When a struggling Broadway talent agent reluctantly agrees to represent a male stripper, she finds out there's more to her new client than oiled abs.
Season 1 of Strip in the City
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Today might be the worst day of my life. I just lost my biggest c...
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Maren had a suitcase open on her bed, and she was stuffing clothes inside like we were moving to the Hamptons, not spending two nights there.
I was watching her race between the bathroom and her dresser, answering random questions about exactly what I had planned for us to do so she could bring the exact right necklace.
"Okay, I think that's everything," she said, at last, closing the suitcase and zipping it up. "Could you grab the bottle of pills I keep on my nightstand?"
I checked the nightstand, but the only thing there was a copy of Vogue and a half drank bottle of water.
"I'm not seeing them, Maren. Are they in the drawer?" I asked, already pulling it open to check, when Maren launched herself across the bed, her suitcase sliding over the comforter and crashing to the floor.
"No! Don't!" was all she got out, scrambling to her feet and trying to get the drawer closed, but I'd already seen what she was trying to hide.
"Is this what you wanted me to grab?" I asked, holding a bright purple vibrator.
"No."
I watched her with a smile on my face. Trying to hold back a laugh. "Why not?"
Maren let out a groan. "Because it's a purple vibrator, West. And it belongs hidden in my drawer."
She tried to snatch it away from me, but I was quicker. I got my hands under her thighs and lifted her into the bed. Letting her head land on a pile of pillows before caging her hips with my thighs.
I held the vibrator up—wagging it back and forth—and Maren covered her eyes.
"I cannot believe you are holding my vibrator right now."
I didn't understand why she was so embarrassed about owning a toy. The way I saw it, this thing and I should be best friends. We both had the same mission: make this woman cum as many times as possible.
"Don't be embarrassed, Red."
"I'm not embarrassed. It's just—" she paused, "I don't normally discuss my...masturbation habits with people."
Maren's shirt was pulled up, exposing her smooth stomach, and the material was stretched tight across her chest. Hard nipples peaked through the thin material. All that long red hair fanned out over the white pillowcase.
We needed to get going. I knew that. For all the reasons. But this conversation felt important.
"What about with me?" I asked tentatively.
Maren was quiet for a moment. Hands still covering her face. "What do you wanna know?"
"How often do you use this?"
"I don't know," Maren admitted. "Not very often."
I tried to hide a grin. She was a terrible liar. Between the slats of her fingers, I could see the red flush of her cheeks.
