I clench my thighs together, trying to suppress the throbbing ache between my legs. A small part of me wants to run into the restroom and touch myself. I talk myself out of it, a few times, and I try to focus on what Tony is telling us.

If I just stare at Tony, I’ll lose my lady boner.

I stare at him hard.

The gross asshole smiles at me a little too wide. Ew.

He’s talking about the schedule and when each of us goes on tonight.

I’m not listening at all. I keep taking quick peeks at Corrado.

If I keep this up I’m going to slip right off the pole tonight.

Tony smacks each girl on the ass and walks into the back room where he hides most of the night. I bet he’s got a camera out here and he’s constantly jerking his dick off at us all night. The thought sends chills across my shoulders and sends a bit of vomit up the back of my throat.

“You okay?” Corrado asks from behind the bar where he was standing listening to Tony talk. His question jolts me back to reality.

And my reality is still a sharp, hot ache between my thighs.

I lick my lips and try to concentrate on his eyes. “Yeah, great. Just fucking peachy.” I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could rub one out and get back to work.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” he asks, pouring me a glass of whiskey and sliding it across the bar top toward me. He leans down on his elbows waiting for my answer.

“I tossed and turned a little.”

“Me too.”

“A lot actually,” I say, climbing up onto a bar stool and rubbing my legs together tightly. God, if he smirks at me any more I’m going to start humping the seat I’m balancing my ass on.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “me too.”

His eyes fix on mine and I feel so much in the look that my heart aches. I can’t have my body responding like this to someone like him. I shouldn’t even be speaking to him at all. I have a job to do and I have to get it done, that’s it.

“I’m not even sure I should watch your set tonight,” he chuckles, in a low voice.

I don’t know how to answer him. I want him to watch me. I want him to ache as much as I do. I swallow back my whiskey and place the glass in front of him. “That’s too bad,” I say, sliding off the stool. “Because I’ll be thinking about you when I dance.”

“Damn,” I hear him gasp out as I walk away toward the dressing rooms.

I flat-out run as soon as I get in the hallway and out of his line of sight.

The dressing room is packed full of dancers. They’re weaving wigs onto their heads and slathering glitter all over the their breasts. Each one giving me a friendly smile, but no more. They’re as nice as they can be without slitting my throat. The competition is fierce here and there seems to be a hierarchy of dancers that I know nothing about.

I take a deep breath and walk through the war zone. If anything’s going to quell my aching body parts, it’s a bunch of strippers wanting to rip them right off me.

I set up my make-up station and quickly line my eyes with black kohl and add a fresh coat of mascara to thicken my lashes. I don’t bother doing my hair, it’s long and thick and wild, perfect for dancing.

I slip a black leather rip-away vest over a black lace bra and match it with a leather thong. I want to wear something stunning, something that will make Corrado stay and watch because he just can’t look away.

The last thing I do is slip my feet into a pair of high highs and inspect myself in the mirror.

“Wow, girl. Look at you tonight,” Candy whistles. “You got your fiancé out in the crowd tonight?” Shit, my fiancé. My made-up fiancé who gave me a fake diamond ring that’s probably still on the floor in the back room where Corrado threw it.

“Nah, I just need a few more tips tonight. I got some bills to pay.”

“Felony, we all got bills to pay,” one of the other girls says drily behind us. “Instead of just dancing, you should get on your knees if you want to make more money. Or you think you’re better than us?”

I don’t think I’m better than them. But I have a specific debt I have to repay and it’s much harder to deal with that than giving a bunch of the good old boys head. These girls don’t know anything about me. They think I judge them for doing whatever they can to put food on their tables or clothes on their backs. I don’t. But I know damn well they would judge me if they knew my story.

“I don’t think I’m better than anybody. We’re all here for the same reason, to make a living, that’s all,” I say.

“Girl, shut up. You don’t know why I’m here,” she snaps.

Okay, fuck off then and leave me alone.

I pack up my bag and storm out into the club. I have officially lost my clit throb. Now I’m just sexually frustrated and dying to punch someone in the face.

I take a few deep breaths until I calm my breathing, lock my bag in one of the lockers, and don’t speak to anyone until my music goes on.

My first dance is always “Bad Girl” by Girls Love Shoes. I start off-stage and dance with my silhouette behind the curtain for a few beats until I can smell the anticipation of the men in the crowd. And God, you can, you can smell it thick and heady in the air like a tangible thing.

As soon as I step out, my eyes follow the flecks of silver glitter that lay on the stage up through the soft heat of the lights right into the eyes of Corrado. He’s sitting off to the side, with a tall drink in his hand. I can see the condensation drip down the glass and over his strong thick fingers.

I turn my back to the audience and reach my arms over my head and grab onto the pole. Slowly I bend my knees and slide my ass down it. I peek over my shoulder at him and slide back up, a moan of his name on my lips.

Did he hear me whisper his name?

I turn, facing the room. Hundreds of hungry expressions look back at me. It’s really crowded tonight, and it makes me hesitate for a split second before I lean back and kick myself up into a Jade pose and lose myself to the rhythm of the music.

“Show off,” Candy laughs from the catwalk to the right of me. She’s dressed in a tiger-stripe leotard and is crawling around on all fours. She’s even wearing a pair of cat ears attached to a headband that’s holding back her wild curls.

I’m not showing off.

I spin around the pole into a Banana Split and try to ignore the guy in the front leaning over the stage waving a handful of Benjamin Franklins at me. One of the girls working the floor pulls him back by the shoulders and climbs over his lap. It’s Cherry. She can’t dance the pole but will give a guy a lap dance until he cums for a fifty in the private rooms. For another hundred she’ll meet you in your car and doesn’t mind an audience.

I watch her claw her hands around the wad of hundreds and crush them in her fists as she starts grinding on him slow. Some girls would get angry she’s stealing their attention away from the pole, but I’m not. Cherry’s got two kids under the age of five and an ex that hit her so hard the last time she saw him, she doesn’t remember his name.

Besides, I’m not here for just the money.

I’m here for vengeance.

Let’s just say I have daddy hang-ups.

Bigger issues than any of the other girls here, that’s for sure. I bet none of their families did what my own family did to me.

I slide over the dance floor to the edge, and hands, dozens of them, are slipping ones and fives into the straps of my G-string and into the pockets of the leather vest. They’re close enough I can smell their sour breaths and see the whites of their half-hooded eyes.

Corrado stands up from his chair and marches off to the back of the club. I lose sight of him in the throng of men staring back at me. I try to follow him with my eyes, but I know he’s gone, pissed off it’s not him touching me.

I know he likes me.

I’ve known for a long time.

I like him too. And that’s the reason why I need to talk myself into staying away from him. He’s going to throw a hitch in my plan.

I have a specific job to do and I can’t let my little crush on him get in the way.

When I step off the stage I’m drenched in sweat. Tonight the lights were harsh and unforgiving toward the end.

Back in the dressing room I pat myself down with a towel and yank all the money out of my outfit. I can’t wait to take a shower; during my last Bumslide to Split I got glitter where no fucking glitter should be.

I do a little make-up touch-up then head back out to the floor. I also want to get into Tony’s office and have a talk with him. I don’t ever want to be dragged to one of those card parties again. If it weren’t for Corrado…a shiver crawls down my spine just thinking about it. Jesus, Franco’s hairy old balls would have been slapping up against my ass.

In the hallway there’s a handful of girls crowding around some drunk guy. There’s glass all over the floor and it shines wet in the light. “Mop in aisle two,” Candy laughs up to me.

“No problem, you stand him up and I’ll get you a mop,” I say, as I watch her slip a hand nonchalantly into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. I pretend not to see. Candy doesn’t have kids, but she’s got a shopping problem and a guy she’s trying to impress with designer clothes and slutty lingerie. My face heats at the thought. It’s Franco. He’s old enough to be her father, but she’s been sleeping with him for so long she thinks she’s in love. She thinks he’s going to save her.

I’m sure Franco’s wife would disagree.

I jog down the hall and open the door to one of the back offices and grab the mop that hangs on the wall and hand it to one of the girls.

Standing in the doorway, I notice a dim light coming from one of the back rooms and look down the hall to count the girls. I know who’s on the stage and who’s on the floor tonight. The rest of the girls are robbing the drunk behind me and mopping up his spilled drink.

So who is in the lounge?

I step in and walk quietly to the back and freeze as my blood instantly rushes past my ears.

Corrado bolts up from one of the back couches.

My eyes travel down his body and stop on his unbuckled pants, his hands desperately trying to keep them up.

I look around for a girl. My heart is racing, because whoever it is I want to cunt punch. I’m breathless with jealousy. “Who are you here with?” I ask. My tone isn’t nice and I want to just crawl into a hole and die.

I’m so embarrassed that I walked in on him and someone else. Tears sting at my eyes. “Shit,” I breathe. “I…I’m so sorry—” I try to form words. I try to pretend that rage and hurt aren’t coursing through my insides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, I…” Again I glance around to see which bitch I will envy for the rest of my life.

“I’m alone.” His voice is hoarse and raspy like he just got out of bed. “Watching you dance, I needed to…”

I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me.

He sits back down slowly, his eyes still locked on mine.

“I should go,” I whisper, but I don’t want to. I want him to ask me to—

“Stay.” His voice is rough and demanding.

“Stay?” I whisper.

“Take off your vest,” he says.

Slowly, I unhook the leather and let it slip over my shoulders and fall down my arms. I hold the vest with my pinky for a minute then let it drop to the floor.

He rakes a hand over his face, “Goddamn,” he breathes.

The ache between my legs pulses again. It’s the way he looks at me. Like he could devour me and still want more.

Without thinking, I slip my hand under the small patch of material under the front of my thong. I waxed a few days ago and my skin feels smooth and slippery.

I can’t help myself, I need to feed that ache.

“Show me,” he says breathlessly. “Show me your pussy.”

And I do. Slowly, I pull the material covering me an inch to the side. The air is cold against my bare skin, colder still when it hits wetness.

He slides his hand inside his jeans and leans back against the seat cushions. My eyes are on his hands, desperate to see him.

“I want to see too,” I whisper.

He smiles and brings his palm up to his mouth and runs his tongue down the length of it. I envy that hand.

He pulls out his cock and slides his wet palm up and down the shaft. He’s big and thick and my clit throbs harder just looking at him. “Sit down. Spread your legs. I want you to make yourself cum.”

I take a few steps closer and he leans forward, brushing his nose against my stomach as I pass, breathing me in. I sit down next to him, close but not touching, and I slide down my thong and spread my legs wide for him. There’s no other recourse I have but to press into myself and try to find some sort of release.

His free hand grips the back of the cushion where my head is. I think he’s holding himself back and that only makes me want him more. Sweat beads on his forehead and I can hear myself breathing heavier and heavier with the weight of his eyes watching me.

“Just watching you makes me need to cum,” he gasps.

His strokes get faster.

So do mine.

“Corrado,” I breathe, my insides ache so much I’m holding off cumming and I think it might kill me. “I’m so close.”

Then his hand is on me, pressing my fingers in deeper. He’s palming me, soaking his hands in my wetness and then back to stroking his dick, which now glistens with me. The sight pushes me over the edge and I feel the deep coil of sparks burst through my body. My heart beats wildly and my body trembles with a million spasms. “Oh God, oh God,” I gasp, squeezing my knees closed to ride out the orgasm.

“No, don’t close those legs,” he says, pinning my knees open.

He’s hovering over me now, his shoulder and elbow keeping my legs wide. I want to arch up against him and wrap myself around him.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, as cum shoots over his knuckles and drips down his hands onto my stomach.

I watch as he finds release over me and smile up at him when he’s done.

“Next time I want you screaming my name when you cum,” he says.

“Then next time you better do more than just watch.”