Mistress Christmas: Wild West Boys Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Nick made sure the drunken asshole was good and gone before he turned around…only to find Mistress Christmas gone as well.

  What the hell?

  He scanned the crowd surrounding the stripper on stage. No sign of Mistress Christmas. Why’d she pull the disappearing act when he’d set himself up to be an easy mark? Nick figured after knocking back shots on his dime and teasing him to distraction, she’d be raring to kick it to the next level: a private lap dance.

  His lower gut muscles knotted as he imagined her rubbing that sweet, round ass across his crotch. Seeing her tits swaying as she shimmied her chest in his face, bringing her nipples close enough to taste. The bump and grind coupled with that sexy lip-biting thing she did? Whoo-ee. It’d be damn near impossible not to explode in his jeans and maintain professional restraint.

  Man. Mistress Christmas was good. For a while he’d almost believed she’d stuck around because she liked him, not because she was being paid to like him.

  Talk about being pegged a sucker.

  But her vanishing act didn’t make sense. She’d hooked him; why didn’t she reel him in?

  Frustrated, Nick skirted the bar and headed toward the privacy screens. There she was, arguing with a spandex clad bouncer who looked like an escapee from the WWE Smackdown! Neither one noticed his approach.

  “—the big deal is?” she asked.

  “Just following instructions, Holly.”

  Holly. Hmm. Was that her real name? Or a holiday-themed alias to fit with the atmosphere?

  “But I’m not going to—”

  “Sorry to interrupt”—Nick flashed a quick smile—“but I wondered where you’d wandered off to. We have some unfinished business to attend to, darlin’.”

  The bouncer pivoted. “This is a private conversation. Scram.”

  “Doesn’t look private. Nice costume.” Nick let his gaze wander up the green tights covering the man’s tree-trunk sized thighs, and across the red sports shorts and the matching green and red striped T-shirt. “What superhero are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m not supposed to be a superhero, lame brain. I’m supposed to be an elf.”

  “Whoa. Doncha think you’re a little big to pull off the elf gig?”

  “I think if you don’t watch your smart mouth I’ll put my big elf boot straight up your smart ass.”

  “Stop it. Both of you.”

  Nick clammed up, keeping his comment about the differences between bells and balls to himself. Getting thrown out of here on his ear by Santa’s monster helper wouldn’t help Rudy.

  “You want me to get rid of him?” the gigantic elf demanded.

  She shook her head.

  “Who is he? Do you know him?”

  “Sort of. Actually I, ah, met him earlier, and I ah…promised him…”

  “What?”

  Without meeting Nick’s eyes, she blurted, “A lap dance.”

  “You?” The bouncer scowled. “Does boss lady know about this?”

  “No. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  What was Mistress Christmas hiding from her boss? Evidence she’d been ripping men off? Was the bouncer in on it?

  Mr. Red and Green Spandex barked, “Remind him of the rules. If he breaks them, I break him. Understood?”

  Mistress Christmas nodded and snagged Nick’s hand as she tugged him around the privacy screen that provided a silhouetted image of the clandestine couple to feed other bar patron’s voyeuristic tendencies. The shadowed tease of a feminine form in motion was far sexier than the strippers on the stage wearing nothing but skin, in Nick’s humble opinion.

  The two main areas were empty. He supposed the prime time for lap dances was between a stripper’s sets. Mistress Christmas led him to the far corner, which was too far back to be part of the free peep show.

  Essentially they were alone.

  One low-slung, padded wooden bench was the only furniture in the space. A boom box with a long extension cord had been propped in the corner.

  “Have a seat, cowboy.”

  Nick sat, hooking his heels on the outside edges of the bench. “What rules was he talking about?”

  She spun toward him. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “No.” He laughed. “Will you believe me when I confess I’m not a regular patron of clubs like these?” Come on, baby, take the bait.

  Her dazzling smile rivaled the glow of the light display strewn across the ceiling. “I believe you. But the truth is, I didn’t intend to go through with the lap dance thingy anyway.”

  Thingy? Not the lingo he’d expected from a hardcore professional stripper. In fact, there were more than a few things about Mistress Christmas that just didn’t add up.

  “—pawing me and I just needed to get out of there for a minute. I’m sure you understand, since you’re not used to these types of establishments.”

  So she’d decided to play that angle? Nick could almost hear her canned speech: This is such an awful place. I hate working in a strip club, even when it’s temporary. I’m trying to get out of this life. I’m not like the other girls who work here. From the first time I saw you I sensed you were different and you knew I was different. Might sound crazy, but I like being with you because you make me feel safe.

  Right. As if he’d buy that.

  And then Nick knew he had to demand the lap dance. To see how far she’d take the role of the big-hearted, misunderstood stripper. He dug in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wad of cash.

  Her eyes widened before they met his.

  “I like bein’ with you too. Which is why I’m gonna hafta insist on that dance, darlin’.”

  “What?”

  “See, that’s why I ventured into this strip club in the first place. A buddy of mine was here last week and he said you were the hottest woman he’d ever clapped eyes on. He told me you damn near melted his clothes to his body with the sexy way you danced.”

  “But—”

  “I wanna get me some of that dirty dancin’ as my own special Christmas treat. Or should I say Christmas wish?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “So how much?” Nick waved the money and waited for the greedy Mistress Christmas to appear.

  Holly panicked. How was she supposed to get out of this? Nick actually believed she was a stripper.

  Well, duh, Holls, you’re in a strip club dressed like a dominatrix. What’s he supposed to think? That you’re an accountant from Cherry Creek?

  Maybe she could reason with him. Ignoring the rigid set to his jaw, she said, “Look, I think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea about me. Let’s talk to the manager. She’ll set you up with someone else.”

  “I don’t want anyone else, Holly”—he paused, giving her a second to absorb the fact that he’d heard her real name—“I want you. Just you. No substitutions.”

  She saw the challenge in his eyes. Nick expected her to argue. He probably didn’t even care about a damn lap dance; he just wanted her to refuse so he could cause problems.

  Screw that.

  The schnapps provided enough edge that his high-handed behavior pissed her off. Rather than back down and return to being Holly the wallflower, she threw her head back and became Holly the wallbanger.

  Not-So-Saint Nick wanted her to dance? She’d dance. And he’d pay for it in more ways than one.

  Holly smiled seductively. “A private lap dance will cost you one hundred bucks.”

  “That’s pricey.”

  “I’m worth it.”

  “Prove it.” Nick peeled off five twenties and attempted to place the money in her palm.

  “Ah ah ah. Roll the bills up together and hold them between your lips like you’re puffing on a cigar.”

  “Do you know how dirty money is?”

  “Do you know how dirty I can dance?” she countered with a husky purr.

  His eyes flashed interest, fire, and she knew he’d totally forgotten about potential germs.

&nb
sp; “While I’m picking a song, put your hands by your sides and wait for me to decide where I’ll allow you to place the payment.”

  She strolled to the boom box and flipped through the CD selection. Lots of smoky blues tunes. Boring. If she planned to follow through with this and play the femme fatale to the hilt, she’d pick a song he’d never forget. A song that’d make him hard as an icicle every time he heard it. She paused when she reached a familiar cover.

  Perfect.

  Holly’s hands shook as she started the CD. Now she just had to remember the sinuous moves she’d seen other strippers perform. The ballet lessons she’d stopped taking twenty years ago weren’t ringing a bell, but she’d watched enough episodes of Dancing with the Stars to fake it, right?

  Her nerves zipped from fear to fire when she heard the distinctive tick tick tick tick followed by the grinding guitar riff baum badabaum badabaum of AC/DC’s “Back in Black”.

  Throwing her hips out side-to-side in a sexy manner as she sauntered forward was harder than it looked. She must’ve been successful. Nick couldn’t keep the rolled bills between his lips because his jaw had dropped.

  Heh heh.

  Nick hastily picked up the cash and put his money back where his mouth was.

  Holly allowed a brash grin as she gyrated her hips to the escalating drumbeat. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she stepped between his knees and angled her chest beneath his jaw. “Put the money in the right side of my corset. With your teeth.”

  A male sound of approval emerged as he bent his head. His silky hair brushed the tops of her breasts, soft as a lover’s whisper and she bit back a sigh.

  His ragged exhalations drifted across the perspiration coating her skin as Nick oh-so-slowly pushed the slender cash roll down the center of her cleavage.

  The second his whiskers scratched her mounded flesh, Holly saw a challenging glint in his eyes. “I can’t get it in all the way, darlin’, without using my hands.”

  Ooh. What a cocky comment. She hitched her shoulders sideways, forcing his chin to graze both her breasts. “Maybe you oughta use your tongue, darlin’, since it’s the strongest muscle in the body.”

  Nick placed the tip of his tongue alongside the money roll and pushed it beneath the cup of her bustier, licking the hidden swell, damn near touching her nipple.

  A wave of desire washed over her and she forgot to breathe, and swayed a bit from the dizzy sensation.

  “A little wetness always makes it glide in easier, doncha think? Especially since this is bigger than what you’re used to.” He jammed his tongue in again, withdrawing the wet warmth before sliding the money down and out of sight. His hair floated across her collarbones, releasing his dark and alluring male scent. After placing a gentle kiss on the top button of her bustier, he traced a path up the center of her cleavage with openmouthed kisses, heated breath, and the rasp of his beard.

  Lust slammed into her and she almost came right then.

  Not good, remind him who’s in charge.

  Holly nudged his face up with her sternum and swept her damp lips over his ear, whispering, “Now be a good boy and I’ll show you why Santa begs me to sit on his lap.” She spun around and began to shake her groove thang.

  He groaned when she rubbed her leather-clad ass up the inside of his thigh, stopping at the junction of his legs.

  While keeping her arms above her head for balance, she made little grinding circles on his crotch. Over and over. Swinging her loose hair across his handsome face so strands caught on his razor stubble and tickled his pouty lips. Holly slid her butt cheeks up the inside of his other leg, swishing her hips back and forth. Dropping her arms, she situated her hands on his knees. She peeped over her shoulder, rocking her pelvis until once again her ass was nestled against his groin.

  Nick’s obvious erection sent a gush of moisture to her core, causing her to taunt, “Is that a jumbo candy cane in your pocket or are you happy to see me, Not-So-Saint Nick?”

  A feral snarl rumbled from his mouth and his hands latched onto her hips. “Keep it up and you’ll get more than you bargained for.”

  Holly refused to let his challenge go unmet. “Maybe you’re already getting more than you bargained for.” Once again her arms twisted above her head like a belly dancer’s. She rotated her shoulders, shimmying and scraping her backside against that rock-hard flesh pressing beneath his jeans. Her heart thudded. Her skin was hot and tingly. Her nipples were hard as gumdrops.

  Nick’s rough thumbs stroked the bared section of her skin peeking above the waistband of her pants. “Jesus, you’re killing me. Harder.” He pressed her bottom more firmly to his crotch.

  A yelp escaped as her spine landed against the solid wall of his chest. He snaked her left arm around the back of his neck, and threaded the fingers of his left hand through her right hand. Not an inch of space existed between them.

  Then Nick fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head to the side so his mouth could attack her throat with demanding kisses.

  “Oh God.” Nothing set her off like lips and teeth and tongue on that sensitive section of her neck. She automatically writhed against him, desperate for more.

  His pelvis was bumping up, as hers ground down, and they moved from side-to-side in perfect synchronization. His hot, wet mouth destroyed any sense of decorum and she moaned with utter abandon.

  Swearing, Nick pushed her away, spun her around, and aligned her body until they were face-to-face. He draped her legs the opposite direction of his on the bench. The friction at this angle was perfect. Pelvis-to-pelvis, her clitoris rubbed the seam on the inside of her pants and the bulge in his jeans. The soft mounds of her breasts were plastered to his hard chest.

  Lift, lower, grind. Lift, lower, grind.

  So close. Dammit. It’d been a year since she’d experienced a climax not brought about by her own hand. She craved that explosion. That mindless throbbing. That ultimate rush of heat.

  “Holly.” Nick groaned her name like a prayer and clamped his hands to her face. He slammed his mouth to hers in a ferocious kiss that stole her breath, her sanity and sent her careening over the edge straight into orgasm.

  She kept moving, dragging out the delicious sensation. Then Nick stiffened below her and she felt a burst of warmth where they were pressed together.

  He rode out his climax. A growl-like hum reverberated in her mouth, as he soul-kissed her so deeply she swore the steady movement of his tongue tickled the soles of her feet. When his thumbs simultaneously stroked the edge of the velvet mask and the curve of her cheek beneath it, she damn near came again at the simple eroticism in his tender touch.

  Nick released her lips, kissing the line of her jaw to her ear. Breathing hard, he murmured, “Now I finally understand the appeal of lap dances.”

  Then it hit her: she’d been dry-humping a complete stranger in public.

  Talk about cheap.

  What you mean cheap? He paid you a hundred bucks for the privilege of getting his rocks off with you.

  Holy crap. Holly scrambled off him like he’d suddenly developed a case of leprosy. She fell on her ass before she leapt to her feet.

  “Holly? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Shit. Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit. Shit. I have to go. Now.” She backed away, trying—and failing—not to stare at the dark, wet patch on the front of his jeans.

  “No, wait.”

  She didn’t. Holly turned and fled through the door backstage where she knew she’d be safe. But she didn’t know if she was running from him or from the bad-girl wild side of herself that scared her to death.

  Fuck.

  Mistress Christmas had gotten him so hot and bothered from a simple goddamn lap dance that he’d squirted in his jeans. It’d been years since he’d had to untuck his shirt to cover the evidence of an accidental discharge.

  Stunned, Nick sat on the bench and replayed the entire encounter. What a damn enchantress. From Holly’s come-hither smile, to the sexy, mesmerizing mo
tions of her smoking hot body, to the sound of her breathy sighs, she was absolute perfection. He licked his lips, once again tasting the hunger and neediness in her kiss.

  None of that kissing, full-frontal grinding should’ve happened. The “hands off” policy for lap dances in strip clubs was usually strictly controlled. The stripper taunted and teased, rubbed and gyrated, while the customer basically sat on his damn hands and watched. Nick knew those were the rules.

  So why hadn’t Mistress Christmas known them?

  Granted, the sensuous way that womanly body of hers swiveled and shimmied was breath stealing, but there’d been something…sweet and unsullied about her performance. Something shy and earnest about her. A feverish need to please that seemed to surprise her as much as it had him.

  But Nick had to ask himself—could innocence be faked? Was that how she lured men to financial recklessness? Get the bouncer to look the other way, break the “rules” about no touching, bring the customer to orgasm while faking her own? Then the stripper with the heart of gold runs away, expecting the customer to be so desperate to get off again in secret that he’d come back for more?

  He could totally see that angle working. Problem was, he couldn’t see Holly as the type of woman to work that angle.

  Which was probably why it worked so goddamn well.

  After Nick retrieved his coat, he scrutinized the bar for a glimpse of her.

  Nada.

  Cold air and snow blasted him in the face when he stepped outside, but it didn’t cool his temper or his libido. With nothing else to occupy his time, he could wait in his car in the parking lot and hope to see her sneaking out the employee entrance.

  Yeah? What then? Follow her? To what end?

  Nick needed to catch her in the act of stealing inside the bar, not stalk her to see if she lived in a low-rent district. Not fantasize that she’d welcome his advances outside the club.

  Jesus. How pathetic did it make him that he didn’t have anything better to do than moon over a stripper who’d given him the first decent orgasm he’d had in over a year?