The Game by L.P. Lovell
6
After I dress, I’m sent back to their penthouse and spend the rest of the day alone while they tend to business. The only communication I receive is a call telling me what to wear and when to be downstairs to be picked up.
At seven sharp a limo picks me up with only Preston in the back, and we drive across town to Club 33. An extremely high-end strip club. One both socialites and politicians frequent.
We, of course, bypass the long line snaking around the building. The bouncers don’t even bother to check our IDs before ushering us inside.
Preston guides me through the club to a corner booth where Tobias sits waiting. He seems unamused at the topless girl dancing in front of him, and the moment his gaze strays to us, he dismisses her with a flick of his wrist. “Can you still smell me on you?” he asks as I settle into the seat. I ignore the question and thankfully he doesn’t press any further.
Preston drops into the seat on the other side of me.
“What do you think of women who take their clothes off to entertain men?” Tobias asks. “And remember, do not lie to me.”
“Besides,” Preston whispers next to my ear. “We already know what you think of it.”
I stare down at my lap. Ashamed. In the past, I thought strippers devalued themselves, and now I feel foolish because what I am doing takes devaluing one’s self to another level. “I think it’s…”
“Disgusting?” Tobias asks.
“Demeaning,” Preston counters.
“I did think that...”
“And why is that?”
I shrug. I can’t tell them why because I’d be a hypocrite. These women dance for men to make money, and now it all seems so ridiculous that I ever looked down my nose at them, because here I sit, between Tobias and Preston, paid for seven days of my life. Paid to be their fuck doll, to let them use me.
“Think about it a little differently now, little lamb?” Tobias places his fingertip beneath my chin, lifting my head. “And I promise, you’ll think very differently of it after tonight.”
Preston slides out of the booth, then holds out his hand. “Come with me, sweet Ella.”
I glance at Tobias, feeling as though I’ll always need his approval, as though he is truly the master here despite it never being voiced. When he nods, I stand and follow Preston around the bar and down a hallway.
He stops outside a door. “There’s a thong on the stool. A pair of stilettos. Put those on and leave your clothes here.”
I open my mouth to protest but catch myself. My cheeks heat with humiliation.
“Game one, Ella. You’re going to dance, and…” He chuckles as he opens the door for me, and I step in. “Tobias will tell you the rest.” The door closes behind me.
A black lace thong lays on the stool in the corner. A pair of glittery, silver shoes sit on the floor beside it.
I hesitate for a moment. Am I going to do this? Parade around in front of an entire club of strangers in just a thong? But I bent over a table last night and let a stranger eat my pussy. I let that same stranger fuck my face and come on me just hours ago. Comparatively, this is no worse. Shame crawls cover my skin and I take a deep breath. One million dollars. What am I willing to do for it? Sacrifice all dignity apparently.
I slip my dress off and pull the thong over my thighs, then I step into the shoes and glance down at my naked breasts. My pulse skips and jumps. Am I really going to walk out of this room and into that bar nearly naked?
Yes.
Preston smiles when I step out, then takes my hand and leads me back to the bar. My skin prickles with awareness when we pass by the first table of men, and my first instinct is to cross my arms over my bare chest, but Preston shakes his head. “Act the part, Ella.”
So I do. I force my arms by my side and walk across the bar with as much confidence as I can manage. Tobias watches from the corner booth, and when we stop at the end of the table, he grins. “Perfect. Now for the game.” He points across the room to a tall, dark-haired man leaned against one of the tables. “Ella, you must make that man fight any other man here.”
This is not at all what I thought the first game would be. While I’m thankful they didn’t tell me to fuck him, that would have proven easy.
“You have two hours. Good luck, little lamb.” Tobias slides out of the booth.
“And we'll be watching,” Preston whispers before he follows Tobias toward the stairwell.
And here I stand, topless and confused in the middle of a strange bar wondering what the point of making two men fight could be.
A waitress stops beside me and offers me a drink. “Vodka tonic. Compliments of Mr. Benton.” Minutes pass and I haven’t moved or come up with an idea as to how to carry out this task.
The seconds I polish off my drink the waitress almost immediately replaces it. “Mr. Benton said to tell you one hour, fifty minutes,” she says before walking off.
My mind skips and hops over scenarios, pulling scenes from movies, and the only conclusion I come to as to how I can accomplish this task is that one guy in here needs to feel like he has to protect me. Which means I must make myself seem helpless or pathetic or…
My gaze strays to a group of men sitting at the table to my right. The man on the end lifts his glass, and I notice his split knuckles then the butterfly stitches on his cheek. And that’s enough to make him look like the kind who likes a fight.
I wrestle the fear pummeling through me as I approach him, and I struggle to keep my hand from shaking as I place it on his hard shoulder. “On the house,” I whisper as I swing one leg over his lap and straddle him. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m sure it shows.
I force myself to move in beat to the music blaring over the sound system, though I know I’m stiff and awkward.
“Damn,” he says, and even though his hands keep twitching by his side, he never touches me.
A lap dance won’t be enough. I need him to feel something if I have any hopes of making him fight. There’s a sliver of guilt at the thought that I’m dragging him into whatever this is I signed up for, but... “I never do this for free.” I rub a hand over his chest. “But there’s something about you.”
“Jesus, woman.”
The song ends. I stop moving but remain seated on his lap with my arms draped around his shoulder. “Thank you,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “For what?”
“For not touching me.” I smile. “It’s rare for a guy in here to respect me.” I drop my gaze to his lips then push off his lap. “I wish more guys were like you.” And I take a deep breath, praying that simple statement was enough as I walk away.
The guy in the back of the room—the one who Tobias told me to get to fight— watches me as a girl shakes her ass in front of him. He tosses money on the floor before he smacks her hip and motions for her to leave, then he beckons me with a curl of his finger.
Everything about this situation unsettles me. His gaze drags over my body, LANDING between my thighs when I stop in front of him. “I bet your pussy is pretty, isn’t it?” The guy slaps a palm over the tabletop. “On the table, sweet cheeks.”
Disgust knots my stomach, but I force a smile as I step up on the table and shake my hips to the beat of the music. A few lines in, he tells me to turn around and bend over, and when I do, my gaze locks with the guy I hope will play the hero.
“Don’t stop moving, whore,” the guy says, then pulls my thong to the side. Before I can react, his rough fingertip grazes my asshole, and I topple off the table to get away from him. The moment my feet hit the floor, I slap him across the face.
“You little slut…” He grabs me by the waist, and just as I try to shove him away, someone takes me by the shoulders and yanks me out of his hold.
“You got a problem motherfucker?” The guy with the butterfly stitches steps between us.
“Mind your own fucking business.” The other guy pushes up his sleeves. Even though I was supposed to make this happen, I hate that it is. I don’t want my defender to get hurt, but I definitely want that pervert to get punched.
Without warning, the nice guy headbutts him, and all-out chaos ensues.
Fists are thrown, men shout. Before I know it, three other guys have stepped in. A chair goes crashing against a wall. In the midst of it all, I get shoved several feet away and when I turn to run, Tobias is standing right behind me.
“I tell you two men—” His attention drifts to the brawling heap in the corner— “And you give me four. Impressive, Ms. Taylor. Very Impressive.”
Preston appears beside him. He grabs the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine. “You win, sweet Ella.” He escorts me to a changing room, then dresses me himself. When we come out, Tobias is gone. “Where did—” But no questions. I swallow. “Tobias is gone.”
“He’s handling business,” Preston says as he leads me through the back exit and into the back of the waiting limo. Just as the car begins to pull off, I notice Tobias exit the club with the sleazy guy who touched me. He leads him into the dark alleyway.
What are they doing? And what have I just done?