That’s what we call a freak.”
“He hardly looks at the dancers, Kace,” she says. “And I’ve seen you looking at him all night, too.”
“I have not!” I claim too quickly, my voice shrill. I’ve tried not to, I tell myself. Apparently I’ve failed miserably.
She ignores me. “I think Trent really likes you and he seems like a nice guy. There’s nothing wrong with going to talk to him, at least. I know you’re not a mean person, deep down.”
I fight back the guilt that’s swelling inside. Yes I am, Storm. I am mean. I do it intentionally. It’s safer that way. For everyone. “I’m not interested.” I set my jaw as I keep cutting.
She lets out a huge exhale. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’m going to ask him out then ‘cause he is fine.”
My jaw drops as my eyes fly to Storm’s face and I’m sure there’s outright murder shining in them. How can she betray me like that? And she calls herself a friend?
“Ha! Gotcha!” Storm holds up a finger. “I knew it. Admit it. Admit you want to go over and talk to that sex on a stick.” She slides away with a teasing grin, singing, “Trent and Kacey … sittin’ in a tree …”
“Shut up.” Right now my face feels like a burning hot forest fire. I try to ignore Storm, Trent, and the ever-looming Nate as a customer comes up order a drink. “Two Whiskey Sours, coming right up!” I announce, slamming two tumbler glasses onto the counter. I have no clue what goes in a Whisky Sour and I doubt this guy wants me experimenting. I raise an expectant brow to Storm.
She responds by crossing her arms over her chest. “Not unless you go talk to him.”
I purse my lips. “Fine,” I hiss. “After. Now would you help me with the drinks before I poison this fine gentleman?”
With a victorious smirk, Storm tosses two drinks together and slides them over the bar.
“That sweet southern bell thing is all an act, isn’t it?”
The smirk morphs into an innocent pout. “I reckon I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” she drawls, fanning herself with a dish cloth.