Chapter 6
Sebastian
I sponsor these toy programs as often as they come up. They’re not only a way for our working teams to bond, but they’re a great opportunity to give back to the community. My dad initially set them up as a tax write-off to make it look like he cared about the less fortunate. But he only gave annually when he was really forced to. I’ve increased the frequency of giving programs to almost monthly since I’ve come on board. The employees seem to really enjoy these days where they can get away from the office and do something productive for others.
My phone rings as soon as I start up my bike. Even over the roar of the engine, the speakers in my helmet are clear as day when I answer the call. It’s Abbott, my best friend and the resident pain in my ass. “Seb, what time are you gonna get here?”
I glance at my watch and try desperately to come up with an excuse to avoid going to the club tonight. “I’m just getting off work right now. I might bail on tonight.”
“No way.” He must be in his office with the door closed because the background music is now muffled. “Two of your favorite girls will be in tonight. You’ll have a choice for once.”
“I don’t know. I’m kinda tired.” I heave out a deep sigh, weighing my options. Abbott manages an upscale strip club that I co-own with him and his brother. I usually visit once or twice a week. There are a few girls I set up “dates” with when I come in. Taking them to a VIP room for a quickie is a hell of a lot easier and less expensive than trying to go out on real dates. I learned that lesson with Isabelle, and I have no interest in going down that road ever again. If I have to pay for sex for the rest of my life, that’s fine with me. At least I’ll know where my money is going, and I’ll get something I want out of the deal. Unlike when I was with Isabelle or any of the other gold diggers I’ve managed to attract over the years. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Don’t be a pussy.” He must be lonely if he’s pressing me to come in. “Get your ass in here and get a piece. The girls love when you come in.”
I can lie to myself and claim I’m helping out a young woman who could use the extra cash. But that’s a load of shit. I go there to get off. That’s it. And I could use a good fuck. “Yeah, okay. Give me an hour to eat and change.”
“Good man. I’ll see you then.”
I disconnect the call and squeeze the throttle, ready to put some miles on my bike before I head home to get ready for tonight.
After whipping up a grilled chicken omelet and taking a quick shower, I head over to Pearls, Abbott’s club. I’m an owner on paper, but I’m not an active partner. I just loaned Abbott some cash to do renovations when he first bought the place. Although, like many of my other business, nobody knows I’m involved with this place. My attorneys have created shell company inside shell company to keep me hidden from the records. If someone really wanted to dig, they could probably figure it out. But so far, it’s never come up. And now that I’m becoming more prominently known as the face of James Lighting, it’s probably a good thing that I’m not also the face of Pearls Gentleman’s Club.
Abbott spots me as soon as I walk inside and ushers me to his table to have a drink with him. “You’re just in time.” He holds up two shots, handing me one.
“What’s the occasion?” I take the shot and throw it back without waiting for him.
Abbott downs his shot as well then slams the glass on the table. “Angel of Mercy is up next, but Vickie Vamp just finished her set. She’s around here somewhere. You want me to find her?” He’s already looking around the room, scanning all the faces for one he knows I like.
It’s not even that I like these women all that much. Of course, they’re beautiful. But they aren’t my type. Which is actually what I like most about them. I know I’ll never be tempted to ask for a number or offer up mine with the women at Pearls. Not because of what they do for a living, but because I like brunettes. So, the women I’ve chosen to fool around with at Pearls are all blondes. Beautiful blondes who know how to hit it and quit it without any drama. These girls know how to take care of a man, but they aren’t trying to get in the will.
“I’ll think about it and let you know.” I pat Abbott on the shoulder as I get up and head to one of the reserved booths at the front. I prefer the one that’s angled in such a way that the general crowd can’t see me. But it gives me a perfect view of the stage and whoever’s on it. Angel of Mercy comes out a few minutes after I sit down, and I know what my decision will be for the night.
Angel gives off a timid girl-next-door vibe that I’ve always liked. It’s what attracted me to her in the first place and one of the reasons why she’s usually my top pick when she’s available. She only works a few nights a week, which I also respect. She comes here to do what she needs to do, but her life doesn’t revolve around getting naked for strangers. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably a student trying to pay her way through college—maybe even grad school—but I’ll never know her story.
Because I’ll never ask for it.
The house lights dim, and all eyes are on the stage as Angel walks out in a white teddy, white thigh-high stockings, and wings on her back that appear to sprout directly from her shoulders.
Her long, blonde hair flows across her back as she starts to dance to the slow song playing. The other men in the room wish they could have the opportunity she’ll offer me before the night is through. Not because I’m particularly special, but because very few people are allowed to “date” the dancers. Abbott is careful about keeping things on the up-and-up, so he makes sure to never use language that would imply solicitation.
Only highly vetted clients are introduced to the dancers who are looking for extra money, and whatever happens after that is off Abbott’s books. I think he only does it so friends like me don’t become monks and so his girls don’t put themselves in unnecessarily precarious positions by taking clients outside of the club. By letting them hook up with their dates here, he knows they’ll be safe.
As for me, I know why she’ll come to me first. Because I’m a damn good tipper. Although, no money will be exchanged here. Tonight, I’ll PayPal her $1000 as a friendly gift.
A waitress slides a glass of scotch onto the table in front of me, but I don’t even look in her direction. My eyes are riveted to Angel. She has a way of keeping her eyes completely blank, as if they are dead to the world around her.
I like that.
It’s just another example of her self-control and ability to separate work from reality. Twenty minutes after she leaves the stage, she’s back and sliding onto the bench seat beside me. “How are you? It’s been a while.”
“It has.” I lean forward and kiss both of her cheeks. “I’m good. You?”
She smiles and scoots a little closer. “I’m keeping busy. And I’m done for the night. Do you want to head back for a little bit?”
We both know what that means. I nod stiffly as I take another drink from my glass. “Sounds good.”
I throw a couple twenties on the table then escort Angel of Mercy to one of the VIP rooms. There are several chairs of varying levels of comfort set up in the room. But I like to keep things simple. Instead of going to a recliner or upholstered chair, I reach for an armless wooden chair and line it up against the back wall.
I sit down with my back to the wall and let Angel do the work. She slowly saunters toward me until she’s standing between my knees. Then she reaches for the hem of my shirt, slipping her fingertips beneath it.
“I like this color on you, Sebastian.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, leaning forward a bit as her fingers trail up my rib cage and under my arms. She pulls my shirt fully over my head, and while I’m still leaning forward, she drapes it over the back of the chair. Digging her nails into my chest, she kneads the muscle there.
Her fingertips trace along my tattoos as always. She’s always been fascinated by the intricate web of lines that morph from obvious graphics to indiscernible connections. Her manicured tips circle my latest piece, and her mouth quickly closes over it. She licks me before releasing the inked flesh. “Is this new?”
“It is. Do you like it?” It’s a black rose with falling petals. I had it added after my parents died, but I don’t think I was trying to remember them as much as I was trying to remind myself that the darkness doesn’t win…and that I never want to be like them.
Her lips cross my chest as her fingers make short work of my button fly. I never get fully undressed when I’m here. I never know when I’ll need to take off quickly, and I refuse to be caught with my ass in the air. Nothing pisses me off more than a situation I’m not in control of. So, with a few shifts of my weight, Angel has my jeans undone and is pulling out my fully erect cock, making it available for her to service.
And service she does.
Her mouth continues down my chest and abs until it lands on the head of my cock. She slowly sucks me in but only offers a few token licks before pulling a condom out of her bra and rolling it onto my length. Once I’m gloved up, I slip my fingers inside her thong and strip it from her body so she can climb onto my lap.
She doesn’t take many clients here. Abbott said I’m one of two she’s been with in this way, so her experience must come from actual relationships. It doesn’t matter much how she learned to do what she does because as soon as I enter her, she sucks me right in and her body gets to work. Her hips roll and tilt as she raises and lowers herself onto me.
I have pretty good stamina, but I don’t like to waste a lot of time here. We’re both doing this with one goal in mind. There’s no reason to delay the main event. With her nails digging into my shoulders, I find her clit with my thumb and use her own juices to get her to the point of exploding on my hand. As soon as her body begins to clench and constrict around me, I let go and allow myself this release, unloading into the condom with a low moan.
As soon as we’re done, Angel gets up, taking the condom with her to dispose of it. She brings a container of baby wipes over to clean us both up, and then we’re done. I get dressed and give her a kiss on the cheek as I leave, promising to send her my thanks later.