DAMON
When the spotlight shines down on Emery, a tidal wave of silence washes over the club. It's brief. A fraction of a second. But I notice. I notice the moment all the fucking men in the room forget how to breathe. All their lecherous eyes gaze upon her like she's a holy relic, a symbol of salvation and sin, a goddamn prize to be won. And I'm right there, with them, soaking in every inch of her soft skin as she makes her way to the pole.
With graceful ease, she grabs the pole, spinning around it like it's the sun and she's the entire fucking solar system. She's Venus– beauty and harmony. Mars– rage and destruction. Saturn– discipline and strength. Uranus– rebellion and freedom. But mostly, she's Neptune. Dreams. Illusions. Escapism. I'm mesmerized as she soars through the air, her hair flowing with every spin.
Blonde doesn't suit her. Now that I've seen her in the wild. It takes away from the raw beauty of her face, the curved dip of her nose, and the plumpness of her cupid's bow. Tonight she's wearing all black. Like a cat. A symbol of evil. But it's all a rouse. Cats were never evil. They were guardians. Keepers. Protectors of the kings. Tonight, she is the king. The way she commands the room. The way she elicits exactly the type of reaction she craves. The pleasure in her expression as men drool over her isn't that of disgust. No. It's of pride.
Detaching from the centerpiece, she takes her time with every section. Milking each man for everything he's got. The view from the upstairs VIP booth gives me a bird's eye view of her. I see it all. Every bend. Every dip. Every fucking movement. When she reaches the middle of the stage, she spins around, dropping backward on her knees and arches her back. With calculated timing, she unzips the leather bra, squeezing her tits together, and slowly, painfully, they burst out.
And it's no longer silent in the club.
Her red lips curl into a smirk as the noise overpowers the music, and she arches her back further, trailing her fingers up her bare stomach to her nipples, and then she pinches them, closing her eyes as she lets out an inaudible moan.
Fucking hell.
I place my right hand on my growing erection, the left gripping the railing that I'm tempted to jump over. My knuckles turn white as she continues to stimulate her stiff nipples, rolling them between her fingers. That's enough! That fucking enou—
Her eyes spring open as she hears my command.
The room empties. No more noise. No more music. Not even a stage. From a dark, hollow pit, she stares up at me. Only me. Because there's no one else.
Her mouth opens just a sliver like she's surprised that I'm here. That I came back. Surprise quickly turns to intrigue. To a game. She knows I don't play fucking games. But she loves it. She loves it so much that she licks her fingers and dances them down her stomach towards her cunt. Biting her lip, she challenges me to a duel that's meant to test my strength, my restraint, my control over my emotions. She teases the hem of her panties, her gaze bolted to mine like an impenetrable metal.
I stand up, curling my rigid fingers around the railing, my cock throbbing with lust and fury. She grins up at me, radiating a glow of victory as she flips over. With a final wink that seals our battle, she moves on to the next section, and I'm left heaving at her absence.
"Can I get you another water, Mr. Cavanaugh?" Venus approaches the table, tray in hand. She follows my sightline. "Too bad she only works Fridays, huh? Georgie'd make a killing if she was a regular girl." She clears her throat when I don't respond. "Mr. Cavanaugh?"
"Tell her I'll be waiting," I say, refusing to look away as she teases all the wrong men. I snap my head toward Venus. "Go."
Venus disappears into the club, and I watch Emery until the lights fade and she's replaced by babydoll twins. Crumbling back into my seat, I hike my ankle over my thigh, foot bouncing as I calculate how long it'll take her to come upstairs. The seconds tick by as I stare at my watch. One minute. Two. Three. My patience wears thin. The hand keeps spinning, winding me up as the minutes pass and she's nowhere to be seen. It shouldn't take her this long. She's fucking with me. Another game.
"Where is she?" I bark, grabbing Georgina by the arm. "Tell me."
Georgina blinks, raising a brow. I let go of her and run a frustrated hand through my hair. "Better." She smiles at me. "Where is who?"
My gaze hardens. "You know who."
Georgina sighs. "Check the alley. She usually goes out there for a smoke after a set."
Whipping past Georgina, I storm through the back doors and down the hall to the emergency exit. The door smashes against the outer wall as I fling it open, a gust of freezing air slapping me in the face.
"What took you so long?" I snap my head at her teasing voice. A cloud of thick smoke covers her face as she pushes herself off the graffitied wall. She keeps a safe distance as if she knows what will happen if she gets too close. "I thought you might have given up."
"You shouldn't be out here alone." I scan the dark and deserted alley as the dim overhead light flickers. The door slams shut behind me as I take a step forward and cock my head. "Especially when you're dressed like that."
She smirks. "You like this, mister?"
"It's dangerous," I state, balling my hands into fists at her lack of concern for her safety. "This city is littered with men who wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of you."
She releases a small laugh. "Like you?"
Now it's my turn to laugh. "I have no need to take advantage of women, Miss Jones. They seem to all come willingly in time."
"Is that so?" she coos, twisting her lips into playful thought. "I wonder how long it'll take me to come, then." Her tone dips to suggestive. "How would you make me come, Mr. Cavanaugh?" She takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out as she strides toward me. My body turns to stone as she stops in front of me, tilting her head. "Well?"
"That must be earned, Miss Jones," I rasp, sweeping my thumb across her bottom lip as my cock twitches from all the possibilities. "Do you think you've earned it?"
"Do you?"
I glower at her quick tongue and quicker wit. "We both know the answer is no."
"God." She chuckles, her breath fanning against my skin. "You're so upset with me right now." She lifts her hand, running her fingers along my forehead and I instinctively close my eyes. "This little vein is screaming at me." I open my eyes to find hers searching mine. "Did I hurt your feelings, Mr. Cavanaugh?"
My lip twitches. "You can't hurt me, Miss Jones, even if you tried."
"Is that a challenge?" she asks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.
"But what you can do," I say, cupping her chin between my fingers and tilting it up, "is piss me off. And right now, mami?" I lean down, whispering in her ear. "I'm fucking livid."
She squirms a little under my touch, her first layer of protection breaking and exposing the next. Refusing to let her true feelings show, she whispers, "Maybe you need some counseling, Mr. Cavanaugh. This is hardly a situation that calls for such anger." Her breath gets stuck in her throat as she adds, "I can recommend someone to talk to...if you want."
"The only person I want to talk to right now is you," I say, dropping my hand. "The real you."
She snorts. "This is the real me, Mr. Cavanaugh. And the real me isn't interested."
"If this is the real you," I muse, "then who was that woman I saw at the bookstore? Hmm? A long-lost twin, perhaps? A distant cousin with remarkably similar features?"
She glares at me. "I think this conversation is over."
"But it's not," I state, remnants of surface-level understanding dawning on me. "I think that, no matter how hard you try, there's a part of you that's dying to keep talking to me," I smirk down at her. "Whether it's this version of you or the other."
"I thought you said I was a riddle, Mr. Cavanaugh," she muses, a flash of irritation across her face. "It appears you've solved me already."
"Hardly."
"Well..." She can't help but smile. "What if I don't want to be solved, hmm? What if I prefer to remain an unsolvable riddle?"
I click my tongue. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Jones, riddles are meant to be solved." I pause, giving her a knowing smile. "Even the most complex ones."
I want to know what's going through her head. What she's thinking. As much as I get a rise from our verbal jousting, I need her to drop her shield. Just a little. Low enough so that I can see what lies behind the front. She's scared. She doesn't want me looking inside. She doesn't want to be exposed. I get it. I understand her need for solitude and secrecy. There are parts of myself I'd rather stay hidden. I'm asking her to do something, I myself, would refuse. And she knows that. She knows I'm a walking fucking contradiction.
"What if you're wrong?" she finally asks after a thoughtful pause. "What if I'm not complex? What if I'm just..." She swallows, her gaze drifting into the night sky. A rush of wind whirls around us, goosebumps appearing on her arms as her focus remains on distant stars. "Some things aren't meant to make sense. I think as humans we strive to find solutions, to find answers. It's like we have this sick need to explain the unexplainable. To find meaning in the meaningless. There are 200 billion galaxies in our universe and we somehow think we're special."
"So you're a nihilist," I whisper, reveling in her inner thoughts as if they were spoken by God himself.
"I've died before, Mr. Cavanaugh." She shrugs, wrapping her arms around herself. "There's nothing waiting for us there." She gives me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I know you lost your family, and maybe the idea of an after brings you peace, but this is it. This life. That's it."
I frown. "What do you mean you've died?"
"That's a story for another time." She offers a small smile. "Nihilism is best served in small doses, don't you think?" She giggles to herself. "Otherwise it'd be depressing."
I want to know more. I want more details. More information. But I can't push her. Not tonight. Not about that. It's not that I think she can't handle it. Because she can. Because she doesn't seem to care. It's me. I can't handle it. Not now. Possibly not ever.
"Then why don't we go inside and talk about something else," I suggest, shrugging off my suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. "Something other than death?"
She tugs on the lapels. "Like what?"
"Life, perhaps?" I tilt my head. "What excites you?"
She chuckles, shaking her head. "Again with the assumptions." I narrow my eyes, not following. "Oh, Mr. Cavanaugh..." She places a hand on my chest, and I fear she may feel how fast my heart is beating. "You assume I get excited."
"Who's challenging whom now?" I ask, raising a brow. "I can think of at least one way to add some much-needed excitement into your life." I arch over, snaking my hand around the base of her throat. My lips feather against her ear as I add, "Tell me you're not wet just thinking about it, mami." She moans, arching into my hold. My chest rumbles with a low laugh. "Should I show you, Miss Jones, just how excited you can get?"
"I have a boyfriend," she whispers, relishing in my grip as she tilts her head up to meet my eyes. Conflict dances in her irises as she struggles to set herself free. Not from me. No. but from herself. "We... We can't—"
"If everything is meaningless, Miss Jones," I rasp, desperate to feel her from the inside, "then why does it matter?" I crawl my hand up her neck, coaxing her lips open with my thumb as I wrap my arm against her waist, pulling her flush against my erection. "How does this make you feel, Miss Jones?" She whimpers, cheeks flushing as I rock my hips against her. "Are you excited yet?"
"Fuck," she breathes out, closing her eyes. "No—" She easily pushes away from me, flustered and panting. "No."
"I'll be seeing you, Miss Jones," I say, satisfied for the time being. "Keep the jacket."
As I walk past her toward the parking lot, she grabs hold of my sleeve and whispers, "Emery. You can call me Emery."
"The only thing I want to call you, Miss Jones," I say, pulling away from her, "is mine."
She might be the solar system.
But I'm the motherfucking sun.