Shooting Dirty Page 8

  Her vibrator buzzed against her swollen clit, persistent. Pressure built between her legs and her breaths quickened. This was dirty and depraved. Who masturbated like this? Weirdos who accidentally hanged themselves, that’s who. She wondered how the leather collar would feel, snug around her neck. Would the ball gag fill her mouth? She’d rather have a cock there. Ace’s cock, shoving inside and pressing against the back of her throat.

  Gagging her. Just a little.

  Jesus. She was going to come.

  Usually her mind drifted during sexual activity, floating away to a safe space. She felt pleasure from a comfortable distance. The cuffs seemed to hold her in place, grounding her to reality. Tethering her to her body. The sensations were sharper and more exquisite. She felt the air on her tight nipples and heard the fan whirring in the other room. The vibrator hummed, delivering pure pleasure. Her thighs started to shake and her stomach quivered. Her clit was like a hot bead, throbbing with life, the center of everything. She pictured Ace’s tattooed hands skating over her taut belly.

  His callused fingertips, stroking her wet pussy.

  She arched her spine, straining toward climax. Almost there. The constant vibration was so good, and the cuffs bit into her wrists, creating a tension she’d never experienced before. She shifted her hips and...

  Oh, fuck.

  The vibrator slipped down a notch.

  She ripped off her right cuff and grabbed the toy, desperate to reinstate the sensation. The instant it touched her, she exploded, her legs splayed wide and her body shuddering with ecstasy. The orgasm unraveled with a force that made her toes curl.

  Damn.

  When it was over, she turned off the vibrator and lay there for several moments, panting. The pleasure had almost been too much to bear. She could only imagine how it would feel with Ace at the reins. Uncomfortably arousing. Deeply satisfying.

  Pussy-wrecking.

  Yeah, she didn’t need that much sexual intensity. She was already afraid of him, afraid of the feelings he inspired. The idea of letting him get her off this good was scary. She didn’t trust any man enough to bare herself completely to him.

  The abuse she’d endured as a young girl had left her broken. She’d developed a number of defense mechanisms, like avoiding relationships and separating her mind from her body during sex. She could enjoy herself at a distance. But she couldn’t be present and vulnerable at the same time. That level of intimacy was beyond her.

  In some ways, she was lucky. At least she enjoyed sex. She’d had coworkers who couldn’t stand to be touched. Others invited contact from everyone and couldn’t seem to say no. Some were dead inside, enduring mistreatment as if they deserved it.

  Many, like Tiffany, engaged in self-destructive behavior and looked for love in all the wrong places.

  Janelle couldn’t say she hadn’t done the same, from time to time.

  Not every dancer had emotional issues or a history of abuse, but it was a struggle to stay well-adjusted in this business, even if you started out that way. Sexual harassment ran rampant. Married customers offered a skewed view of men and relationships. It was difficult to transition from stripping to other low-paying jobs.

  On the other hand, Janelle had really come into her own on the stage. She’d gained confidence and learned to set professional boundaries. She’d made some great friends. She genuinely enjoyed dancing. Although she was ready to move on, she couldn’t wallow in regrets. She’d done what she had to do to support herself and Jamie.

  She rose from the bed and got dressed. She rinsed her vibrator in the sink and tossed all of the sexy props in the bottom drawer of her dresser. Throwing the stuff away would be wasteful, but she couldn’t take it to her mother’s. She also didn’t want to be reminded of Ace, and all the dirty things she shouldn’t crave. Maybe she’d give the items back to Tiffany.

  Janelle spent the next hour loading up her car. She’d just sat down to drink a diet soda when Jamie walked in. He dropped his backpack on the floor by the door. She’d asked him not to do that a thousand times.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked, gaping at the mostly empty space.

  Here we go.

  “We’re moving to your grandma’s.”

  “Why?”

  “To save money.”

  He crossed his arms over his slender chest, his mouth and nose twitching with displeasure. In the past six months, he’d grown several inches. He had Shane’s looks and height, with her wild, thick brown hair. He was a handsome boy. Someday soon, he might be getting phone calls and attention from girls.

  Janelle felt a little sick at the thought.

  “Are you quitting your job?” he asked.

  “No. I need to work more and save enough to pay for a different physical therapy program.” They’d have to move again, farther away, when the time came, but she didn’t say that. No need to drop that bomb yet.

  “Grandma’s house sucks,” he said, kicking his backpack.

  Janelle took a sip of her soda. “It’s only temporary.”

  “Can I keep playing soccer?”

  Shit. She hadn’t considered this complication. His practices took place here in Salton City, but the games were all over. She’d have to ask her mother to drive him back and forth, or put him on the bus.

  “I don’t want to go,” he yelled, startling her. He clenched his hands into fists and his face turned bright red. He looked like a bull. A heavy-breathing, skinny-armed boy-bull. Full of rage and ready to charge.

  Janelle rose to her feet. “Calm down, crazy legs. You were drunk two afternoons ago, remember? You’re on restriction for a month. If you don’t shape up, I won’t even consider registering you for next season.”

  He unclenched his fists, his eyes narrow. “You don’t have to work at that shitty club. You don’t have to work at all.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. “How do you figure?”

  “You’re pretty enough. You can get married and stay home, like a normal mom.”

  A horrified laugh erupted from her chest. “A normal mom?”

  “Yes, a normal mom! The kind that bakes cookies after school, and doesn’t dance naked on guys’ laps!”

  “Right,” she said, shaking her head. “I can bake cookies, and get married to a rich guy. There aren’t many around here, but maybe I can find a nice old man to sell myself to. Would that make your life better?”

  “You don’t even try to date.”

  That was true. Her choice of profession put a damper on dating. It was a catch-22. She couldn’t quit her job in hopes of meeting a decent man, and she probably wouldn’t meet one unless she quit.

  “You could go out with that tattooed guy.”

  Her lips parted in shock. “Ace?”

  “Is that his name? He seemed okay.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe Jamie thought Ace would make an appropriate boyfriend. Then again, Ace was edgy and mysterious. Cooler than the other dads, certainly. Not unlike Shane.

  “Face it, Mom. You’re not going to do any better.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged, belligerent.

  “Just—go to your room,” she said, pointing. “Pack your stuff.”

  Jamie did as she ordered, grumbling along the way. Two hours later, they were loaded up and ready to leave. Her car didn’t fit everything so she’d have to make another trip. Jamie didn’t speak to her at all during the drive. He put in his earbuds, shutting her out.

  After they arrived at her mother’s house, Janelle carried her things inside. Her mom had cleared out the sunroom for her, which was nicer than the couch. There was a cot in the corner with a pillow and a blanket. Janelle piled her bags next to it.

  Then she headed down the hallway, her stom
ach roiling with tension. The guestroom was on the left, and her mother’s room was at the end of the hall. The bathroom was on the right. She paused outside the door to her old room, remembering all the horrible nights she’d spent here, praying her stepfather wouldn’t enter.

  Pushing away those awful memories, she took a deep breath and rapped on the door. “Can I come in?”

  Jamie opened it for her. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Then she took a seat at the desk by the window. The same desk where she’d daydreamed, instead of finishing her homework.

  Jamie stretched out on the single bed and tucked his arms under his head. He glared up at the ceiling as if he wanted to punch it.

  “You never complained about me not dating before,” she said.

  “I didn’t know where you worked.”

  “I’m sorry I kept it a secret. I should have told you.”

  He stayed silent, brimming with resentment.

  She glanced around the room. The walls were plain white now, not painted soft pink or covered with magazine pages. She used to have a poster with a fluffy orange kitten dangling from a tree branch. It said, “Hang in there!”

  She’d stared at that kitten while her stepfather abused her.

  Hang in there.

  “Getting married isn’t the answer to every problem,” she said, clearing her throat. “It can make things worse.”

  “You could have married Owen.”

  She smiled at the suggestion, a little sadly. Jamie’s uncle was a great guy, and he was her son’s only positive male role model. He was hot, too. But she wouldn’t have jeopardized their relationship by dating him, and now he was engaged to Penny, one of the most beautiful women Janelle had ever seen. “If I got married, you’d have to live in a new place with new rules. New stepsiblings, maybe.”

  He gave her a horrified look.

  “You know I didn’t get along with Grandpa Gary. It tore me and your grandmother apart. I never wanted you to go through that.”

  “Why didn’t you get along?”

  She raked a hand through her hair, flustered. “I was rebellious, like you are. Acting out. Running around with boys.”

  His brows drew together sharply.

  She couldn’t tell him why she’d been acting out, so the conversation felt incomplete. Maybe someday, when he was older, she’d find the words for the whole story. At twelve, she didn’t think he was capable of understanding.

  “You have a soccer game tomorrow morning,” she said, changing the subject. “I’m not going to take away your sports, or your books. But I have to take away something, or else it’s not much of a restriction.”

  “Moving here is a huge restriction,” he muttered.

  She collected his video game device and his music player before she left the room. He slammed the door behind her, furious. She handed the items to her mother for safekeeping. Tears blurred her vision as she walked outside.

  Hang in there.

  She didn’t know how she was going to live here, in the house where she’d been molested. Dark memories lurked around every corner. Her body trembled with tension as she drove to work, chain-smoking. She needed a drink.

  Hell, she needed a half-dozen.

  On Friday night, Vixen was hopping. She performed on stage and did nonstop lap dances for faceless men. The physical activity and rote movements calmed her. She drifted into dancer-space, setting aside her problems. Drinks and tips flowed freely. Rude comments and raucous laughter sounded muffled, unable to penetrate her protective shell.

  Desiree got sick again and left early, to Tiffany’s delight. “We’re doing the finale,” she squealed, giving Janelle a high-five.

  Janelle went to her locker to change outfits for the fifth time. Her phone chirped with a text message notification. She checked it absently, using a baby wipe to blot away the sweat from her chest.

  Her mother wrote: Sorry to bother you at work, but Jamie is missing. I think he snuck out the window.

  Janelle rested her forehead against the cool metal locker, cursing under her breath. She couldn’t leave work early. Not tonight.

  “What’s wrong?” Tiffany asked, sashaying by in a schoolgirl outfit.

  “Jamie took off from my mom’s house.”

  “No way.”

  “He didn’t want to move there.”

  “He’ll come back.”

  She stared at her phone, which was slippery from makeup and perspiration. “I have to go find him.”

  Tiffany removed a water bottle from her locker. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. He’s twelve years old. What if a child molester gets him?”

  “We’re already short-staffed, J. Wait until after the finale to launch the search party. It’s only another hour.”

  She moistened her lips, conflicted.

  “He’s a boy. He’ll be fine.”

  “I need a cigarette,” she muttered, digging through her purse. Her fingertips hit the edge of a rectangular object.

  Ace’s card.

  She fished it out and studied his number. Ace had seen the boys Jamie had been hanging around with the other day. Her mother’s house was near Slab City, Ace’s old stomping grounds. Maybe Jamie had gone there, looking for revenge. He seemed hell-bent on getting into trouble. Ace had told her to call if she needed anything.

  Hands shaking, she dialed the number.

  Chapter Nine

  Ace was having a very dirty dream about Janelle.

  They were back in the VIP room, and she was giving him a private dance. But she was fully nude this time, her sleek body undulating against his. She straddled his lap and thrust her gorgeous tits in his face. Her bare pussy was on display, rubbing all over his fly. He groaned as she climbed off him and dropped to her knees. Instead of feigning oral sex, like she had before, she unbuttoned his fly and did it for real.

  His cock sprang free, straining upright. She bent her head and closed her pretty mouth around him.

  Yesss.

  Then the buzzer sounded, ending the dance.

  Ace awoke with a start. His muscles were tense, his heart pounding. His cock was weeping in protest, ready to explode. He could feel moisture at the tip and dull pressure in his balls. The buzzer continued to sound—his phone. He rolled out of bed, wincing as his hard-on got tangled in the sheets.

  He needed to jerk off. Now.

  His caller ID showed Janelle’s number. Anyone else he would have ignored until he’d taken care of business.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Ace?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Janelle.”

  “I know. What do you need?”

  When she hesitated, he gripped his shaft and imagined her saying your cock. He was dying to give it to her.

  “My son is missing.”

  Ace paused, mid-stroke. “Your son?”

  “My mom just sent me a message. He snuck out of the house. I’m worried that he went to Slab City or something.”

  Her mother lived in Niland, only a few miles from Slab City. It was a tempting place for a boy his age, like Pleasure Island from Pinocchio. Ace released his jutting wood, hissing a breath between his teeth.

  Fuck.

  “I don’t get off work until two,” she said, sounding miserable.

  “I’ll go look for him.”

  “You will?”

  Her voice was flat with shock, as if she hadn’t expected him to offer. Even though she’d obviously called in hopes that he would.

  He didn’t want to, of course. He didn’t want to go anywhere near her son. Granting her this favor might be the pathway to her hot little body, which he was salivating over, but it was still a major inconvenience. The devil on his shoulder
urged him to ask for something in return. What was she willing to do for him, if he found Jamie?

  “I’ll fuck you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. Only a heartless asshole would agree to this deal. Although those two words described him pretty well, he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He didn’t want a gratitude fuck or a goddamned martyr. He didn’t even want a sexy faker. What really turned him on was the idea of turning her on. He wanted her begging for his cock, her hands bound and her legs spread wide.

  Jesus wept.

  His cock wept, too. It throbbed against his belly, threatening to jet all over. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t talk about fucking me unless your pussy’s wet and you’re hungry for my cock. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Silence greeted him.

  Damn her. Damn him. And damn this stupid attack of conscience.

  “Sorry,” she said finally. “I’m not used to asking for help.”

  Ace dragged a hand down his face, feeling like a surly, horny son of a bitch. Why was he so bent out of shape over her suggestion? He’d been thinking the same thing, but the note of desperation in her voice had triggered his guilt reflex.

  He hated guilt. Fucking hated it.

  “I’m leaving now,” he said, and hung up.

  He rose from the bed and yanked some clothes on, his mood dark. Sobriety, sexual frustration and shady club rivalries had taken their toll. The custody situation with Skye was so far out of his control.

  He wanted to be in control again, and he wanted to fuck. He wanted to dominate Janelle and make her his woman. To brand her with his come. To own her body, to penetrate every orifice with his fingers and tongue and cock.

  But her desire was a crucial part of the fantasy. He wasn’t interested in coercion, or sex he had to pay for, or women who feigned interest. She could save that sexy stripper act for her customers. He’d take the real deal or nothing.