Selena
Text The crowd is rowdy tonight. Every man in the joint loved my dance, and if I didn’t know that for sure, then my tips definitely confirmed that. I move quickly, scooping up my bills as I walk behind the stage and go into the side entrance of my dressing room. I am still getting used to it, and to be honest, I think it will take me a while to grasp the fact that Frankie gave me this dressing room. I should be thankful for it, and I am, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to this than just my clothing being sabotaged.
Honestly, I didn’t want to be treated differently than all of the other girls because all that did was put another target on my back. Frankie could have given other girls the spotlight every Friday, but she chose not to, and that told me two things:
- I was the best girl she had on the payroll.
- I was raking money in for the club.
There were no other reasons to have me on every week. Frankie is a smart woman, I trust her judgement when it comes to her business and bottom line – money is money, everyone is money hungry, including my dear boss.
Because of my home situation, Frankie lets me come in, do my dance, and leave. I wouldn’t call it special treatment, or admit that I’m getting special treatment to anyone, but it’s plain as day – I’m getting it. Usually, I do my dance, grab my cash, and leave as soon as possible. I’m a pretty cut and dry girl.
In the beginning, I used to stick around longer to see if I could go up a second or third time. When I was newer, Frankie would let me do that, but now, since I’m headlining in a sense, she won’t. It makes sense, if I go out there a few times and make the tips I am every time, all of the customers would be broke and leave, and that isn’t good for business.
I’m slipping my robe back on when there’s a light rap to my dressing room door. “C’mon in,” I urge whoever is on the other side.
The door opens, and I’m met with Frankie. She slips in and shuts the door behind her. “I don’t normally ask this of you,” she starts to murmur, barely maintaining any sort of eye contact with me. “Would you stay later tonight? Matteo would like a dance for him and his buddies. He’s willing to pay a hefty tip, Selena. If I were you, I’d do this. You’d make quite a bit of cash.”
I want to say no, that I won’t stay and give a dance to the old Italian creep. He’s always given me the willies. Through the years I’ve done a good job at avoiding him at all costs, it seems my luck has run out, though. I don’t want to do this, but I know that I can’t be selfish. I literally can’t afford to be selfish. I know what kind of money Matteo has. Lots. I’ve never danced for Matteo or his friends before, that doesn’t say much, though, the man hasn’t been around lately. I’d say that’s because he’s married to a woman, thirty, or maybe forty years his junior, and she figured out he’s been fucking Frankie. If I think hard about it, I haven’t seen the man in weeks, and when I do see him, I’ve always stayed away.
There’s not really a reason for my distance, besides the fact that he’s a sleaze. That’s reason enough, though, isn’t it?
“Yeah, fine. I’ll stay,” I tell her, removing my robe from my shoulders and placing it on the chair next to me. “Where is he?”
“In his usual spot,” Frankie says, and I can’t help but hear the disappointment in her tone. I wonder why she sounds defeated, but it hits me like a ton of bricks. He didn’t ask for her, he asked for someone else.
“Frank, are you sure you don’t want to do it? You know I’m tight on cash, but…” Frankie waves her hand to silence me before she speaks.
“Selena, go out there and get that cash. Stop doing whatever it is that you are and just do your damn job.” She goes to the door and slams it behind her. The entire time I’ve worked here I have never seen Frankie slam a door or use that tone of voice with any of us. I was right, her feelings are hurt.
I do what I’m told and listen to my boss, walking out of the dressing room until I’m in the main part of the club. I spot Matteo and his two buddies from a distance and looking at their table I can see that they look to be drinking whiskey, or maybe a dark bourbon. I avoid the table, so I can get them all refills on whatever they’re drinking. “Hey BunBun,” I call over to Bunny, our resident bartender, and the coldest bitch in here. She gets her name from her god-awful attitude. It was a joke one of the customers made, calling her Bunny because of her warm and fuzzy personality.
She glances over to me, not a woman of many words. “Can you fix me up a round of whatever Matteo and his buddies are drinking?” Bunny nods at me before she gets to work. I lean against the bar and wait as she fixes their drinks, wondering exactly who he has with him.
“I have been looking for you.” I don’t mistake that husky growl anywhere. I’ve heard it once before, from a man with so much power that it frightens me. He makes me shake in my bones. I don’t know if it’s the power he holds or the danger that surrounds him. Who am I kidding, it could just be the legend himself.
Christian Steele.
I met him a few weeks back at a party. I wasn’t supposed to be there, my friend Brenna was, and she got us both in. But oh, I was not supposed to be there. Brenna is an interesting type, she works in PR and got us into opening night of Alec Rosseau’s newest art exhibit in downtown Atlanta. I’m a big art freak, couldn’t afford a piece to save my life, but to be able to have just a few hours of no responsibilities, sipping champagne amongst the elite while in awe of Alec’s newest pieces was something that I couldn’t pass up. Brenna knew my weakness, and boy, did she get me good.
I hear him take a step closer to me until his chest is on my back. He takes his hand and brings a misplaced curl behind my ear, pressing his lips to it. “If you think you can run away from me tonight, Cinderella, you’re sadly mistaken.”
I turn my head slightly to the right, and his lips are against my jawbone. I can feel his breath, hot and heavy on my cheek. “Let’s get one thing straight Steele, I walked away from you.”
“Is that right?” He counters, turning me towards him. I should be offended at the way he just grabbed my arm like I was nothing but an object in this crowded room. Instead, my heart is beating fast in my chest, excitement rushing through my veins. I encountered a lot of interesting situations since working at Russo’s, but never did I ever think that I’d come face to face with Christian Steele, and to see him here of all places. My, how life loves to fuck with me.
“You ran away like a scared little girl the second you found out who I was. Let’s not play this game,” he hisses out, and then it hits me – he’s furious that I walked away from him. I giggle, not able to hold it back. This man has never, ever had a woman walk away from him.
“Darling, we aren’t playing games. I’m just not getting involved with anyone, especially a Steele.” I spit his last name out like it’s poison. If you’ve lived in Atlanta, you know what the tabloids say about the Steeles. How they run the most lucrative businesses in Atlanta, how they help keep our city afloat and bring out the better parts of the community. And then you’d talk to the people who live here, who are both grateful for the Steeles putting money back into the community but know exactly what they’re doing, or more so, they know the rumors about the Steeles.
Only, I know that these aren’t rumors. There’s no way to prove that the Steeles are slimy snakes, but they are. They’re about as helpful as any gang in the city, especially since they run all of their guns for them. Hell, they’re probably tied up with the cartel too.
Christian snickers at me, those pearly whites flash and I’m almost a goner. “Cinderella, you don’t get it.”
“I’m not your Cinderella,” I snap.
“You are. You’re my Cinderella, you’re already involved with me, and that’s what you don’t get. You want me to stop calling you that? Give me your name, and not your stage name.” I gape open my mouth at his bluntness. I do not belong to Christian Steele, and never will I.
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
“Oh, I plan on it.”
I grab the drinks that Bunny slides next to me on the bar and walk across the club to where I see Matteo sitting. Gently I place them on the table. “Mr. Varca,” I say smoothly, offering my best smile. “I heard you and your friends were in the mood for a dance tonight.”
“You heard right, dear. Jordan?” Matteo looks to the man sitting across from him. He’s taken a sip of the whiskey I’ve just placed in front of him and smiles coolly at me.
“I’m actually on my way out, it seems I have a bit of work to do and fast.” He rises, extends his hand which Matteo accepts and they both shake. The other man swiftly walks away to the double doors that lead into Russo’s and is gone.
“Well, get to work,” Matteo growls at me, and I do.
I take his hand and lead him over to one of the lap dance chairs we have in the back. They’re made to be a little private, but open enough to where if we needed help from one of the bouncers we could get it.
Matteo takes a seat in the chair before us, we’re in a small room with a curtain that’s open a few feet away, on both sides of us are two walls, and like this small cubby, there are others just like it surrounding us.
I listen to the beat of the music, swaying my hips with the bass, grinding my body seductively up against his like I was trained – something that I do well. It’s as if I get lost in the music, and that’s exactly how I’ve been able to do this for so long. I don’t think about what I’m doing, I become one with the music that is pounding through the speakers, matching my movements with every beat.
Matteo slides his hands over my hips, and I smack them away. “No touching,” I tell him, still continuing with my routine. I roll my hips over him, gasping when he palms my ass.
“I touch whatever I feel like touching, girl.” I turn around to face him, but before I can he has his fist entangled in my hair. “Is that understood?” He tugs, enough to make it uncomfortable but not enough to get me to bend to his will. I am not some pussy little bitch that will roll over if he orders to.
I watch as Matteo goes for his pants, he yanks out a wad of cash and shoves it in my bra. “You will do whatever I want you to do. That is what I pay for. Did Frankie not tell you?” He hisses is out like a snake who’s caught its prey.
Matteo pulls my hair hard, down towards his face. He crushes my lips against his and kisses me roughly. I want to vomit the second his lips touch mine. I can taste his awful breath, the fish that he must’ve eaten for dinner. It’s recoiling.
“I. Pay. For. You.” He snarls it out as he tears his lips away, pushing my head down further until my face is level with his crotch. He moves his hips against my face, I can feel his cock becoming harder under his slacks.
I weigh my options. I could scream, I know I can. The bouncers would come in, and I know that, but this isn’t the average customer. Fuck, this is no average man. This is Matteo Varca. He’s affiliated with the Italians, I don’t know how – to be honest, I’ve never paid enough attention to care, but I can’t help but overhear what the other girls say. God, he helped Russo build this place. Fuck, he still helps Frankie! With what I don’t know, I just know that I could lose my job, which would result in me losing everything.
I can’t do that.
I can’t lose anything else. Haven’t I had enough taken from me?
Suddenly he pulls my hair backwards, until he’s standing, causing me to rise up with him. I can’t hide the yelp that passes through my lips. One hand is firm against my head, tangled within my locks, and the other is shoving my body against the wall until he goes lower and slides his hand under my panties. I feel him as he moves his hand over my ass cheek, drifting lower until he’s sticking his fingers inside of my dry heat. “Not wet? I can change that.”
Matteo loosens his hand in my hair, pulls it free and sticks his fingers in my mouth. He moves around roughly, collecting as much saliva as he can before he rips my panties off and sticks his other hand inside of me. I yelp at the sudden intrusion, biting my lip, wanting this violation to be over as soon as possible.
I’m grinding my teeth, clenching as hard as I can so I won’t cry. I’m thinking of anything that I can, taxes, bills, the Falcons score. Never in my years of working here has anything close to this ever happened. And then it hits me, it all suddenly makes sense to why I was given the dressing room. And like a round of bullets, it sinks in, I was given that room because of this reason exactly. Rumor has it, Frankie was the last one with that room.
It was all making sense to me now.
Fuck. How could I be so dumb? How?!
His fingers plunge in and out of me hard and fast. I’m completely dry yet Matteo shoves his hand violently in my mouth over and over again to try to get me wet. I won’t be. I’m not turned on by this at all. “You’re just like her. She didn’t like it either, not in the beginning, at least. Now she begs for my cock, you should’ve seen her face when I asked for her best girl, turns out you’re the best.” I hear his zipper go and that’s when I freak out. I buck and move as much as I can but it’s no use, he shoves me flat against the wall until I’m pinned, unable to move whatsoever. His palm is pushing between my shoulder blades, a force so hard that I want to cry out. I can feel his cock against my lips, in one swift moment he’s inside me. As he slips inside me, he slides his hand over my mouth, and I scream, as much as I tried not to. I did. I couldn’t help it. Muffled cries slip past me, with each thrust the tears flood over my cheeks in a wave of emotion.
I’ve had so much taken from me in my life, so much that had happened that I wasn’t prepared for. This is just something that’s added to the list. He chuckles at me, moving in and out. I’m defeated, sobs slowly escaping past my lips, tears flowing over my cheeks.
“This is so damned good!” He growls out.
I don’t hear anything, everything goes quiet for a moment, Matteo stops thrusting inside of me, and I collapse to the ground, unable to support myself, unable to make the slightest movement. I can’t bare it, the embarrassment, the horror, the…guilt. I drag my nails against the aged wallpaper and cry, it’s all that I can do.
I was wrong before, everything wasn’t taken from me. Not yet at least.
Matteo Varca just took the last thing that was important to me.
My virginity.