Forty-five minutes later, I walk off the third stage, pulling the bills from my G-string, and head down the steps off the end and back into the locker room.
“How is it out there?” Cherry asks.
“Good.” I walk over to my locker, pop it open, and shove all the cash into my backpack before locking it. I won’t count my money until closing when I go through it and cash it all in for larger bills.
Making my way over to my chair, I stand in front of the mirror, getting a good look at myself. Reaching up, I scrape my nails over my scalp, messing up my already tangled hair, and my eyes practically roll into the back of my head at how good it feels. Then I reapply my red lipstick and pucker my lips, looking over my eyes. They’re dilated. The pills started to kick in about fifteen minutes ago. My skin tingles, and I feel hot—flushed. Of course, that could be from the neon lights that I was just dancing under.
“Luna?” One of our bosses enters the room. Pretty sure they’re both involved with the Mafia. Bones is a King. Well, that’s what everyone calls him anyway. He owns Kingdom—a hotel and casino—with three other Kings here in Las Vegas. Titan, Grave, Cross, and Bones own this city.
“Yeah?” I ask, looking up into his dark-blue eyes.
“You’ve been requested to join the Fountain room.” He arches a brow, waiting for my response.
“Yeah.” I smile and quickly look around for Sadie, but don’t see her. She’s probably already in there and waiting for me. “Be right there.”
He taps the side of the doorframe before he exits the room.
“Man,” Cherry sighs. “He’s so fucking hot.”
“He’s been claimed,” Mercedes reminds her.
It was all over the news. Of course, she’s some Mafia princess—that’s what the media calls her anyway. Just furthers my point of who he really is.
“I’d gladly be his side bitch. Like no lie. He could ruin my life, and I’d thank him.” She fans herself, making all of us laugh.
I put my outfit back on since I took it off while on stage, then exit the locker room. I make my way to the bar and grab a new drink before I head toward the Fountain room. It’s the most expensive room a customer can purchase here, and I couldn’t be more excited to spend my night in it.
When your presence is requested in the Fountain room, you’re automatically skipped over when it’s your turn to make your rounds on the stages because you’re making a substantial amount more than you could make on a three-minute song.
I make my way up the stairs and down the hallway to see one of our security guards standing in front of the black double doors to the room. Joe has been here since they opened. He’s your typical man who works in a strip club and tries to fuck all the exotic dancers. And he always wants free dances.
“Who all is in here?” I ask. Usually when two or more rent this room, you’ve got multiple dancers going in and out until the club closes. They’re paying for the room and bottle service, not the girl specifically. We’re extra.
“Sadie is already in there. They saw you on stage and requested you to join them,” he says with a big smile, reaching for the doors. “Let me know if you ladies need anything.” He winks, pulling them open for me.
I take a deep breath, stepping into the room and the atmosphere changes. The Fountain room is meant to feel more secluded and personal. Even the songs played in this room are different from what the dancer requests to play on the main stage when it’s her turn.
It’s a large room, meant for a bachelor or birthday party. The lights are just as bright, but they’re not as flashy. They’re more subtle. Red rope lights line the ceiling and black walls, giving off a seductive feel. The carpet is black with what looks like gray-and-blue confetti. The stages—there are two—are both matte black with chrome poles.
“Hey, girl.” Sadie stands on the main stage with her hand around the neck of a bottle of champagne.
“Where are they?” I ask, noticing she’s alone.
“Stepped out. They’ll be right back.” She crouches, holding out the bottle to me, and I take it, throwing it back. “How are you feeling?”
“They’ve started to kick in,” I answer, knowing what she’s asking.
“Good.” She smiles at me. “Just so you know, they’re dressed up.”
I frown and take another drink from the bottle. “Dressed up?”
“Wearing masks.” She bites her black-painted bottom lip. “Fuck, it’s so hot. Like chase me through the woods and make me scream for my life hot. I’d let them both have their way with me.”
I laugh, handing her back the bottle. She holds out her free hand, and I take it, letting her help pull me up on the side of the stage. I step on the chair and push off it a little too hard, and I crash into her. We both fall to the cold stage, laughing.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, looking up at her while she moves to straddle my hips.
“Not enough.” She tosses her head back and gulps down the champagne. Some spills over her chin and onto her chest.
I look over her Red Riding Hood outfit. My hands grip her hips and feel the soft material between my fingers. She gasps, bringing the tip from her lips and sucking in a deep breath. “Open wide.” She smiles down at me.
I part my lips, letting go of her waist and run my hands over my chest and up into my hair, loving the feel. The pills doing their job. She brings the tip of the bottle to my lips and tips it back.
The cold, sweet bubbly fills my mouth, and I open my throat, swallowing it. She tilts it a little more, and I cough, spitting it out all over her making her laugh. She gets off me and helps me up. I walk over to the back of the stage and face the floor-to-ceiling mirror, looking at myself.
I run my hands over the booty shorts and decide to go ahead and remove them, leaving myself in nothing but my white thong that reads Daddy’s in red. I have my Harley Quinn top on that says Daddy’s little monster. It’s so short that my under boob can be seen. Benny paid for my boobs last year. It was my Christmas present. I’m all for body modifications. I don’t care if you’re tucked, sucked, or flipped. If you’re happy with yourself, that’s all that matters.
The light hits my wedding ring on my left hand, and it makes my already racing heart pound in my chest. Most dancers wear them when they work. Some really are married, and others do it to make the guys think they’re not actually available outside of the club. If the men think they can date you, they quit paying you. If they think we’re unavailable, they offer us more for our time. Plus, the married men don’t want anyone knowing what they do with us. They just want you to give them what their wives won’t.
It’s a simple concept. One that I’m more than willing to play along with.
