It’s Just Business

“Oh, yes, it’s ladies’ night, and I’m feeling right, oh, yes, it’s ladies’ night!” Ami sings as we get out of our Uber. Up front, the driver, a middle-aged guy with a bald spot, does his best to not roll his eyes as Ami grooves her way toward the door of the club with some sort of bouncing booty move that makes her look like she’s already had too much.

“Sorry,” I tell him as I type in his tip on my phone. “It’s her birthday. Well, kinda.”

“That won’t even be the weirdest thing I see this hour,” the driver says, sounding exhausted even though it’s only nine o’clock on Thursday. I chuckle, and he adds, “You should see what it’s like come prom season. I legitimately keep a squirt gun in the passenger seat next to me just to hose down the horn dogs. I’m not cleaning up bodily fluids.” He shudders, and I can only imagine what he sees on his nightly rounds. “Have fun, stay safe, and good luck with that one.” He lifts his chin toward Ami, who has paused in the middle of the sidewalk for a shoulder shimmy.

“You too,” I tell him, thinking he needs the luck more than I do. Ami’s ready for a fun evening, but there definitely won’t be body fluids involved. For us, at least. The driver? No telling.

As the driver pulls away, I follow Ami, joining her and Maggie at the club’s door. It’s glossy black, surrounded by hot pink and neon lights, and guarded by a doorman with pumped-up pecs, shoulders, and biceps that strain his extra-large shirt.

“Hey, big man. I know what I want for my birthday,” Ami teases, flirting hard as she boldly looks him up and down. “Are you performing tonight?” I don’t think she’s seriously coming on to the doorman, but she is excited for a bit of wild, silly fun for tonight’s birthday festivities.

He laughs good-naturedly. “Sorry, Miss. I’m strictly security, here to keep the handsy ones away from the goods.” He lifts a brow, already pinning Ami as one of his problems tonight.

She pops out her bottom lip in a melodramatic pout. “Too bad, so sad.”

Maggie and I lock eyes, silently laughing at her theatrics as the doorman checks our IDs and lets us inside.

The Starlight Revue is, technically at least, a stage show, with multiple acts. On the advertising, it’s described as a ‘two-hour dinner show with live entertainment.’ Which could mean just about anything from Broadway musical theater to a magician to a singing revival. Of course, none of those also promise sexy dancing, acrobatics, and nearly nude performers the way this show does.

Truth is, it’s a strip club. A very fancy, polished up one with better lighting, but ultimately, it’s a strip club, right down to the pole in the middle of the central stage, the champagne that is going to be downed like water, and the already bumping, bass-heavy music that I can feel in my chest.

“Wooo!” Ami cheers, holding her arms up. She’s already in rare form tonight. A few other women look our way, all of them smiling and some giving answering wooos of their own.

Oh, God, it’s a wooo girl kinda night.Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

“This is going to be interesting,” Maggie says as we’re shown to our seats. “Medieval Times meets Magic Mike.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be a very thoughtful and insightful stage show,” I deadpan back and then grin. “How many Tony Awards is it up for again?”

“Depends how many Tonys are in the cast,” Ami replies, grinning. “Thanks for this, you two. I know it’s a little different, but I didn’t want to do the usual dinner and drinks or dancing. This sounded fun and different.”

She’s right. We aren’t party animals by any stretch, but we’ve done our sampling of the dance clubs, karaoke bars, restaurants, and bars around the city. This is something we wouldn’t normally do, and that’s what makes it a perfect birthday month outing. Time to check off boxes and bucket lists.

“I’m sure it’ll be awesome,” I tell her honestly.

“I’m just glad we get you tonight,” Maggie says. “I swear, we’re gonna have to arrange a visitation schedule with your new man.”

My eyes jump to her, but she’s smiling, not mad at all. “I guess I have been a bit busy,” I hedge.

Maggie and Ami gawk at me for a split second and then burst out in laughter. “Babe, you come home from work later and later every day, and last weekend, when you were home, I don’t think you picked your head up from the computer for more than ten minutes total. I was throwing cheese cubes at you to make sure you ate something.”

She’s right. Last weekend, I don’t think I slept more than a couple of hours each night. I poured myself into that report, which was totally worth it to hear Dylan say that it was good work. And I have been staying with Dylan longer in the evenings. Our Monday after-work meeting ran way late, and then Tuesday, we ended up at his penthouse. Last night, we went to dinner at a French restaurant with private tables where no one would see or care who I am and who he is.

“Sorry?” I offer, not really sorry but feeling like I should say it, anyway.

Maggie scoffs. “I’m not giving you a hard time. Get your shit rocked and get that bag. I’m just happy you’re here.”

That’s a far cry from where we started when she was all ‘just once’ and ‘be careful’ about this deal with Dylan, and I look at her in surprise, not sure what’s changed. Well, I mean I know what’s changed for me… a whole hell of a lot. But for her?

She tilts her head, reading my mind. “You’re happy. That’s all I care about. Besides, I relinquished all responsibility, so you are not my circus and not my monkey. Especially tonight when I think I’m gonna have to play ringmaster on this one and whip her into shape, Fifty Shades style.” Maggie grins, pointing at Ami, who has lost track of our conversation and is dancing in her seat to the music while her eyes scan the stage in obvious anticipation for the show to start.

“Thanks,” I tell Maggie, and then we both switch off the gushy stuff, focusing on the fun we’re gonna have tonight in honor of Ami’s birthday, which is still officially more than a week away.

The lights dim and the show starts with a bang, literally, as pyrotechnics pop and flash on stage. The entire crowd becomes instant wooo girls, including me and Maggie, with hoots and hollers sounding out from every corner of the room.

The first number is a choreographed dance introduction to each performer as they come out to the center of the stage one-by-one. They’re handsome, I’ll give them that. And the Starlight Revue definitely knows how to cater to almost every taste. Thirty men in all, each unique in their own way even though they’re currently wearing similar costumes of gray athletic pants and muscle tees that make them look like the world’s sexiest sport team.

I find myself thinking about Dylan… and wondering what he would think of this. I certainly didn’t tell him the girls were dragging me out to a show and don’t-tell night.

After the introduction song, the guys take turns with various themed routines, from cowboys who do some interesting things with their lassos, to a firefighter who gyrates and strips down to a jock strap that barely conceals his cock, and even a military themed performance where several guys do all sorts of acrobatics on an oversized pull-up bar jungle gym.

It’s all in good fun, and Ami especially seems to be enjoying herself, crunching on her chips and salsa and catcalling to her favorite performers, which is the point of the evening.

The next act starts and a tall, sandy-blonde, sharp-jawed Adonis with steely blue eyes struts out in black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a power tie. He stalks over to the desk and chair that’s been set up in the middle of the stage, grabbing the chair and spinning it on one leg, his pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt.

Ami fans herself. “Jeezus, is that what your office is like, Raven?”

I snort, shaking my head. “Definitely not.” I get why she’d ask. The guy on stage has the whole powerful boss vibe going on, and though he’s sexy, he’s nothing compared to Dylan’s charisma and magnetism.

A few seconds into Adonis’s routine, he leaps off the stage and into the crowd. Women go insane, screaming and reaching for him, and he smiles as he dances through the tables. Ami sits up taller, straining to see him, and then suddenly, he’s right in front of our table.

He folds at the waist, holding his hand out to me like he’s asking me to dance. But I shake my head wildly. “No, no, no, no,” I mumble, having no intention of going on stage. For so many reasons. Yeah, one is Dylan, and I wouldn’t disrespect him by dancing with a half-naked guy. But also, two, I am not a dancer. I mean, I have rhythm and can do a little wiggle when the time’s right and the alcohol’s been flowing, but that’s on a crowded dance floor, not a stage, in front of people.

“C’mon, I don’t bite… often,” he purrs.

I shake my head some more and then push Ami his way, shouting, “It’s her birthday!”

He takes the hint and holds his hand out to Ami instead, and she promptly grabs it. “Happy birthday to me!” she squeals, letting him pull her to her feet.

And thank God I volunteered Ami as tribute because Adonis squats down, wraps his arms around her thighs, and picks her clean up off the floor, carrying her back to the stage. She ends up sitting in the chair, looking giddy as can be about whatever’s about to happen.

“I don’t think you’ll have to get her a birthday present now,” Maggie shouts, and we lock eyes, laughing.

Adonis gyrates around Ami, sitting in her lap, and ultimately, leaning the chair back to the floor and climbing over her. Ami’s hands are pressed to the floor, which he seems to have instructed her to do, and he runs his nose up her body from her belly button, over her cleavage, to her ear. He grips her hip, and she wraps her legs around him, an active participant in the show at this point.

“I don’t think I’ll ever have to buy her a birthday present again,” I correct when Adonis does some fancy move that scoots the chair from beneath them while he flips them over. In a blink, Adonis’ back is on the floor, his legs bent, and Ami is sitting on his hips like he’s a mechanical bull. When he starts body rolling, holding her firmly in place against him, I send up another silent prayer of thanks that it’s her and not me. The music reaches a crescendo, and Adonis bucks his hips rapid-fire, bouncing Ami roughly while she shouts.

And then the stage goes black.

“Holy fuck,” Maggie says. “I think I would’ve embarrassed myself, coming right then and there.” I stare at her wide-eyed.

“Think Ami’s gonna kill me?” I ask, suddenly not so sure. That was… a lot.

The next act starts seamlessly, Ami and Adonis nowhere to be seen. But within minutes, Ami returns to the table, pink-cheeked and smiling. “Oh, my God, girls. That was so much fun!”

“Did you seriously just have fake sex on stage?” Maggie hisses, her eyes wide.

Ami draws a checkmark in the air. “Off the bucket list,” she jokes. “Did it look okay?” Her eyes cut from Maggie to me and back again. We must look as confused as we feel because she clarifies, “He whispered in my ear asking if I was okay with putting on a good show, and I told him to bring it. He was great, telling me to make my O face and throw my head back, but he nearly bounced me off him. I was afraid I was gonna die on a strip club stage.”

She doesn’t sound sad about that possibility. In fact, she sounds like it would’ve been a great way to go and a funny story to tell at her funeral, and we can’t help but laugh, reassuring that nobody could tell and it looked sexy as hell.

After a laugh escapes me, I shake my head, telling Ami, “I could not have done that in front of all of these people. I would’ve panicked and totally frozen.” I pull a horrified face, freezing in place, and they laugh.

Ami shrugs like it was no big deal. “I don’t care what any of these people think. I don’t know them, they don’t know me, and I don’t live my life for people who don’t feed me, fuck me, or finance me.” She ticks the options off on her fingers. “And even then, my opinion’s the only one that really matters.”

I grin, glad she wasn’t bothered by the public display, but then her words echo through my mind. I sit with them as the night goes on.

Am I putting too much weight in what other people think? People at work, especially?

I think back to when I freaked out at McGinty’s about what Shanna said, and I have to admit, she didn’t sound upset or judgmental about it. It was me. I was the one judging myself.

Maybe I should take a lesson from Ami and not care what they might say about me. Dylan said the same thing, but that feels so scary and is easier said than done.

But it would definitely make things easier to quit sneaking around, hiding my feelings, and pretending I’m nothing more than a passing acquaintance with Dylan when I know him intimately, both physically and emotionally. Especially as the nights get longer between us and I find myself wanting more and more.

It’s something to consider, but I don’t think I’m going to figure it out with half-naked guys dancing in front me.

Before long, it’s the last act, which literally includes a dance line of a dozen men with rather sizeable erections making them bounce up and down in time to a reworked version of Back Dat Azz Up.

It’s worthy of a standing ovation from the crowd, and afterward, Ami’s ecstatic. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she says, hugging us both outside. She’s only slightly tipsy, which I’m glad for. “That was so much fun!”

“It was,” I agree as we wait for our Uber to arrive.

We talk through the various acts, dissecting and discussing our favorite performers and performances, until we drop Ami off with hugs and ‘Happy Birthday’ cheers. Maggie and I ride the rest of the way home with smiles on our faces.

It really was a good night. As I glance at Maggie, I remind myself of how grateful I am to have such good friends.

At home, Maggie goes straight to bed, and I get ready for bed, but I feel too amped up to sleep. Instead, I go back to the living room and sit down on the couch. I stare at the television, considering Netflix for a minute, but that’s not what I want.

I want Dylan. I grab my phone, dialing quickly before I second guess myself.

“Hello?”

I smile just from hearing his voice and press my phone tighter to my ear. “Mr. Sharpe.”

On the other end of the line, I can hear him shift around, and he clears his voice. “Miss Hill. I thought you were celebrating your friend’s birthday… again.”

“I did. We just dropped her off at her place, and now I’m at home.”

“I see,” Dylan says. “And why are you calling me at twelve thirty?”

I swallow, my nipples rock hard underneath my sleep shirt in a way that didn’t happen the entire show I was just at, and the warm, pulsing desire between my legs is only for him. “I need you. I need to… I need you.”

On the other end of the line, I hear a rustle, and Dylan comes back on the line. “On one condition.”

“What?” I ask, wondering if he wants me to come to his apartment. It’s late, but I would. I need him that badly.

“Turn on your video. Show me what I’m missing…”

The promise of what will happen tomorrow at work has a fresh wave of heat coursing through my pussy, and I turn my video chat on. A moment later, Dylan appears, his bare chest making my pulse thrum in my veins as he looks back at me. “Hello, Darling.”

“Hello,” I whisper. “I… this seems like I’m saying this all the time with you. But I’ve never done this before.”

On his end, Dylan chuckles. I think he’s lying in bed, or maybe he’s on his own couch. It’s a little too dark to tell, and I may be tipsier than I thought I was. “Me either. But there’s a first time for everything.”

“So, what are we supposed to do?” I ask, and Dylan’s smile says his mind’s already coming up with a lot of very naughty ideas. As I shift on the sofa, I realize just how turned on I am.

“Bring the phone down, and pull your shift down so I can see your chest,” he says. “Every day, I see you in your work clothes, and I can trace the curve of your breasts through your blouse, and it makes me look forward to our after hours.”

I smile and bring my phone down, showing the curve of my breasts through the thin cotton of my sleep shirt. “Is this what you see that gets you hard?” I ask, playfully stroking the underside of my left breast. The sensation makes me shiver, and I inhale deeply. “I love when you play with them.”

“I know you do,” Dylan says, sounding cocky. “What else do you like?” he asks and readjusts.

“I like… I like when you kiss me,” I reply, bringing my hand up and teasing my nipple, gasping softly. “I like when you kiss me on the side of the neck… like right beneath my ear, and make me feel…” I trail off, not sure how to describe it.

“How do I make you feel?” Dylan asks, his voice thick.

I should say sexy or needy or on fire, because he does make me feel all those things. But that’s not what comes out. “You make me feel wanted and… special,” I admit, my thighs rubbing together as Dylan looks at me with hunger written on his face.

“You are special, Raven,” Dylan says, licking his lips unconsciously. “You know I want you more than anything,” he confides in me and then tells me to touch myself and to be a good girl for him.

“Show me too,” I whisper, and Dylan smirks. I moan, and Dylan inhales sharply, bringing his phone down so I can watch as he strokes himself. His camera switches, and then I’m looking at his pants as he pushes them down, and then I see him. It’s amazing, and strange at the same time, seeing him like this. I’ve had his cock everywhere, but seeing him like a voyeur as he wraps his fingers around the thick shaft and squeezes, making a gleaming drop of precum leak out, has me hotter than I ever thought it could. “Fuck me.”

“That’s what we’re going to do,” he says, his voice rough. “Put your camera up so I can see that pretty pussy. I want to watch you touch yourself.”

Maneuvering, I push my sleep shorts down and adjust my phone so that he can see my fingers running down my belly and to the edge of my pussy, the lips already parted and wet for him.

“So fucking pretty,” he praises as he starts pumping his cock in and out of his fist. “I love watching my cock disappear between those tight lips of yours, holding you still and pumping in and out of you…”

His words trail off, but I don’t care. I’m entranced by the sight of his cock, his hand stroking up and down his shaft, his thumb gathering up a bit of precum before smearing it around his head. I moan, touching myself and wishing it were him. I use my other hand to rub my clit. It’s not as smooth, but I’m too far and don’t need much to get there.

We go quiet. I can hear his breathing pick up. He moans my name while watching me. I can see that he’s holding back for me, waiting for me to shatter.

“Together?” I pant.

He grunts as if it’s hurting him to be this on edge. “Come for me, Darling.”

I gasp as the waves hit me, pulling me under. I force my eyes to stay open, locked on my phone so I don’t miss a thing as Dylan moans my name and comes undone.

“Holy… fuck,” I rasp, panting.

Dylan chuckles, but he looks as spent than I do.

“Feel better, Darling?” His voice rumbles in his chest sexily.

I nod happily. “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “And I have to get up early in the morning for work. My boss is kind of a stickler for the rules.” I arch a brow, teasing him.

“I know the type,” he deadpans, and I laugh. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Goodnight, Miss Hill.”