“Sorry about all the, um,” she waves her hand toward the living room. “Licking and inappropriate touching.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, a little bummed that she didn’t do either. I’ve never wanted a woman’s hands on me as much as I want hers to touch, and grope, and fuck…now I’m getting hard. At least I have my jeans on. “Although, I usually prefer to be the one doing the licking and touching.”
Charlotte, no shit, shivers. “Ah, yeah. Whatever you say.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t touch me?” I ask her.
“No. Nope,” she answers while staring at my bare chest. “I’m just not the type to touch strangers or whatever, and I guess I didn’t drink as much as the rest of the ladies.”
“That’s too bad,” I tell her. For a split second, her jaw drops before she recovers and responds with the last thing I expected.
“I’m a widow.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say, rather than admit that I already know. “Recently?” I ask, even though it’s been years.
“Why? Does that really matter? Is a longer amount of time supposed to somehow magically erase the fact that my husband, the love of my life, is dead?”
So not only is she bossy, but she’s got a backbone too, as well as a hell of a temper when she gets defensive. I think I would enjoy arguing with her on a regular basis and then fucking her silly when it’s over and I win.
“Guess not,” I answer. “And I imagine it can’t be easy being here, celebrating another woman’s wedding as a sad, lonely widow.”
“Who said I was sad? Or lonely?”
There it is again. Her hackles are raised. The woman really needs a few good orgasms to calm her ass down. I’d be happy to report for that duty.
“So, you’re not sad or lonely about being a widow for some unknown length of time, but you haven’t moved on either?” I ask.
“That…I…” she tries to figure out a way to argue that point, but I’ve backed her into a corner. Giving up on how to respond, she scrubs her hands over her face and brushes her hair behind both of her ears. “Let me, ah, just get that check for you so you can get going.”
“You don’t owe me a thing, lady,” I call out, but she’s already left the kitchen in a hurry.
When she comes back, there’s a piece of paper in her hand that she holds out to me. It could be a grocery list for all I care. “Here,” she says when I don’t take it.
“Fold it up,” I instruct her.
“Huh?”
“Fold it up,” I repeat.
She looks at me like I’m crazy but folds the paper in half. “Is that good?”
“Yes,” I answer. “You know what to do with it,” I say while glancing down at my open belt buckle.
“What? No way! I’m not sticking it down there!”
“Sorry, but that’s the only method for which a stripper can accept your money. It’s in the rule book.”
“You are so full of shit,” she tells me with a bark of laughter, which while technically true, is not something anyone else would dare say to me.
“Are you a stripper?” I ask.
She scoffs. “No.”
“Then you don’t know our ways, do you?”
“Ugh! Take the money and go!” she exclaims while waving the check in front of my chest.
“Gladly. Just as soon as you complete the transaction as required.”
“I can’t believe you,” she huffs. Finally, she steps toward me and then crams the paper down into my waistband, crumpling it up as it scrapes my pelvis. Looking up at me right in the eye, Charlotte then shoves her fingertips inside to push it deeper until the paper hits the base of my hard cock and her knuckles brush my pubes.
“Is that good?” she asks when she removes her hand.
“Eh, it could’ve been better,” I reply as I fish the check out and then tuck it down the front of her shirt quickly before she even knows what’s happening. I don’t cop a feel even though I want to. It’s simply a drop and retreat move that still has her gasping and her bright blue eyes widening in surprise.
“Actually,” I start. “Since I came on the wrong night, it’s only fair to give you a discount. You can keep the check.”
“You…I should report you to your boss!” she challenges through gritted teeth.
“You could, or you could come see me tomorrow night at Fluid. It’s the nightclub on the boardwalk.”
“I know what Fluid is.”
“Good. So I’ll see you there? I’ll put your name on the VIP list along with your four guests.”
“What? No!”
“Have a nice night and see you tomorrow,” I tell her confidently even though there’s no way in hell she’ll show up.
“Wait!” she calls out before I reach the doorway, making my boots squeak to a stop on the linoleum. “Nice try with the smooth invite, but you don’t even know my name to put it on some VIP list.”
“Whatever you say…Charlotte,” I reply before I leave her standing there stunned.
Chapter Four
Charlotte
He knows my name.
How the hell does the stripper know my name?
Oh, right. I made the reservations with his agency, and then Tessa said my name when she was telling him I needed to get laid and asking how much it would cost.
He was smooth, I’ll give him that. And hot. Very, very hot. But just one look at that man, not to mention what he does for a living, and it’s obvious that he goes through women faster than I burn through pints of ice cream.
When I head back into the living room, the women are all gushing over the biker-stripper.
“Thank you, Charlotte!” a drunken Tessa says when she comes over and throws her arms around my neck, placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best maid of honor ever! He was just…ah, so perfect.”
“Really? Because he was nothing like Paul,” I point out.
“Paul is a wonderful man
