Page 20

“You didn’t tip me,” I pointed out, grinning up at him as I rubbed my thumb across his fat cockhead.

“I’ll give you more than the tip now."

I’d just spewed cum off the edge of the stage, barely minutes before, but that didn’t stop my cock from twitching in the sweat-soaked jock.

“I’d take you back to my dressing room,” I told him, “but this place isn’t that fancy.”

Jefferson glanced around us, pointedly, before fixing me with a sharp stare.

“You think I wouldn’t do you right here, lil bro?”

I could see it too, picture it almost perfectly. How he’d flip me around, press my chest to the rough wooden wall with its scuffed black paint. One big hand between my shoulder blades more than enough to hold me in place; barely a few seconds’ work to skin my shorts down my thighs. Relying on the push of my hips, the arch of my back to tell him how much I wanted it - how raw my need for him was - as his thick fingers pushed into my hole.

He’d fucked me on the floor of the locker room showers, the first time. Our teammates watching as I squirmed and gibbered and questioned whether he could squeeze into me. Unsure whether I’d ever walk again, even as I was certain there was no fucking way I’d tap out.

Not quite a rite of passage, but close to it.

I liked to ride him most of all. Legs splayed across his ample lap, and his big, powerful body spread out beneath me. Shocked each and every time at how it felt like I was skewered from ass to throat: the fullness and the friction of it coaxing out my sluttier side, even as my gaze caught on Jefferson’s grin and the clear affection in his eyes. Wanting, desperately, to make him feel good; to return some of the love he’d shown me from the start. A brotherhood I couldn’t quite understand, but was hungry to believe in. What belonging felt like, crisp and refreshing as ice water after an adolescence in the desert, and if the only way I could fulfill my side of the bargain was with whatever pleasure my body could provide him, then Jefferson was welcome to it all.

That it slaked the lust I felt for him - wild and all-consuming - was a happy bonus.

I knew he’d feel my erection as I levered it into his thigh. My need obvious, despite the snug jockstrap and the shorts. Clothes that strangers had just watched me peel off, an erection strangers had just watched me stroke. A waistband still rustling with the sound of folded bills, and yet the only person I could think about - could think about wanting to please - was the handsome senior whose stare pinned me.

“Okay, fellas; we charge for lap dances here.”

The sudden change in pressure, of Jefferson stepping back. Like your ears popping in an airplane or on a tall, fast elevator.

I turned to where Harvey, the club manager, was watching us. A knowing, leering expression of amusement on his narrow face.

“We weren’t...” I started, not quite knowing what to say after that.

Harvey snorted. I figured he was in his forties, maybe, but the lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes were those of an older man. I had a feeling they were the result of regular frowning, not from grins and laughter.

He thrust out his hand, offering up a small wad of bills.

“Figured you’d want this.”

I eyed the cash warily. Not like I hadn’t known there was money involved - that was the whole point, after all, to holding Brayden’s spot so he could come back after his foot heeled - but my brain hadn’t quite joined up the reality of those dots. Connected what I’d done on the stage with this being a job, however unusual. Getting paid made it seem less like a favor and more like something serious.

Harvey shook his hand, pointedly.

I remembered the way he’d looked at me at the edge of the stage. Hard, and cold, and so matter-of-fact at the possibility of swapping me out for someone more cooperative. More amenable.

You got the feeling that people didn’t often say no, not to Harvey. Not dancers, anyway. Not people who wanted to keep working, or keep their teammates working.

I plucked the money from his fingers, nodding what I hoped looked like thanks.

“Your buddy normally works the day after tomorrow, too.”

I fought the urge to glance up at Jefferson. I didn’t need permission to do all this, no, but I also knew how good his approval felt. Not that it was fair to expect him to weigh in on every decision I ever made in my life.

Some things you have to step up to on your own.

“Sure,” I said, voice only cracking a little. “That’s... sure, okay.”

Harvey grinned. The expression was no more pleasant than any others of his I’d seen so far.

“Feel free to stick around, enjoy the rest of the show,” he suggested, glancing between us.