#curtis everett

He loomed a few feet away, as quiet as he’d been the entire time you gave him a tour of the space–mainly the supply room and kitchen–where you would need his help the most.

The bakery was closed today, so it was just the two of you, which you thought would be a nice way to introduce Curtis to you and your business. But his quiet, intimidating demeanor was only making you more flustered by the second. 

It wasn’t because he was an ex-convict, it was because he was so big and scary looking, so reserved and difficult to read. Curtis seemed a complete mismatch to your cutesy bakery, with its dark wood and black decor and bright pops of color. 

But Curtis was here because you truly believed that he deserved a second chance, and on the recent one-year anniversary of your beloved aunt’s death, you decided to do something in her honor, something that would have made her so happy. 

Since your aunt had spent most of her career as a therapist and advocate for the incarcerated, you decided to sign up for your state’s prison release support program–providing employment opportunities for those recently released from jail. 

In addition to his new job as your assistant, you were also renting Curtis the apartment above the bakery at a discounted rate, because you wanted to help him get back on his feet as he started this new chapter of his life.

You weren’t sure what you had expected of Curtis, but you had been a little thrown when he first arrived. 

Because he was gorgeous. 

Tall and lean and obviously built beneath the heavy drape of his black winter coat. His face was pale and shadowed by a dark beard that made the vivid, ice blue color of his eyes pop. He was handsome, devastatingly so, and when Curtis’ wary gaze had first met your own, you felt a bolt of electricity zip up your spine.

You hadn’t recovered since. 

“Do you have any questions?” you asked, clenching your hands together behind you as you twisted back and forth, unable to stand still. 

“So, I’m your assistant?” Curtis muttered as he turned to face you. “What will that look like?”

“Well, I think you’ll mostly be helping me in the kitchen, prepping and baking.” 

You felt your face warm as you noticed how intently Curtis was watching you, his eyes fixed on yours as you spoke, unwavering, all-seeing. 

“It will be so great to have someone big and strong to lift and move the supplies, especially!” you babbled. “I’ve been bribing the supplies delivery guy with free treats and coffee to get him to store those 50-pound bags of flour in the supply room for me because there’s no way I can move them myself.”

It was subtle, but you definitely noticed the way Curtis’ eyes drifted lower, taking inventory of your stature, probably trying to picture you moving bags of flour that were bigger than you.

“Well,” he said, a slight tilt to the corner of his lips as he finally glanced away. “Not sure how much help I’ll be on the baking and prepping front, but I’m willing to learn, and if you need muscle, that I can definitely do.”

“Great! Thank you.” A sudden thought occurred to you, and you clapped your hands together excitedly, making Curtis’ gaze fly back to you. “I want to show you the apartment upstairs, but first, I have something for you!”

“For me?” he echoed in disbelief as he watched you hurry across the floor and around the counter. 

“Mmhmm!” You chirped before ducking out of sight. 

You made a quiet sound of effort as you rose, setting a big basket on the counter. It was filled with various food, drink, and baked treats you had spent the weekend making for Curtis.

“It’s a welcome basket!” you gave him a tentative smile as Curtis slowly moved closer, until he was looming on the other side of the counter from you, his stoic gaze lingering on the basket and its contents. “There’s a bunch of treats that I made, like cookies and pastries and some petite cakes. I also included different sandwiches and chips and threw in some packaged snacks and drinks and stuff since I wasn’t sure what you like.” 

After a long, awkward moment of silence, Curtis’ eyes lifted to meet yours. There was something different about his gaze now as he watched you–it wasn’t quite warm, but it was less guarded–and it had your belly swooping sharply, then fluttering, because it was such a noticeable difference from how he looked at you before. 

“You made all of this, for me?” he murmured. 

You nodded, feeling unsure as your smile faltered. “Is that weird? I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable or–”

“No,” he cut you off so firmly, you snapped your mouth shut as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, it’s…it’s very kind. I’m just not used to that, I guess. So… thank you.”

Those last two words had so much weight behind them–were so genuine–that warmth flooded your cheeks, your own eyes falling to the counter because it was too hard to maintain Curtis’ gaze as you smiled and shrugged, “You’re welcome.” 

Another stretch of awkward silence dragged on for a moment before you shook yourself, shooting Curtis a small smile as you thumbed over your shoulder, toward the hallway that led to your small office, the supply room, and the inside entrance to Curtis’ apartment. 

“Ready to see your new place? It’s very lightly furnished, just the basics, so feel free to make it your own! I’m not a strict landlord, just, yanno, don’t wreck the place or anything.”

“I’ll keep the wild parties to a minimum,” Curtis deadpanned.

You giggled, watching as Curtis’ eyes warmed in a way that conveyed he was pleased that you laughed at his joke. Then you were shaking yourself again as you reached for the basket. “We can bring this up with us.”

Curtis gently tugged it from your grip, lifting it with much less effort than you had expended a moment ago. “I got it,” he said softly. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the hired muscle, remember?” he teased. 

Grinning, you nodded in agreement before turning to lead him down the hall, much more aware of Curtis’ looming presence as he followed you than you probably should have been.

As the weeks passed, both you and Curtis settled into this new routine together–him at being your bakery assistant, and you at having so much help for the first time since you opened your bakery two years ago.

You grew less nervous by Curtis’ mere presence, and he seemed to warm up to you considerably, still gruff and mostly stoic, but with these glimmers of humor and softness that seemed reserved for you. 

There was also this air of protectiveness that Curtis started to exude when it came to you–which you weren’t expecting at all. 

First, it was him insisting on walking you home each night, even though he lived right upstairs and was so obviously going out of his way. No matter how many times you told him it wasn’t necessary, and you’d be fine on the quick 10-minute trek, he insisted, and Curtis was stubborn enough that it wasn’t worth trying to talk him out of it. 

There were also these moments when it was just the two of you–usually early in the morning or later in the evening–when you were prepping together. Now that Curtis was gaining the hang of things, he wouldn’t let you do anything strenuous, like kneading dough or lifting anything he considered too heavy for you. “You hired me for a reason, right?” he’d always remind you if you tried to object. 

Something about someone so scary–an ex-con, of all people–being protective of you made your belly swoop, and in this moment, part of you yearned for Curtis and his protectiveness as you tried to encourage one of your regulars, Pete, so be on his way so you could finish closing. 

But you knew that Curtis was in the kitchen, dutifully prepping all the doughs on the list you had written out this morning, and he had no idea that you had an unwanted shadow as you flipped the last chair atop its table before turning toward where you had left the broom leaning in the corner. 

You pulled up short as you found Pete blocking your way–looming in your personal space and making you uncomfortable as he watched you. His expensive suit was a little rumpled since it was early evening, and it was strange seeing him this late to be honest, as he usually stopped in for his morning coffee and pastry before being on his way. 

“Er, excuse me,” you chirped, shooting him a half-smile that was forced as you ducked around him and scurried to swipe up the broom. 

“I know I’m in your way,” Pete drawled as he tucked his hands into his pockets and continued to stand in the middle of the dining floor, watching you work. “But I have something I want to ask you.”

All you wanted was to finish up so that you could go home and collapse after such a long day, but you shook off that thought, reminding yourself that it was because of regulars like Pete that your business was successful. 

“What’s that?” you murmured as you continued to diligently sweep, ignoring Pete’s heavy gaze as he watched you without reserve.

“Go out with me,” he said in that casual way of his, his statement not much of a question at all. 

You froze, glancing up at him with wide eyes. 

He gave you a smile that was more of a smirk as he sauntered closer. “Come on, sweetie. One date.”

Feeling your face warm and your insides flip unpleasantly–because you hated confrontation–you gathered your courage, giving Pete a kind smile as you replied, “Um, that’s so sweet of you to ask, but I don’t date customers, I’m sorry.”

Your eyes caught a glimpse of his frown before you quickly looked away, turning your back to him as you returned to sweeping the floor.

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence that felt suffocating, and then you squeaked as you suddenly felt a warm press at your back, and two big hands framing your hips, pinning you against the nearest table. 

“I think I’m more than just a customer,” Pete purred against the curve of your jaw.

You shuddered as his nose skimmed along your warm cheek and you could feel the way his chest expanded as he noisily inhaled the scent of you with a quiet groan. 

“Pete, please…” you trembled, trying to elbow him away. 

But he only pressed closer. “Come on, let me wine and dine you,” Pete insisted, pushing flush against your back in a way that made you feel violated. “We can get to know each other better. Maybe indulge in some dessert that doesn’t come from a restaurant, if you catch my drift.”

His hands squeezed your hips before one wandered around. It trailed along your belly, making you jerk and try to recoil as your brain began to cloud with fear. 

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you quavered, dropping the broom and trying to twist away from Pete’s grip. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Pete countered, his touch skimming higher, along your sides–overly familiar in a way that made bile burn at the back of your throat–as you cowered and tried to curl in on yourself with a whimper. “The best idea I’ve ever had–”

Pete’s words suddenly turned into a grunt as he was violently yanked away from you. 

Gasping, you spun around, eyes big with shock as you watched Curtis snarl, “She said no,” as he bodily propelled Pete away from you and across the bakery toward the exit. 

“Man, fuck off and mind your business,” Pete tried–and failed–to struggle out of Curtis’ grip. 

“Oh, I am,” Curtis growled, his smile more of a sneer as he opened the front door and threw Pete outside.

His voice lowered, and you couldn’t hear what he said to Pete, but whatever it was had the other man paling considerably, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard before turning and practically running away. 

Your heart rate was just starting to slow as Curtis pulled the door shut. He locked it and flipped the sign to Closed before turning off the overhead lights to dissuade anyone else from trying to come inside now that you were closed. 

He turned and slowly walked toward you, something about his gait cautious, like he was approaching a spooked animal. That ever watchful gaze of his took inventory of you and the way you were still trembling as you struggled to meet his eyes while you fought back tears. 

“You okay?” His voice was a soft rumble, the familiar sound soothing and instantly making your hitched shoulders drop away from your ears. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your voice too high–unnatural–and making you wince.

Curtis watched you for a beat, quiet, unsure of what to say, before crouching to pick up the broom from the floor. He turned and leaned it against the wall before his concerned gaze once again found you. 

“Come on, let’s make some tea. You like that lavender chamomile blend when it’s later at night, right?”

You blinked at him, gobsmacked. “How did you know that?”

His lips curled, but he didn’t answer your question. “Come on,” he said again, his voice softer than before as he touched a hand to your hip and urged you toward the brewing equipment. “I can take care of sweeping before we head out.”

You didn’t argue as you stepped behind the counter, hugging yourself tightly as Curtis set about making your tea. 

There was something so soothing about watching him and the confident way in which he moved. Of course you knew that he tended to join you behind the counter during the morning and lunch time rushes to help you knock out orders, but you were always too busy to really watch him or the way he worked. 

But right now, it felt almost intimate, watching Curtis make you a cup of tea to help calm your nerves.

His hands were big and rough and sure, his arm muscles flexing as he moved. His body was so tall and broad and took up so much space, but not in a way that felt intimidating–in a way that made you feel safe, especially after what just happened with Pete.

At last, Curtis turned to you, his eyes still shining with worry as he offered you the steaming mug. 

“Relax for a few minutes while I finish sweeping,” he told you. “I also squirreled away some of today’s sandwich specials for us so neither of us would need to cook dinner after a long day.”

That made you smile, it always did when Curtis appreciated your culinary skills. And he was once again taking care of you in some way–even something as simple as thinking of you and how tired you’d be and making sure you had a good meal to go home to. 

“Thank you, Curtis, for everything,” you murmured as you carefully cradled the mug of tea to your chest. Your eyes were soft as they met his. “You’re so good to me.”

You saw the hint of something intense flare in Curtis’ gaze as he watched you, but it was gone before you could process and identify it. His lips curled into the slightest of smiles as he said, “You were good to me first.”

Then he gave you a small nod and moved past you, but not before his big hand touched your shoulder–gave it a soft squeeze that made your insides feel alive and vibrant in a new way–a way that stuck with you for the entire rest of the evening. 

A week or so later, it was an errant, inappropriate thought as you watched Curtis during closing time–that he looked so good in his simple white tee and jeans beneath a black Hearth & Honey Bakery apron.

Your eyes lingered once again on his arm muscles, on his big, rough hands, as he kneaded the last batch of dough, and you couldn’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like touching you–really touching you–not just a stray shoulder squeeze or to keep you in place as he moved behind you to grab something. 

You weren’t quick enough to school your features before Curtis glanced at you, going still at the way you watched him–the moment charged like so many other moments between you and Curtis had been as of late.

His eyes locked on your guilty ones before flickering down to your lips for the briefest millisecond, and you felt your insides swoop then throb before you squeaked about grabbing your things before scurrying back to your office. 

Things felt less charged and intense a little while later as Curtis walked you home, and given the way your dynamic had changed–the way the two of you had become closer–you couldn’t help but finally ask a question that had been on your mind since you met him. 

“I know we’ve never talked about it, and I don’t want to pry, but I just…can’t help but wonder why you were locked up for so long. You’re just so kind and protective, it’s hard to imagine you being a convict.” 

Curtis remained silent for so long, that you were afraid you had offended him and made him angry. When you peeked over at him, it was to find him staring straight ahead–avoiding your gaze–his sharp jaw tense and ticking under your observation.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” you started to back track, but Curtis shook his head, finally turning your way. 

“No, you have every right to ask considering you spend most of your time with me.” 

He went quiet again, the silence dragging on between the two of you, and then Curtis started to speak–to quietly confess–keeping his eyes firmly away from you as he answered your question.

He told you how he had been in a gang since he was a pre-teen. How he had talked his step-brother, Edgar, into joining too. How the two of them were inseparable. How Edgar idolized him. How when Curtis was twenty, and Edgar was seventeen, he'd been brutally murdered by a rival gang–and how Curtis had nearly beaten his brother’s killer to death with his bare hands.  

“I wanted to. Kill him. For taking Edgar from me,” Curtis muttered as he paused just outside of your home. He kept his gaze away from you–distant–as he continued. “I wanted to kill him for drawing it out and making Edgar suffer. Despite being in a gang, he was a sweet kid. He didn’t deserve what was done to him. I made it easy for the DA to charge me with attempted murder, for the judge to give me twenty to life, and now here we are–I wasted half my life behind bars, and Edgar’s still gone.”

“God, Curtis, I’m so sorry,” your voice trembled with the tears you tried to blink back as you watched him. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he had been through. He’d been so young and lost so much, and had paid a very severe price for the way he grieved his loss–for his need for vengeance. 

It felt like a reflex you couldn’t deny as you moved toward Curtis and pressed close, wrapping him in a hug. He was rigid for a few seconds before you felt the tension ease from his body as he tentatively wrapped his arms around you and returned your embrace. 

Curtis’ body heat enveloped you completely, and you could feel the warm press of his hands through your coat as he touched your back, tugging you closer. His head dipped, his nose sinking into your hair, and his big body wracked with an intense shudder that left him trembling against you–overwhelmed by touching and being touched by another for the first time in years.

You just hugged him tighter, burying your face against the front of his coat–knowing the dark material soaked up the few tears you couldn’t blink back as you held him until he finally straightened and shifted away. 

“I’m sorry,” Curtis’ voice was rough, his eyes shining as he sniffed hard, avoiding your soft gaze. 

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“You should get inside,” Curtis rumbled. “It’s cold out here, and I’m sure you’re tired.”

As he went to step away from you fully, you went with him. You weren’t sure what made you do it, but you just needed him to look at you–to look into your eyes and know that his truth hadn’t changed anything for you.

Before your brain caught up with your movements, you framed Curtis’ face between your hands and tilted his gaze to meet yours. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you whispered before kissing his bearded cheek. 

And maybe it was the way Curtis’ breath hitched at the innocent kiss that had you lingering close, that had your fingers twitching against his beard as you breathed the same air, your lips hovering mere inches from his as your eyes met his and found his gaze dark and wanting.  

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you and Curtis were kissing. You could feel his fingers tremble as they touched your face, not quite cradling so much as tentatively touching–like he was making sure you were real, that this was real. 

Curtis drank from your mouth like he hadn’t quenched his thirst in years–and you supposed that was true in a sense. As his tongue touched yours, a primal groan spilled from his lips to yours, and you kissed him more eagerly, consumed entirely by his obvious desire for you.

You had no idea how the two of you made it inside your place with your mouths still fused together so passionately, but suddenly you were in your bed–as naked as Curtis–as he pinned you to your mattress with his weight and kissed you with a hunger that literally stole your breath away.  

You gasped, desperate for oxygen between frantic kisses, your cunt weeping an endless river as you felt Curtis rut against you eagerly. His cock was hard and trapped against your belly, the dribble of his pre-cum making a sticky mess against your skin, but it was the kind of mess you reveled in, and a distant part of you committed to spending the entire night getting filthy with Curtis. 

There was such a frenetic energy to Curtis as he moved over you–kissed you without relent–his hands touching every inch of you that he could trap beneath his fingers. 

You touched his face with purpose, firmly framing his cheeks as you pulled away and met his dark, dazed gaze. “It’s okay, I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m right here with you, Curtis.”

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he dropped his forehead to yours, curling an arm over the top of your head. Almost mindlessly, he rutted against you, gasping in ragged breaths before he rocked against your belly more urgently with a long broken groan.

You felt warm, sticky ribbons of cum spurt along your torso, gasping in surprise at just how quickly you had unraveled him. Biting back a giggle at Curtis’ humiliated groan, you gently pet along his head as he hid his face against the crook of your neck, your free hand smoothing up and down the warm curve of his back.  

“It’s okay,” you whispered as you cupped his side. 

Heaving a ragged breath, Curtis eased away so he could meet your gaze. His face was flushed pink, his eyes still dilated and his features sheepish as he mumbled, “I don’t usually do that. It’s just…been a really long time for me.”

“I don’t mind,” you assured him. “There’s no rush. This is nice too,” you said, tipping your face up to catch his lips in another kiss, keeping this one slow and savoring and much less frantic than before.

When you let your lips trail away from Curtis’ lips, pressing kisses all over his handsome face and giggling while you did so, his eyes softened. The tension eased from his shoulders as he watched you with something that was so much more than fondness it made your chest flutter and expand. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Curtis whispered, voice tinged with awe as his fingers carefully caressed your cheek. 

The way Curtis looked at you made you feel like the most special and beautiful person in the world, and it was addictive, being under that kind of admiration. It was overwhelming, too, and a part of you wanted to hide as much as you wanted to bask in Curtis’ attention, so you tugged him in for another round of eager kisses to split the difference.

With each quiet grunt and primal groan that you drank from Curtis’ mouth, you grew more wet. Hitching your knees around his hips, you tugged him against you more firmly, and now you were the one desperately rutting against him, seeking more.

When your hand found Curtis’ cock, he gave a sharp gasp, his hips jerking into your grip as he pulled away so he could watch you. His eyes were so dark now they looked unnatural, his lips cherry pink and parted as you slowly began to stroke him, your eyes fixed on his. 

He made a quiet “hnnngh” sound when your thumb swiped over his tip, smearing the pre-cum along his head before you guided him to your entrance. There was an intensity in Curtis’ gaze that you had never experienced before–his eyes  so avid and heavy-lidded as he watched you as he slowly sank into you, inch by inch. 

Your breath hitched on a muffled moan as his thick cock stretched you open, gliding against your warm, tight walls until he was settled to the hilt and groaning as you clamped around him hard.

“You feel so good,” Curtis breathed, his hand gentle as he cupped your cheek and shifted his hips enough to make you gasp.

“So do you,” you whispered, tilting your hips in silent encouragement. 

Curtis was slow and tentative at first, keeping his thrusts shallow. You weren’t sure if he was afraid to hurt you, or afraid of not being buried as deep inside of you as possible, but regardless, you couldn’t suppress a whine as you writhed beneath him, desperate. 

“Give me more, Curtis,” you pleaded, rocking up against him and making him moan. “You won’t break me. I wanna feel you. Make me feel you. Make me take it.”

“Fuck,” Curtis droned, dropping his forhead against yours. Blindly, he reached for your hand with his free one, until your palms were as flush as your bodies and he could lace his fingers through yours, squeezing tight. 

It was all the warning you got before his hips retreated until just the head of him stretched your hole, then he shoved inside of you hard and deep, trapping your broken keen against his lips as he really started to fuck you. 

There was a feral air to him now as Curtis pounded you into the mattress, his mouth parted and hanging open as he greedily drank you in, grunting every time he was gifted a new sweet sound spilling past your tempting lips. 

“More!” you begged, head falling back and eyes rolling as you groped along Curtis’ bare ass with your free hand, spreading your legs wider and shoving up into the relentless plowing of his hips. 

With a quiet snarl, Curtis went at you even harder–faster–making your bed creak as the headboard slammed into the wall, emphasizing the tempo of your ruin. 

When Curtis’ hand fell away from your sweaty cheek so he could caress along your belly before rubbing circles along your clit, your climax detonated within you, sending tremors of pleasure erupting from your core and rattling through the rest of your body as you gave a ragged, broken keen of ecstasy.

It was that sound of visceral annihilation that broke Curtis, that sent him hurdling over the edge along with you. Burying his face against your neck and greedily inhaling your scent, he gave a wrecked shout as he came, his hips moving with a different purpose now–not to fuck you but to fill you, with every last drop of his cum. 

You were still gasping for breath as Curtis collapsed against you, keeping his face tucked against your neck as he trembled and clung to you like he was afraid you would suddenly disappear.

Trailing your fingers along his back, you touched Curtis so gently, with a quiet knowing that this man was so beyond touch-starved, and you could give him the comfort and reprieve he needed–that he deserved.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he rasped as he finally pulled away so he could see your face. “So perfect. I could stay lost in your forever,” he murmured as he gently stroked your cheek. 

Your smile was warm and a little shy as you leaned into his touch. “Let’s start with tonight,” you told him, reeling him in for a soft kiss before encouraging him to settle against you. 

Your body still thrummed, impossibly sated, as Curtis laid his warm, stubbled cheek against your chest. As you drifted off to sleep, it was with a small smile curling your lips and not a care in the world…

Or any idea that Curtis tipped his head up, his eyes even more fervent than before–devoted and possessive–as he watched you sleep. 

For hours and hours.

You tensed as you heard Curtis enter the bakery kitchen, and you hated that your body had that reaction to him. 

But in the days following your night together, he had been so intense–so unprofessional–and you were starting to regret sleeping with him. 

Starting to panic over it, too.

You were his boss, and it was so unprofessional of you to allow these lines to be crossed. Especially since you knew Curits was in a vulnerable position as he started to rebuild his life post-incarceration. You knew he needed this job, and you felt like you had taken advantage of him, no matter how unintentional. 

You did care about him. You tended to care about everyone, and you had so much empathy for Curtis, and appreciated him and how he helped you so much. 

But you didn’t like the way that he kept cornering you at work, stealing stray kisses and touches–even in front of customers–that made your face burn hot and ashamed.

This wasn’t how you wanted to run your business. This wasn’t the type of boss you wanted to be. 

So as you heard Curtis approach you as you paused in your early morning prep, you steeled yourself, knowing that you had to speak up. 

You had to set some boundaries to salvage this experience for you both. 

The fact that Curtis pressed close to your back, his hands framing your hips as he kissed your cheek, only solidified your decision. He was treating you like a committed partner, like the two of you were dating, and it was so obvious that you were not on the same page here.

“Good morning,” he hummed, his voice smoky and warm and making your belly flutter even though you wished it wouldn’t. 

“Hey,” you murmured, taking a deep breath before turning in his embrace. You felt yourself wilt under Curtis’ watchful gaze–which had this new glint to it that you couldn't quite decipher but it made your insides skitter and flutter all at once. “Curtis… we need to talk.” 

You watched as his features shifted from a warm kind of openness to shuttered and stoic–indifferent–as his shoulders hitched ever so slightly, his jaw ticking with tension. 

And you felt awful.

He had already been through so much and you didn’t want to hurt him. You were so mad at yourself for screwing this all up that you couldn’t help it as your eyes filled with tears and your nose burned along with them. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft despite the wariness now shadowing his gaze. 

“Look, I,” your voice broke and you shook your head, sniffing back your tears as you forced your eyes to meet his. “I think we just need to pump the brakes a little, okay? That night was… great, but I’m your boss, and I just…I shouldn’t have let that happen, and I’m so sorry for–”

“No,” Curtis snapped so sharply, you recoiled from him on instinct. 

He sighed, gently petting your hips as he took a deep breath, “You don’t need to be sorry. All of this happened for a reason. We’re meant to be together.”

“Curtis,” you feebly tried to interrupt him, but he stubbornly spoke over you. 

“Out of all the program assignments I could have gotten, I was placed with you. I know that was for a reason and… and you’ve become my everything, the bright light at the end of a really dark tunnel that I didn’t think I’d make it through.”

You couldn’t help it as a few tears spilled over, feeling more horrible and helpless by the second. 

Curtis shushed you, his touch so soft as he swiped away your tears. “When you know, you know, and I know you’re it for me.” He shifted closer to you, his hands rounding your hips and sliding along your back, urging your body flush to his as he whispered your name. “I don't think you realise the hold you have on me. We’re meant for each other, I know it. I’ll show you.”

You opened your mouth to object, but you weren’t quick enough, squeaking instead when Curtis kissed you hard–hungrily–like he had something to prove and he was determined to do so. He didn’t pull away until you were gasping for breath, sagged back against the metal prep table and dazed as you stared at him. 

“I’ll show you,” he husked as something sparked to life in his dark gaze. 

You shuddered, squealing as Curtis suddenly spun you around and bent you over the counter. 

“Curtis, no–” you started, whining as he roughly pulled down your pants and panties in one go. 

It was shameful, the way he could so easily make you wet, just a few brushes of his fingers along your cunt, a few teasing circles around your hole, and you were dripping for him as you buried your face against your arms to hide. 

Curtis shoved your legs apart as much as he could with your pants and underwear still tangled around your knees, and you moaned into your arms as he shoved his face against you from behind and devoured your cunt like it was his own personal feast.

You came embarrassingly fast, trembling hard as Curtis hummed against your slick folds and lapped up your cum. 

Too boneless to move, let alone resist, you could only whimper as you felt him stand and press against you, lining his cock up and shoving inside of you to the hilt and groaning as you whimpered. 

“I need to show you,” he panted as he started to fuck you with a feral edge that toed the line of pain. “That you were meant for me.” He shoved into you hard and deep, taking you up onto your toes. “That I love you.” Another rough, determined thrust that made you whine even as your pussy rejoiced and fluttered wildly.

Curtis curled over you, clinging to you as his hips pounded against your ass, as he filled you with his cock over and over again–fucking you like a man possessed–making you take every hard, throbbing inch of him without reprieve. 

“You’re mine. You’re mine,” he snarled, nipping at your earlobe, then groaning as you came with a helpless keen and a fresh wave of tears. “See, your body knows it already.”

A few more harsh ruts of his hips, and Curtis reached his own release with a groan. You sniffled as you felt the first wave of his spend filling you up, and then he pulled out of you, painting your slick, puffy cunt with a few ribbons of cum before spilling the rest into the gusset of your panties. 

For a long moment, it was silent–the heavy, suffocating kind that even drowned out the static filling your ears. 

Then Curtis pushed away from you, putting himself back together before his hands touched your bare hips, giving a possessive squeeze. He leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek before tugging up your pants and panties.  

He patted between your legs, making it impossible to ignore the fact that your underwear was filled with his cum and sticking to you uncomfortably. 

Curtis was gentle as he helped you straighten, turning you around to face him so he could steal a soft kiss from your lips. “Now those donuts you made won’t be the only thing stuffed with cream today,” he teased, giving you a wink before stepping away. 

You watched in a kind of shocked daze as he turned and easily lifted the large tray of donuts from the counter across from you. Curtis’ smile was playful and in complete contrast with the dark, predatory look in his eyes as he watched you, almost like he was daring you to start talking your nonsense again. 

You didn’t. 

Instead, you shuddered as you hugged yourself tightly, your gaze falling away from his as you tried not to cry.

“I’ll go set these in the case, and then I’ll be back to help you with the breads, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, still staring at the floor as you felt the weight of Curtis’ gaze on you. 

He shifted closer, making a pleased sound before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin before he turned and strode from the room.

Leaving you trembling in his wake, feeling numb and out of place in your own kitchen as you grimaced at the feel of Curtis’ cum filling your panties–marking you as his.

I meeean, look. Look. I’m here for him 😌 He’s just a smitten kitten. Let him love you!

—

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Just as you were about to leave, looking down at your battered, red hands from pounding on the door, your purse dropped out of a window; the contents spilled onto the grass below. With a sigh, either sadness or relief; you weren't sure which, you bent to pick up your scattered belongings, cursing the man during. 

Luckily, you had everything you needed; cash, ID, and your shitty, overused phone. 

You called around for a cab, numb fingers shaking as you pressed the blurry numbers, but with it being Friday night, you were looking at a long wait so instead, you decided to cut your losses and walk to find the nearest hotel. 

The downside of moving, and being essentially trapped within the same four walls for months on end, is that you quickly found yourself lost– and being lost on Skid Row was the last place you wanted to be. You willed your tears to not fall after you walked by tent after tent, stranger after stranger, clutching your purse tight, old keys spread between your fingers, and finally found yourself outside a rundown hotel.  You laughed to yourself in disbelief of having to head inside and get a room; but nonetheless, you did just that. 

Lying on a dingy bedspread, surrounded by more nicotine-stained walls, you muffled your cries behind your hands and slowly fell into a somber slumber and wondered just how the fuck you had gotten yourself here. 

Over the next few days, you walked around, getting to know your surroundings and applying for jobs left and right. You were forced to ration your food while you looked around for cheaper hotel rooms. You were trying your hardest to avoid the sprawls of clubs begging for dancers but after finding yourself downtrodden as you’re dismissed after applying for yet another job and getting immediately dismissed, and it was then when you were suddenly blinded by a huge, purple neon sign:

Pete’s Place.

Underneath a small notice hung from the sign read: Dancers Apply Within. 

You looked around and whined quietly while you watched patron after patron enter the club. Two heavily built doormen eyed you. You shook out your bundling nerves, hung your head and followed the thump of the bass into the belly of the seedy club. You handed over your last twenty bucks to the red-head woman that was sitting behind a platformed desk, smiling sheepishly and giving a small nod before pushing through the curtains that framed a doorway. Purple and blue hues guided you into the belly of the club where you found red booths filled with drunk bodies that circled small stages. Girls with perfect form swirled around the pole, capturing the attention of everyone inside. 

‘’And who might you be?’’

You turned to find a man staring intensely, glass warm in hand, sharp suit and sea-blue eyes. Your mouth hung, mind blank for a moment before sputtering out,

‘’Oh, I–  I’m looking for the owner– I was hoping to… Audition…’’ You trailed off as the man began to circle you, fingers pried away your coat slightly, gaze wandering over your body. Calloused fingers tilted your chin upwards while he inspected your face before a slight smile appeared on his lips. ‘’If you’re still looking for dancers.’’

‘’Oh, we’re always looking for new girls, Sugar.’’ He gave you another once over before grinning, voice low and honeyed, ‘’Yeah, you’ll do,’’ He concluded, hand dropping from your chin before he began to walk away. ‘’Follow me.’’

‘’I take it you’re the owner,’’ you inquired as you followed the man to the other side of the club and down a dimly lit hallway, smiling back at, what you assumed was, one of his girls. ‘’You’re Pete?’’ 

‘’That’s me,’’ he confirmed as you’re led into an office. ‘’Gonna need to see ID, need you to sign a couple contracts, and for you to take your clothes off,’’ he quickly fired as he sat himself in his chair and threw a small stack of paper across the table. 

‘’Contracts?’’

‘’All my girls sign to stay loyal to the club, I don’t need anyone running off and taking my profits with them– helps limit competition, and I need to see what I’m working with here, you’re not exactly gonna be wearing a winter coat out there. Usually you’d come during the day, work the pole but, I got three of my regular girls out tonight, so it’s your lucky day.’’

‘’Oh,’’ You answer simply, pausing before a moment.  ‘’Right, yeah, lucky me– Of course,’’ you stumble out as you reach into your pocket and slide your ID on to his desk before peeling your jacket off and taking in a heavy breath before lifting your shirt over your head and sliding down your skirt with shaking hands. 

‘’You got any experience?’’ He asked simply. 

‘’Uh, no,’’ You answered, kicking your skirt to the side, fussing with your hands due to having no idea what to do with them. ‘’I’ve never done this before.’’ 

You dropped your head, feeling your cheeks heat up. When you finally looked back up, Pete was lounged back in his desk chair, eyebrow raised with a slick smile on his face. He didn’t look disappointed, he looked delighted, like the idea of a novice seemed to amuse him. Pete stood with a long intake of breath, leaving his station and stepping around the desk and moving towards you with a slow, almost predatory grace. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander the same way he did, eyeing the well tailored suit that left nothing to the imagination, large biceps crinkling the fabric as he crossed his arms. You let out a small gasp as he began to circle you, hand reaching out to smooth down your back, fingertips ghosting your sides. The floorboards creaked with each footstep until he was standing back in front of you. He reached out a hand to pluck at your bra. 

‘’Loose this,’’ he instructed casually. 

You gave a shaky nod, reaching behind to unclip your bra, slowly letting it fall down your arms before it was discarded on the floor with the rest of your clothes. You eyed him shyly, unsure if you were wanting the ground to swallow you up or if you wanted him to reach out and touch you. 

And touch you, he did. 

The back of his hand stroked down your stomach, knuckles grazing the softness of your lower belly. Nerves began to take over, you felt yourself trembling a little, and you knew he felt it by the way his mouth poked up at the side. Although, he was very obviously attractive, the bile still rose in your throat when you felt a familiar warm ache tug at your legs.

‘’I-I’m a hard worker,’’ You said hesitantly, desperately needing to fill the silence. 

‘’Hard worker,’’ Pete snorted, lips tugged up in a mocking smile. ‘’I don’t care about your worth ethic, Sugar. I care about the view.’’

‘’And?’’ You probed. 

His hand slipped around to your back, pulling you in close as he stared down at you, eyes flickering across your face. 

‘’Views are good,’’ He judged. ‘’You’ve certainly got a… Desperate innocence vibe going on. Guy’s are gonna eat that up.’’ He nodded as he stepped back, moving back towards the desk, propping himself against it. ‘’Here’s the deal: You’re gonna show me what you got, so I know whether you’ll need a few days with some of my best girls to work on those skills. Doesn’t mean you can’t work, but it means you’re limited to laps, and it’s just a bit less money. Base pay at the end of the week, tips are handed in and the house takes a cut and redistributed back to the girls. Be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.’’

You stood awkwardly nodding, arms crossing over your chest which made Pete laugh. 

‘’Drop ‘em,’’ He ordered, wagging a finger downwards. ‘’Just me and you, Sugar, how are you supposed to handle it being out there? Put ‘em down.’’ You complied as Pete carried on explaining: ‘’Pay the door, same way you did to get in, but my girls pay half to work. You gotta give to get in here, baby. VIP is for my more seasoned girls, better money, but we’ll talk about that further down the line. The contract…’’ He reaches behind himself to grab the small stack of paper. ‘’...Is so you understand that every single cent that your hand touches goes through me. No making deals with my clients, no outside work with the men that step into my club. That’s what VIP is for. There’s no need for you to be bent over in the back of some rented Bently, okay? You fuck me and you’re back on that street and you can’t go to any other club.’’ 

You nodded. ‘’Didn’t plan on it.’’

‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised. ‘’Or, you will be, when you sign.’’ 

‘’So, I would start tonight?’’ 

He nodded and rattled the paper. 

With some hesitancy, you took the paper and the pen that quickly followed and stepped around him to lean and sign the dotted line, looking back up to find him staring down at you. He slipped the contract off the desk and stood straight, moving around the other side to slide into a locked draw before grabbing his glass and wandering over to a small couch in the corner of his office. He sat down, thighs spreading open, gaze locked on yours as he took a long swig of the amber liquid that sloshed in the crystal. 

‘’Come show me what you got, Sugar.’’ 

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to rid your body of the nerves, as you slowly stepped towards Pete’s open thighs. You turned in a fluid motion, hoping to God that it looked good, and lowered yourself onto his lap. Using the muted thumping from the club's belly, you began to wind your hips, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. The cigarette smoke that clung to his suit assaulted your senses, mixing with the alcohol on his breath, making your head spin.  Your eyes closed, breathing unsteady as you continued your dance. You heard the soft thump of his glass being placed down and soon felt his fingers on your chin, guiding you to look behind. 

Your eyes fluttered open and were met with his intense gaze. Your breath hitched as his hands then found your waist, helping to guide you into a better rhythm. He hummed low in his throat, taking in a deep breath as his other hand slid over your thigh, goosebumps following in a traitorous line.

‘’There we go, just like that,’’ He coached, voice low and breathy. ‘’Gotta look at ‘em, Sugar. Gotta make sure they feel like the only man in the world, but they don’t touch you like I am, okay?’’ You begged your heart to slow as his hand smoothed over your stomach, heavy and strong. ‘’You’re good, Sugar, but you’re not ready to be out on the pole yet. You gotta put in some work, gonna set you up with one of my girls.’’ 

He tapped your thigh and motioned for you to stand. He followed suit, getting to his feet and looking down at you. He swept a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear. 

‘’You can work tonight. You got anything to wear?’’ 

You shook your head. He let out a little laugh. 

‘’Didn’t come very prepared, did you, Sugar?’’ 

‘’I– I used my last 20 bucks to get in here. I didn’t plan on coming in–’’

‘’You did what?’’ He questioned sharply, eyebrows raising. He sighed when you nodded your head. 

‘’S’why I really needed this to go well. I promise I’ll get better–’’

‘’Yeah, yeah, I don’t care about that right now,’’ Pete cut off. ‘’Where are you staying?’’

‘’The hotel at the end of the street, the–’’

‘’Yeah, the shitty one. How long have you got the room for?’’

‘’Three more days,’’ You confessed.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence was heavy with the weight of him knowing the situation; with admitting just how fucked you were. You searched his expression, he didn’t look even the slightest bit sympathetic. He looked like he had just found a really good loophole in his contract that made a smirk tug at his lips.

‘’Totally broke? Not a dime?’’ He asked, and nodded his head and let out a slow hum of contemplation when you confirmed. ‘’Alright. I can help.’’ 

You reached down for your shirt as he walked to his desk.

‘’I can’t really have you sleeping on a park bench. I need my girls at their best, so, here’s what I’m gonna do.’’ He sat down at his desk, elbows resting on the wood, his gaze getting more intense as he lingered on you as you dressed. 

‘’I’m gonna give you… An advance, you could say…’’ He trailed off, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a book and an envelope. He plucked a pen from a pot and clicked it before flicking open the ledger, and scrawling inside. ‘’I’m gonna take a little bit more of a cut until it’s paid off, but it means you can pay your door fee, you can eat, have a roof over your head and have a bit of time to work on those skills. It also means, you won’t actually have to work tonight if you’d rather rest up and spend the day practicing.’’ 

‘’Are you sure?’’ You raised a brow. ‘’Why would you–’’

‘’Consider it good faith, taking a chance,’’ He quickly interjected. ‘’Shows how sure I am that you’ll be one of my best.’’

There was a look in his eyes, predatory, and you weren't sure if he was throwing you a lifeline or a noose. ‘’What do you say, Sugar?’’ 

He held out the envelope. You hesitantly reached out for it, feeling like you were signing a deal with the devil. Your eyes locked on his as your fingers gripped the paper, an easy smile pulling at your lips in response to the smirk on his. 

‘’’Atta girl.’’

You lowered your head, looking down at the dusty patterned carpet. The weight on your shoulders felt heavier than ever, but at least you could get a decent meal. 

‘’I really don't have to work tonight?’’

‘’Nope,’’ He said, popping the ‘P’ and reaching over the desk to hook a finger under your chin as he stood, drawing your gazes back to each other. ‘’But, I wouldn’t mind a ‘thank you’.’’ 

He didn’t release his hold as he guided you around the desk, the smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol and a woody aftershave assaulting your senses again. Your heart kicked up speed, like someone had set off a tiny jackhammer in your chest, as you stepped into his space. You lifted onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, sucking in a breath and praying that it’ll be enough to please him. His touch moved to the side of your neck, his hand heavy and splayed across the column as he leaned down. 

‘’S’that all I get, Sugar?’’ He teased, hushed and sickly sweet. ‘’Not got anything else for me?’’ 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened your mouth to speak, but nothing wanted to come out. You took to shaking your head instead and gripped the envelope tight and pushed it against his chest as you turned your head. Your eyes closed and shoulders sagged when he let out a laugh, dropping his head to your shoulder and releasing the hold he had on your neck. 

‘’I’m fucking with you,’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’Go on, get out of here before I decide to charge you for breathing the same air as me.’’

You stepped back, a small smile tugging at your lips and you reached for your bag from the floor.

‘’I’ll walk you out, actually. Need to check on my girls.’’ 

He walked to the door, swinging it open and motioning for you to step through. As you did, his hand found the middle of your back, heavy and guiding. The thumping base hit you as you walked back into the neon-lit chaos of the club, the night still in full swing. Pete nodded to several men on the way to the exit, hand slipping to your waist, pulling you close and keeping a tight grip and by the time the cold night breeze hit you, his warm palm was sitting on your ass. 

‘’I’m gonna be here at twelve tomorrow, I want you here,’’ He instructed, guiding you to face him, his voice taking on a sudden professional coldness. ‘’Do not be late, hmm?’’ 

You nodded. His eyes scanned you one last time, sea-blue eyes still holding that uneasy glint that made your stomach turn and your toes curl. 

‘’That’s my girl,’’ He praised with a tap to your backside before stepping away. ‘’See you tomorrow, Sugar.’’ 

You sucked in a breath and began your walk back to your hotel, the envelope weighing down your bag  and filling your throat with bile. The neon sign buzzed in your ears as you watched the purple hue on the sidewalk fade.  The rest of the walk was a blur, your mind filled with the flashing of lights, the booths of men, the smell of smoke and sweet drinks and the terrifying anxiety that clawed at your chest when you thought of having to sit in those men’s laps, strip down on a pole, vulnerable and exposed, for the sake of a roof and warm food; all while owing a man you’ve just met. 

The next day, you made your way back to Pete’s Place. 

The seedy club seemed less terrifying in the daylight. The neon sign hung unlit, the velvet red rope enclosed the open air and not the multiple bodies of men waiting to feast their eyes on women who couldn’t give a single shit about them, and Pete… Stood with his hand in his pocket, the other lifted to his lips as he took a long drag of a cigarette, eyes gleaming as he caught your eye. 

‘’There she is!’’ He greeted, cheerful and honeyed. ‘’My new favourite, fresh and ready for the day. How’d you sleep, Sugar? Room booked for a little longer?’’ 

You nodded, ‘’All secured for the next two weeks, and I’m gonna go and get some groceries when I’m done–’’

‘’Yeah, sounds all golden, Sugar,’’ He laughed. ‘’One of my best is waiting inside for you. She’s gonna show you the ropes, how to shake that ass good enough to empty some wallets for me. I’m gonna come and see you in a few hours and see how you’re getting on and hopefully we’ll get you on that pole and not stuck in laps.’’ 

With that, he stepped out to the curb as a black Sedan pulled up. 

‘’Off you go,’’ He ordered.

You nodded once again before heading inside of the club. 

You searched the club’s belly for the woman but she was seemingly nowhere to be found until you made your way into the dressing room. The atmosphere was stifling despite it being empty. It stunk of hairspray, multiple different perfumes blending together and smoke. The vanities were a thing of chaos, make up strewed, rollers and different hair tools. Rails of sequins and fishnets and a wall of lockers that were decorated in different styles, showing off the aesthetics of each woman that owned them. 

You turned to leave when you bumped into a woman, already kitted out in something Pete would absolutely have chosen, she gleamed brightly, seemingly genuinely happy to be here.

‘’So, you’re the new little lamb Pete picked up?’’ She asked sweetly, cigarette hanging from her lip and adjusting the band under her bust. She moved into the room and towards the railing of clothes with a grace and confidence you prayed to acquire as quickly as possible. ‘’I’m Rachael, Pete’s asked me to show you how to not get eaten alive tonight.’’ 

She plucked a simple, sheer black slip and held it out, ‘’Let’s see if you can actually move, or if you’re just a pretty little lamb.’’ 

After you changed you gave yourself a second, third and fourth glance over before she playfully rolled her eyes and pulled you out to the club floor and towards one of the smaller side stages. She left to flick on the club lights, shy under the sunlight that waved through the balcony windows and clicking around inside the DJ booth until the bass rattled through the floor. The polished chrome gleaned under the purple and blue lights, cold and intimidating as she made her way onto the stage. She demonstrated multiple moves with an effortless ease, her heels clicking softly against the platform floor, fluid and languid. 

‘’You see, it’s not about dancing, not really,’’ She said as she swirled around, leg hooked around the pole. ‘’It’s about the tease. You never give it away all at once, you gotta make them ache for it. You gotta make ‘em think that if they throw just the right amount, they might just get a chance to touch you, have your attention.’’ 

You nodded watching her closely.

‘’Now, get up here and try a basic spin. Just copy exactly what I did.’’ Rachael slid down and stepped off the stage, motioning for you to step up.

‘’I’ll try my best,’’ You said earnestly. 

‘’Your best doesn’t pay the bills, honey. Confidence and ass does.’’ 

You stepped onto the platform, the polished surface feeling slippery beneath your heels. You wrapped your hand hesitantly around the pole. You attempted the spin she had demonstrated, but instead of a fluid glide, your foot caught the edge of the stage and stumbled. You cursed yourself as she smiled and waved for you to try again which while the second attempt was better, the grace Rachael had exhibited was nowhere to be seen. She circled you like a hawk, eyes watching every move, often reaching out to make you arch your back more, to drop your shoulders, to reposition your legs. 

‘’You’re like a newborn lamb, stop thinking about it so much,’’ She giggled, sweet and light until her tone suddenly turned serious. ‘’Never look them in the eye for too long. Makes ‘em think they own you. Keep it light, fleeting, make them chase it,’’ She coached. ‘’The pole is a tool, it’s your friend, use it to hide what you don’t like and highlight what you do like. Use it to your advantage. Do not fear it.’’

The next few hours passed in a blur of twirls, clicks of heels and red knees. Exhaustion clung to your skin, damp and slick under the spotlights, the sun dipping behind the clouds casting a golden glow into the club as you spun and dipped for the hundredth time, finally gaining some semblance of control of the cold metal. Rachael  gleamed and squealed when you would find your footing, hit a dip in time to the music and get through at least a minute without a stumble. 

You were trying to follow another of Rachael’s demonstrations when a familiar voice cut through the air and drifted its way over to the stage. Pete had returned, leaning against a pillar on the far side of the club floor, drink in hand and watching with an amused glint in his eyes, tracking you carefully. 

‘’What a clumsy little thing you are, Sugar. Tell me, baby,’’ He said, a tinge of playful annoyance coating his words as he sauntered forward and towards the edge of the stage. ‘’You always like this or is it the thrill of being in my presence?’’ 

Rachael rolled her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

‘’She’s getting there, she’s just… A little cautious… Shy– It’s cute!’’ She defended, a sweet grin as she returned the kiss to Pete’s cheek and then looked back at you with a wink. 

‘’I don’t need cute, I don’t need cautious. I can’t sell that,’’ Pete spoke, short and to the point. ‘’It doesn’t make me money. Desire does.’’ 

He made his way to the base of the stage, looking up at you. The spotlights casted deep shadows across his face, making his eyes seem black. You let out a breath as he eyed, not as a person, but as a product that was ineffective. He rapt his knuckles on the platform floor, his voice dropping,

‘’Get down here.’’ 

You practically leaped from the platform, steading yourself on his arm as your footing faltered, your chest heaving from a mix of exhaustion and nerves. Up close, the scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses, your head spinning as he pulled you in closer. He looked you up and down, shaking his head with a disappointed frown. You couldn’t help the shakes that swam under your skin as he peered into your eyes. He walked you back slowly, the back of your thighs digging into the edge of the stage. 

‘’Look at you,’’ He began to scold gently. ‘’Shaking like a leaf, like you’re waiting for the firing squad rather than a paycheck.’’ 

Pete then reached up a hand, finding the back of your neck, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip at the base of your skull, forcing you to keep your gaze on his. The amusement was long gone and replaced by a demanding, icy intensity. He leaned his head down, breath hot against your cheek.

‘’The men that come through those doors do not pay for ‘nervous’. They pay for a fantasy. A fantasy of a woman who knows exactly how to drive them crazy. If you walk out there looking like a lost puppy, they’ll smell the fear, they’ll take advantage, and then you’ll owe me for that nice advance I gave you and I’ll want it in full and I know sure as shit…’’ He leaned down further lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered in your ear. ‘’You don’t have it, and we’ll have to work something else out, won’t we?’’

He released you abruptly, and you fell against the edge of the stage, willing the tears to stay at bay as he stepped back and guested at Rachael and then towards the stage.

‘’Keep working her. I want her ready.’’ 

The next two hours were full of exertion, exhaustion, sweat and damn near tears until it finally came time to go back to your hotel to rest up for your shift. Rachael seemed happy with where you managed to get to, she had taught you how to use your shyness as a weapon, how to perfectly arch your back and how to breathe through the nerves but whether Pete would end up sharing the same feelings was still to be determined. Your muscles ached and cried out with each step back to your hotel, palms raw from the friction of the pole, and the fear of ending up on the street sat heavy in your stomach along with the feeling of feeling less like a woman and more like a piece of property, catalogued and highly priced. 

The night swept in with a heavy tension, the club hummed; scattered voices from the line outside as you walked through the front with a nod to security and a crisp ten slipped into the hand of the woman on the door. You shucked up your bag higher on your shoulder, watching as the staff at the bar moved with a frantic energy, attempting to keep up with the hoards of men tapping their fingers for a drink while their eyes leeched on the dancers at the pole. 

You made your way to Pete’s office, rapping your fingers on the doorframe and smiling when he looked up at you with a grin. 

‘’Hey, Sugar, what d’ya need?’’ He asked, stepping from around the back of his desk and moving towards the door. 

‘’Is it okay if I borrow an outfit for tonight? I didn’t get a chance to run and grab anything– Maybe a pair of heels as well?’’

Pete nodded, ‘’Yeah, take what you want from the rails in the dressing room, shoes are underneath. Just make sure they’re returned or I have to charge you for it.’’ 

‘’Thanks,’’ You replied sweetly.

Pete then pressed his hand to the small of your back, leading you towards the dressing room. The girls were in full swing, the clatter of make up and the clicking of straighteners and curlers mixed with their laughs and banter as they applied finishing touches. 

‘’Alright, my lovely ladies, this is Sugar,’’ Pete addressed loudly, adopting the nickname he gave you as your dancer name without giving you a chance to argue about it. ‘’She’s the newest addition. Be nice, look after her, she’s a shy one… And get out there and make me some money.’’ 

You felt cornered as the other dancers scanned you from head to toe, receiving a mixture of curiosity, warm welcome and cold competition. You wrung your hands together as Pete stepped away to grab an outfit from the rack, bending to snag a pair of shoes and walking back over to you. It may as well have been a collection of strings rather than an outfit; baby pink and covered in sequins. 

‘’You’ve got twenty minutes and then I want you on that stage,’’ He ordered, firm but oddly sweet. ‘’I’ll be watching from the balcony booths so don’t fuck this up, alright, Sugar?’’ 

You hummed in agreement as he bent down, presenting his cheek to which you quickly pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Pete grinned and gave a wink, and without saying another word, he laid a soft tap on your ass and walked out the door, leaving you with a tightness in your chest and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You walked to a spare vanity, setting your bag down and started at the reflection, finding a girl you barely recognised anymore. Even more so once you had changed, the baby pink set Pete had chosen, clung to every curve and valley, and left nothing to the imagination. The soft colours contrasted painfully with the dark circles of fatigue which you had tried your best to cover with multiple swipes of concealer. 

You wondered if this is exactly how Pete wanted you; looking like a daydream on the verge of a deep, dark nightmare. 

‘’Hey,’’ A voice spoke, drawing you away from your thoughts, and you looked up to find a woman standing behind you, a smile on her face and dressed in green. ‘’He’s really trying to push the ‘barely there’ look tonight, isn’t he?’’

You nodded, a shy smile on your face as you smoothed down the outfit.

‘’I’m Crocki. Like, crocodile. Pete found a stuffed crocodile in my bag once– totally forgot it was there, and hasn’t let me live it down since,’’ She laughed, genuine and comforting. ‘’Just do your job, keep him happy and you’ll have no issues. Most of the girls here are really nice. They just wanna make their money and dip. It’s not all bad, okay?’’ 

You nodded again, struggling to find the words to speak, nerves were eating at your vocal cords and tugging at your throat. 

‘’I’ll see you out there, you’ll be great, don’t worry,’’ Crocki reassured, giving a comforting rub to your arm before disappearing out of the dressing room. 

The other girls soon left, leaving you on your own. You took another minute to breathe deeply, eyes closed; the thumping of the lion’s den pounded in your ears. 

The transition was jarring to say the least; one moment you were safe in arms of bulb lights, perfume and mirrors and the next you were willing your footing to not falter as you stepped into the club’s belly, the music shifting and deepening into something primal, visceral. The lights were a bruised purple, the smoke from cigars and cigarettes acted as a map to the men huddled around the stages and perched in the booths. It merged into a hungry roar and you were the meal. 

High above the main floor, a singular familiar figure leaned over the railing, elbows propped against the metal, swirling a drink with keen eyes locked on your every move. Pete gave you a grin, nodding towards the stage, that predatory glint on full show; it crawled over your body like a physical touch, sending a shiver down your spine and forming a lump in your throat. 

You made your way to the stage as another dancer collected the cash from the floor, the crowd dying down a little as the smell of alcohol, flashing lights and the sea of hungry eyes waited in a subdued anticipation as you climbed the steps and clicked onto the stage. You smiled weakly at the dancer as she passed you and gave one last glance at Pete before gripping the pole. 

A heavy, industrial beat slammed into the room, the bass rattling the panels of the stage as your body began to react to the rhythm. The sequins caught the strobe lights, sending shards of glitter and gold dancing on the floor and faces of the crowd. You focused on the pole, remember your tutelage, hiding your sloppy footwork behind the pole and using it as a grounding point amidst the chaos, spinning and arching your back. 

The atmosphere shifted to expose a raw hunger, men leaned forward, their eyes fixed on your every move. You earned whistles, dollar bills and captivated silences from others. You dared to glance again up at the balcony, finding Pete still stood in the same spot, watching you with an intensity you just couldn’t pinpoint, the cigarette in his hand glowing a cherry-red as he took a deep drag and blew out the smoke slowly. It didn’t seem like he was looking at you like just another dancer; more like an investment he was ready to wring out for as much cash as possible. 

The next song started, giving you no time to recover, switching to a slower, haunting ethereal pull. The lights dimmed a bit further, the purple lights casting a shadow across your body which helped you feel more hidden. You relaxed a little, finding a hidden ease in the slower, more languid movements. You transitioned into a slow descent on the pole, body arching, a softness that was stark against the grit of the club. The air felt thick and charged as you locked eyes with Pete once again, a smug satisfaction written across his face as he stubbed out the cigarette and took a swig from his glass. 

As the song reached its end, you gave a slow swirl around the pole with a lingering, new found seductive grace, and slowly dropped to your knees. Your chest rose and fell heavily, hand still gripping the pole as money rained and Pete grinned. He didn’t move an inch, his stare was like a physical weight, like he was claiming every inch of your skin by his force of will. 

You stayed in that pose for a short moment, before getting to your feet, and quickly scooping up the bills. You didn’t dare to give another look towards Pete as you left the stage. The adrenaline hummed through your veins, crumpled bills sticking to the sweat of your chest as you made your way back to the dressing room to have a moment to gather yourself before heading back out to the floor. 

The transition from the blinding lights, to the grim reality of the backstage area was discordant and bleak, but the weight of the cash in your hands felt like a small victory, one worthy of essentially selling your soul. The other dancers glanced with small smiles and nods of newfound respect. As you reached your locker to stow your earnings until the end of the night, the door to the dressing room opened with a slow, deliberate creak. The girls quickly cleared out, pressing kisses and giving hugs to Pete as they exited. 

He stood in the doorway, suit jacket hung over his arm, hair disheveled and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were pushed up his forearms, his large biceps bulging under the thin fabric as he crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. He looked less like the shady business man you met the night before and more like a predator who had decided to stop watching and start pouncing. He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at you, eyes seemingly peering through you and the way you clutched the money in your hands. 

‘’Quite the show, Sugar.’’ His voice was low, dangerously sweet. ‘’Didn’t know you had it in you. Proves hard work pays off when you really want something.’’

He stepped into the room, the click of his shoes sounding like a countdown. He stopped just inches away, his presents suffocating and overwhelming; the scent of bourbon and expensive tobacco enveloping the air around you both. He reached out, fingers sliding under your chin to keep your gazes locked. 

‘’You enjoy the attention, baby? The money make you move like that?’’ He asked in a hushed tone, breath ghosting your cheek. ‘’You playing me, Sugar?’’

You shook your head, ‘’Beginners luck, I guess.’’

Pete let out a soft, dark chuckle. The grin didn’t reach his eyes as he grazed your lower lip with a gentle, but possessive pressure. 

‘’Beginners luck,’’ He parroted, husky and contemplative. 

He didn’t release the hold on your chin; his grip tightened, ensuring you couldn’t escape his eyes. It was heavy, stripping you bare more effectively than the skimpy bundle of strings of your costume ever could. He seemed to be savouring the simplicity of your answer. He then shifted his weight, pushing you back against the cool metal of the lockers. The heat from his body crept over your skin, pricking at your senses as he leaned down, his voice barely a whisper.

‘’You’re a terrible liar, baby. I saw the way you looked at them; saw the way you looked at me.’’ His lips grazed your ear, his other hand gripping at your waist, bringing your middles together, eliciting a muted gasp that settled in your throat. ‘’You played the room, the hunger… And now, you’ve got me wondering how much more of that ‘luck’ you have hidden away.’’ 

He looked down at your hand as he stepped back, his expression shifting to something more demanding; the softness vanishing and replaced by the cold authority of the man who owned your entire being.

‘’Hand it over, Sugar,’’ He commanded, gesturing to the cash bundled in your hand, palm up and waiting. 

You placed the money in his hand and sighed as he counted the bills with a rapid, well seasoned motion, eyes flicking over the amounts. The soft snap-snap-snap of the bills drummed in your ears and drowned out the muted thump of the bass as you waited with bated breath to see how much your cut would be.

Once he reached the total, he folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket and then reached out to pull a smaller, measly stack from the other, holding it out to you with a satisfied grin. You took it, splaying out the few bills between your fingers, a lesser amount than what would even be considered a fair pay, but regardless of your feelings you looked up and smiled with feigned gratitude. 

‘’I had to deduct your newcomer's fee, and the prime slot on the main stage, of course,’’ He said casually, arms folded across his chest again, he watched for your reaction with a cruel sort of curiosity. ‘’An investment in your future here. You understand, right, Sugar?’’

You nodded with a strained smile. He didn’t wait for you to say anything else, he turned his gaze towards the door, checking you were still alone, before he looked back at you with that same predatory, hungry gaze.

His voice dropped to a low, purr. ‘’You’ve got a lot of potential, Sugar. I can’t wait for the day I get to be on the receiving end of it.’’ 

He reached out again, his hand sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him for one last, possessive moment. He lingered, nose brushing against your temple, taking in a small inhale and making your heart jump in your chest.

‘’Get back out there, Sugar.’’

Pete released you abruptly and sauntered out the room, door clicking shut behind him. The tension that had brewed broke instantly and you exhaled sharply, unaware of the breath you had kept clutched in your chest. The silence in the room felt a thousand tons heavier than the atmosphere on stage, the few bills in your hand felt like a slap to the face; the feeling of the effort you had put into being stage-ready felt wasteful and sour. You wondered if this was going to be worth it, if you should keep putting all you had into pleasing a man who wanted you rob you blind and keep your livelihood wrapped in his hands. 

You were pulled out your thoughts by a group of dancers making their way back into the dressing room, some giving empathic glances.

‘’Welcome to Pete’s Place, babe. Hope you like pennies,’’ She said simply, a tight smile on her lips.

Another was re-applying her eyeliner when she spoke; ‘’Don’t let him see you cry. It’s like he smells it, like a shark.’’

She didn’t offer anything else; in this place, empathy seemed to be a luxury only a few could afford. They all continued their routines like the small conversation never happened, the sounds of brushes and small talk the only sound in the room. You stuffed the cash in your bag, shutting the locker with a frustrated slam before sucking in a sharp breath and heading back out into the club. 

A few hours later, after spending the rest of the night in laps and grinning sweetly at horrible men, you moved in front of your locker as you changed, movements mechanical as if all parts that were human had been stripped away and shoved inside a box. As you pulled on the clothes you had arrived in, you felt a cold knot forming in your stomach; the desperation that had dragged you through the club's doors was starting to form into a quiet rage.

As you stepped out of the club and into the night's cool air, the neon sign flicked overhead and the meager amount in your pocket laughed at you as you sulked back to the dingy hotel room. The click of the lock sounded like a gavel, finalizing your sentence of struggle. You slid down the door, the cold wood pressing against your spin as you melted into an exhausted puddle. You stayed there for a while, staring down at the carpet, breath coming out in ragged hitches as the adrenaline of the night wore off. 

You looked down at your shaking hands as you mulled over the contract, the debt, the sick smile on Pete’s face— his hands, his arms, his smell. You groaned and covered your face with your hands, hating how he continued to invade your thoughts despite the hatred that pooled in your guts. 

With the adrenaline long gone, it left behind the crushing weight of exhaustion. You let out a long, suffering sigh as you got to your feet. You knew without a shadow of a doubt that your first big night wasn’t just a hurdle to get over, but the beginning of a slow, wretched descent into Pete’s sordid world. 

The following weeks were a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Every night followed the same pattern: the blinding lights, the squeak of the pole, the hungry eyes;  the exhilarating rush of the dance, the red knees, bruises and blisters and the crushing disappointment at the end of the night when Pete handed you your pitiful earnings. Pete became increasingly bold with his touches, promises of bonuses were always tied to how much you were willing to tolerate his advances in the office, and having to deal with his monetary retaliations when you refused.

The heavy bass vibrated under your feet, tickling your toes through your high-platform shoes. Your hands clutched at the cold, silver pole as you delicately swirled yourself around. The past few weeks your skills had improved; although, not enough according to Pete; though you were dead sure that his thoughts were an excuse to pull you into his lap for impromptu lessons. 

You kept your gaze loose, swinging from patron to the girls sat in laps with glowing smiles and fingers twirling through their hair as the grasped dollar bills. Blue and purple hues danced over your body as your hips swayed the best they could in time to the beat as you prayed for the song to finally be over. 

The interest in you was dwindling; the allure of a shiny new girl was fading fast and you were no longer receiving tips just for being there. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you damn sure hoped it’d last long enough to pay your bill at the hotel. You had five days to come up with three hundred bucks, and by the measly few dollar bills in your pocket and the couple of fives on the floor; things weren’t looking good. 

You made your way into the dressing room after your set, finding girls in various stages of getting ready and touching up their hair and walked over to Rachel's chair. 

“Can I talk to you about something?” You asked, standing behind Rachel's chair.

“Yeah, anything, babe.” 

She set her brush down and turned back to face you.

“I know I need to get better on stage, but how did you get Pete to let you into the VIP section?”

“You have to pay, didn’t he tell you that?”

“Yeah, I know that, but he keeps wanting me—“

“Oh, yeah, you need to pay him. Treat him well, look after him…” She trailed off as you looked completely lost. “Head, Sugar. The man wants head. Just do it. You’re gonna be doing more than that in VIP.”

“I thought it was just more private—“

“Nooo. No, no, no,” She snickered, grinning brightly. “They want more than just a dance, which is why you’ve gotta pay Nick to get through the door because they have to work harder to keep you safe.” 

“I have to pay security?” You whined, throwing up your hands. ‘’Am I gonna have to start paying to breathe?’’

“Pay, tip, all the same. He’s really explained none of this to you?”

You shook your head as she gave an empathic smile before tapping your arm as she passed you to leave to go out the club floor. You stood for a moment, trying to find any other way to survive the next week that didn’t require sulking into Pete’s office and grovelling for another loan. You let out a pained groan when you realised you had no other choice.

You trudged into Pete’s office, heavy heels weighing down your steps as if trying to pull you back from your impending doom.

‘’Pete, I have a favour to ask,’’ You spoke sweetly as you stepped into his office.

‘’Shoot,’’ Pete replied, sorting through papers on his desk, brows knitting together as he discarded one after another, letting out huffed sighs. ‘’Quickly, now. Things to do,’’ Pete prompted sharply.

‘’I– I don’t have enough for rent– Well, the hotel bill–’’

‘’You’re still there?’’ Pete paused, eyeing you with a slight disgust. ‘’Why are you still there?’’

‘’Yeah, it’s cheap and no point wasting time finding somewhere else,’’ You explained, sighing and wringing your hands. ‘’I was wondering if you’d let me work in the VIP section, the girls said they make more money–’’

‘’Not happening,’’ He cut in sharply, pulling on his suit jacket.

‘’Why?’’ You asked, feeling already defeated and slightly offended.

‘’Because you refuse to do what the other girls do in order to work in VIP,’’ He snorted, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a familiar envelope. ‘’Gotta treat me like a VIP to get to the VIP’s, Sugar.’’ 

‘’I really need the money,’’ You pleaded. 

‘’Work harder,’’ Pete said bluntly. ‘’Learn how to actually dance, you’ve gotten better, but the shy, innocent, little baby out of place act isn’t gonna get you far, it doesn’t last long–’’

‘’Yeah, I know,’’ You muttered under your breath.

‘’What was that, now?’’ He questioned, making you shrink as if you were a child that had just been scolded and before you could say anything else, he waved a hand;  ‘’Doesn’t matter. Look, you’re no good to me if you end up on the street and get swiped and thrown into a van, so I guess I can loan you the money.’’

‘’Thank you,’’ You gushed, rushing over to him and placing your hand on his forearm. ‘’Thank you so much. I swear, I’ll work it off for free–’’

‘’I’ll just take a higher cut until you’re paid up. Not much good to me either if you don’t have the energy to stand on the stage and do whatever it is you do. And it means you can spend more time here working on your skill… Oh, do you need more lessons, sweetheart? I’m always available for practice, you know that, right?’’

‘’I just need to work on my confidence, but thanks for the offer, Pete,’’ You said earnestly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking the envelope. ‘’And thank you for the money. I’ll see you tomorrow.’’ 

‘’Oh, you’re not done. It’s barely 1 A.M.’’ Pete huffed out a short laugh, hands stuffed in his pockets.

‘’I’m really tired and I’m just not getting any attention,’’ You replied, exhausted and pouting to hopefully gain a little sympathy. 

‘’So work for it,’’ He commanded and guided you out of the office and departed with his usual tap to your ass.

You parted from him at the dressing room doorway, watching him as he disappeared into the club, the money feeling sickly heavy in your hand. You huffed as you sat in your hair, stuffing the cash into your bag and shoving it under your vanity.

‘’My advice,’’ Crocki said, matter-of-fact but sympathetic. ‘’Stop borrowing money from a man that already underpays you. There’s better things you can do.’’

‘’You can always find work on the side,’’ Alexa said, fiddling with a curl that wouldn’t sit just right.

‘’I thought we couldn’t go to any clubs. None of the restaurants or anything I can do during the day want to hire me. I mean, I get it, all I have are stripper outfits and a leather jacket,’’ You huffed as you threw down your makeup brush, smoothing out the edges of your eyeshadow with your finger. 

‘’Not talking about another club, not talking about waitressing,’’ Alexa laughed. ‘’The girls do home visits, parties, entertainment; others do more. You just gotta talk to Pete, he sets it all up.’’ 

‘’I don’t think I could do that, I can barely give a lap dance, and plus, I asked about VIP, he won’t let me unless I sleep with him.’’

‘’He ain’t bad in bed,’’ Rachael smirked, hand on the back of your chair as she popped her hip, her brow jumping teasingly.

‘’I sleep with him for free,'' Navy cut in, giggling as she joined Rachael, smoothing a finger over her lip gloss.

‘’I did not need to know that,’’ You groaned, a little laugh. ‘’Seriously, how am I supposed to be alone with these men?’’ 

‘’Because here you’re surrounded by people, you’re both watching and being watched. You might find it easier within the privacy of someone's home. You could make some serious money,’’ Alexa explained, standing and fluffing her hair.

‘’Come on, we better get back out there,’’ Crocki probed, shooing you up and out of your seat.

It was on a rainy Tuesday night that an opportunity presented itself in the form of a man who eyed you all night. You were finishing a slow, grinding set when the man dressed in a charcoal suit with a look of wealth and hunger in his eyes approached the edge of the stage as you were collecting the cash. He didn’t toss any himself, but he leaned in with a low, urgent plea:

‘’You’re breathtaking,’’ He breathed hotly. ‘’I have a private booth, if you want to join me. I can pay you for your time, more than whatever that boss of yours would give you.’’

You contemplated, knowing the rules were explicitly clear: No off the book dealings. Then you thought of the dwindling cash in your pocket, your overdrawn account and the money you already owed Pete. You knew it was risky, but you found yourself offering a different deal.

‘’Not here. Write down your address and I’ll come get it from you after I give a few dances,’’ You instructed quietly and then motioned for the man to leave. 

The man nodded frantically, excitement crossing his face and his gaze lingering on your body before he stepped away, blending into the crowd and up to the balcony booths. You navigated to the dressing room with a sharp focus, not paying any mind to the other dancers as you quickly stuffed the cash away and made your way back into the club and passed the time on a few laps before making your way up to the man. He slid his address in with a wad of twenties and you spent a song or two in his lap before rushing to change and leave.

You hailed a cab and met him back at his apartment.

With that single night, that simple exchange, began your secret hustle– right under Pete’s nose. 

The following weeks became a dangerous dance of their own. You honed your art of your side hustle. You began to keep a mental note of regulars that eyed you with the specific, desperate hunger; the ones who had more money than sense and a certain distaste for Pete’s heavy-handed management. With folded bills containing addresses and phone numbers, the whispers of something more and thick envelopes pressed into your palm at the end of your nights, your stash began to grow. 

You had to be careful how you spent your money, having excuses at the ready when you showed up with new outfits and shoes, passing it off as second-hand or cheap online purchases. For the first time in a long time, you felt a shred of agency; you were no longer having to beg, no longer having to be a victim of Pete’s scraps– you were creating a life of your own. However, the risk grew with every encounter, having to be wary about where you met them, how you kept in contact, keeping yourself hidden from them inside the club. 

The most dangerous part though, wasn’t the logistics; it was the change in your own demeanor. As the list grew, so did your confidence. The desperation that once made you easy to intimidate was quickly replaced and you started to look at Pete with a secret, mocking amusement and no longer with fear. 

Friday night was a blur of shimmering pale blue lace and the suffocating scent of cigars. Pete had suggested the outfit, claiming he just knew the attention it would attract and sadly, he was right. It drew in a specific breed of predatory men. You felt less like a dancer and more like a piece of sordid art that was subjected to lingering touches and hungry whispers. You spent time moving booth to booth, lap to lap, your movements fluid and hesitant, playing your usual role of the trembling innocent to practiced perfection while counting the seconds until the night was over.

As the night progressed, you made your way back downstairs, heading over to the bar to grab a drink of water when you caught the eye of possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen; the kind of man people wrote about, the type that you thought couldn’t possibly exist. 

The man was an absolute mountain of a human being.

He had to be an easy six-foot-nine, he towered ridiculously over the other men at the bar, his broad shoulders blocking out the purple lights behind him, casting a halo around him. His open flannel showed off his tight black shirt, stretched thin over his muscle. His face was set in a stony, grumpy expression until he noticed you were looking right back at him which made him break out in a grin as you stepped closer to him. You took in the thick beard, long hair and sucked in a sharp breath as a warmth spread over your stomach. 

You smiled shyly up at him and offered out your hand to him, and happily let yourself be guided into his space as he spoke in a low rumble which vibrated in your chest.

‘’You’re the new one,’’ He stated, wetting his lips as he pulled you closer.

The smell of expensive sandalwood and aged leather clung to him, making your head spin as he leaned down to hear you in the deafening noise of the club. 

‘’Hi,’’ You said breathlessly, ‘’I’m Sugar.’’

Amongst the few people Curtis trusts, Gilliam is the only one who has anything akin to court experience.

"I would recommend you marry one of the nobles," he suggests. "The people will see it as you showing an interest in the kingdom itself and the nobles will appreciate some level of status quo. A usurper king who marries a foreign bride is seen as not interested in his own people."

"A bride..." Curtis grumbles.

A mate, the beast thinks.

"We can have each duchy bring their tribute, swear their oaths of fealty. If they're smart, they'll send their daughters to help present those gifts. I'll choose from them."

"Good plan, Your Majesty," Tanya teases. "And I can get you more information on the ladies the day before; who's polite, who can kiss my ass. That sort of thing."

"Good thinking," Curtis nods, hiding how his inner beast is practically frothing at the idea of a mate.

"You're not going!" Father orders. "The new king is rumored to be a beast, a monster! How can I send my daughter, my only child, into his claws?"

"I have to go, Father," you argue, trying to keep your voice level. "You need to stay because Duke Snyder is trying to push you out. If you go to the palace, he'll seize the opportunity. We don't know anything about this new king so we can't trust he'll support you should Snyder make a move "

Father's shoulders slacken in defeat.

"I wish your mother were here to go with you," he sighs.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, Father looks you in the eyes. "I will send the best of guard with you," he promises. "You are my greatest treasure. I will see you safe."

"Thank you, Father. I will get things ready for the trip "

Despite the risks you were far more afraid of King Everett than the journey. Father sent you along under the protection Sir Conrad, well versed in combat and loyal to his last breath. Initially you were supposed to go with both Conrad and his half brother Pine but you insisted Pine stay with Father. He will need the protection and insight of the older brother. And the journey wasn't so far that you worried about Conrad and his small squad becoming too tired to keep you safe.

For added protection you were dressed up as a young man. Should any ask, you were soldiers doing your duty and bringing your Duke's tithe to the new king. The britches are a bit uncomfortable but you're grateful for the protection from prying eyes.

As you make camp the first night you feel truly helpless. You can't assemble a tent. You don't know how to make a fire and you can barely cook. The best you can do is simply stay out of the way.

Then you notice the berry bushes. They're low to the ground, easy to miss. Perhaps you can gather some and share them with your protectors.

Kneeling in front of the bushes you ask in a whisper, "may I be allowed to pick some of your berries? My friends and I would love to try them as they taste much better than travel rations." Many would consider you crazy but you're not one to give up wisdom your mother taught you before her passing.

Several berries drop and you make sure to thank the bushes before gathering them up. Though Sir Conrad warns you against going off alone again, he does not begrudge your addition to the night's meal.

The next day's journey is cut short by a rainstorm. It's too dangerous to travel and camp must be made up early. It's slow, wet, tiring work and the rains are too heavy to light a fire to warm up with.

In the privacy of your own tent you shiver in just your undergarments as you manage to light a lamp. Your blankets are a small comfort as you force yourself to drink water and eat some of the travel rations. All you can do is wait for the rain to let up.

Amidst the thunderous rain you hear mewling cries and they're getting closer.

Carefully you take a peek through the flaps of your tent. It could be a predator luring you in, but it could also be a poor creature in need of shelter. You need to keep the light from the lantern minimal for your safety and dignity.

As the mewling gets louder you're able to make out a baby fox.

"Oh you poor thing," you gently call to it. "Please, share my tent. We'll get you to your mother when the rain stops."

Lifting the tent flap more, the kit is drawn to the light of the lamp and quickly joins you.

"Here, I have some food as well. Not as good as fresh game, I know. But you'll need your strength if you're going to find your mama."

The kit accepts the food offered, seeming to eat it too fast to taste.

"Let me get one of my cloaks so we can try to dry you off. Must be hard to keep warm when you're soaked."

After you've dried off the little fox to the best of your ability it curls up in your lap and falls asleep. You feel honored and hum it a lullaby you remember your mother singing to you.

"Your Grace! We need to get an early start on the day to make up for yesterday."

Conrad's voice pierces through your slumber and you quickly sit up.

"I'm up! Give me just a few minutes to dress!"

As you get up to get dressed you quickly look around for the kit only to see that it's gone. You're disappointed but hopeful that, once the rain stopped, it went and found its mother.

It isn't until late in the morning, well on your way to the castle, that you spot fox and her three kits. Your heart leaps at the thought that one of them was the one you shared your tent with.

For Lloyd, that meant more work and less play, and he was not happy about that at all. So he devised a plan to ease the king's temper. If there was one thing Lloyd knew, it was that the king needed to get laid and to have someone to care about. Despite being the ruthless king of the demon realm, Lloyd had been there when the king and his betrothed were together, and the king showed a softer side, and a more even temper, back then.

But another problem was also that, since the betrayal, the king had refused to consider an alliance with any of the other factions that inhabited the demon realm. So Lloyd had done the only thing he could, and looked to other realms, close to the demon one.

No demon alive today had been there when the veil between the realms had been thin enough to pass through regularly, but many attributed that to the demon's humanoid bodies. The fact that humans and demons could mate and produce viable offspring both Lloyd and the demon king were living proof of.

And as such, the demon Lloyd looked to the human world. And he found you.

You stand still just inside the door to the apartment you share with two other people. The air is suffocatingly hot outside, and you looked forward to the cool air inside as you walked home. Except your roommates are having a party, with the windows wide open for people to smoke from. It's as hot inside as outside. You're already sweating through your shirt, blazer, and skirt, and you want to take a long, cool shower, but not when there are twenty other people in the apartment.

You make your way through the throng towards your door, happy that you locked it before going to work. Some of your things have started to disappear lately. Inside, with the door locked once again, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a tad cooler in your room with the blinds pulled and the window closed. You turn on the fan and stand in the breeze while taking off your clothes and throwing them in the hamper. No reusing those for another day. You need to do laundry too, if you want to have something to wear to work at the end of the week. Exhausted, you lay on the bed in just your underwear, limbs spread, waiting for the fan to cool your heated skin.

Everything seems to crash into you all at once. Your shitty work day, your stealing roommates, the never-ending tirade of chores, the unbearable heat you won’t be able to escape until winter, and then the apartment will be freezing cold instead. Tears run down the side of your face. Also, there is a gaping hole in your chest from feeling lonely. There are only so many romance books a girl can read before starting to long for that kind of connection of her own, and you really want a connection like that. You just want someone who cares about you and wants you, despite all your flaws. “Is that really too much to ask?” you say out loud to no one in particular.

“Of course it’s not,” a voice answers, startling you up from your bed. Standing by your desk is a man, dressed smartly in well-fitting clothes with a mustache that could be from an eighties porno, with his hair combed back. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy your roommates would hang out with.

“Who are you?” you ask, voice trembling with fear, throwing your arms up to cover your exposed chest as you back as far away from him as you can, but in the small room, you don’t get far. You’re sure you locked the door behind you. The man must have been in your room before you entered, hiding somewhere, and now he’s going to rape and kill you. The music is blaring from the party. No one is going to hear you scream. You eye the door, but you have to pass him to get to it. The window is not a quick escape since it’s closed.

“I’m Lloyd,” the man answers, and you realize just then how tall he is, a good bit over two meters. “And I’m here to take you somewhere better.” You’re frozen stiff. “No,” you manage to press out. “I can assure you that no harm will come to you, if that eases your mind,” he says, and you notice that his eyes seem to be unnaturally blue, almost glowing. “What?” “You will not be harmed, you have my word.” “I don’t understand,” you say, more tears are running down your face now. The man is clearly insane.

“There is no need to cry, you will have a much better life than whatever this is,” he says, looking around your room with clear distaste. “I guess humans like their earthly belongings, so if it makes you feel any better, we can take all of it with us.” Then he holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go.” But you don’t move, you can’t, fear is gripping your chest so hard you can barely breathe.

When he takes a step closer to you, your body suddenly switches to flight mode. With a burst of adrenaline, you go for the door, needing to try at least to save yourself. You feel an arm band around your waist, and the world turns upside down and somehow also inside out. It’s like you're on a roller coaster for zero point one second, screaming as you drop down into nothing, before you’re suddenly in a room again, except it’s completely different from before.

“What in the actual fuck,” you say, before throwing up.

Demon king Curtis stalks through the winding corridors of the ever-changing castle on his way back to his room. He needs a drink and to not see anyone else for a good long while. All day, he’s spent dealing with emissaries from the nearby realms, trying to negotiate trade deals so his people can continue to thrive, but all their offers involve some kind of marriage, and he is not doing that. He shouldn’t even be in those meetings. It’s Lloyd’s task to manage that, but Lloyd claimed he was busy. Whatever the fuck that means.

Think of the demon, and he shall appear, Curtis thinks as he nears his room, because waiting outside is Lloyd, with one of those shit-eating grins that can only mean trouble. “What have you done now?” Curtis asks, irritation thick in his tone. “Only what I deemed necessary.” “That can’t be good, then.” “We’ll see,” Lloyd’s smile widens, and then continues, “There is a present waiting for you in your room, and I hope it will bring you much joy.”

After staring at Lloyd a moment longer, Curtis opens the door with some trepidation. A present from Lloyd could mean anything, literally, and he isn’t sure he would like any of it. To his surprise, he finds a woman standing in the middle of the floor. A red band covers your eyes, while a soft robe drapes your body, tied at the waist. Curtis can feel the nervousness radiating off of you, and you jump when he closes the door.

Walking up to you, he takes you in more carefully, noticing that without a doubt, you are human. It’s an odd present coming from Lloyd. A human woman. But he also can’t help but notice how the robe hangs off your voluptuous body in a way that makes his mouth water. Even if it’s Lloyd’s doing, Curtis is king for a reason, and a present never comes without an ulterior motive.

“Who are you?” Curtis asks, and you jump again, before stuttering out your name. “What are you doing here?” is his next question. “Your… friend, Lloyd, was in my apartment. He brought me here. He said you needed a… companion.” “And what’s in it for you, human?” You swallow. “I don’t know. No work? No chores? I won’t be lonely anymore.” Curtis can sense no lies in your words. “And Lloyd said that… that you’d bring me pleasure.” Curtis can’t help but give a small laugh. “And what if I just kill you instead, human?”

You stiffen even more, if possible. “Lloyd said I wouldn’t be harmed,” you manage to answer, voice tight with fear. “Did he now. You’re under his protection?” Curtis glances back at the door, and for a second, thinks of calling for the other demon to make him explain, but if he knows Lloyd right, the demon is already gone. “I guess,” you confirm.

Curtis muses on that for a moment. It’s not that he wants to hurt you or kill you, but he is big even by demon standards, taller than Lloyd, and his touch could break your bones. “He gave me a ring,” you hold up your hand and show Curtis a black band around your middle finger. “He said it would protect my body, make it strong enough to withstand whatever you’d want to do with me.”

Now, the faint smell of arousal rises from you. You clearly don’t know what's good for you, but that only makes Curtis want you more. “And what else did Lloyd tell you about me?” “That you’re the demon king, ruler over this realm, and that you’ve been alone for a very long time. And that you won’t hurt me.” Curtis hums and reaches for your face, dragging his finger over your cheek, but you don’t flinch or pull back. The fear coming from you actually lessens. “No, I won’t hurt you,” he promises. “Remove your robe for me, my sacrificial lamb.”

With surprisingly steady fingers, you undo the knot and let the robe fall open, revealing your body that he’d only guessed at, and it’s far from disappointing. As the robe floats to the floor, Curtis takes you in, now only covered in a bra and underwear. Your breasts will fit perfectly in his hands, he knows right away, and his face will fit just as well between your plush thighs. With all your soft curves on display, there is no keeping Curtis’s cock from hardening.

That a human would undo him is hard to believe, but you seem to be removed from the politics of the demon realm, and therefore, he decides to take a chance and accept the offering given to him. You’re here because you don’t want to be lonely, and Curtis is quite fed up with that himself. It’s been a long time since he felt lust as he does now.

He lets his finger go up to your blindfold. “Let’s get this off so you can see what the king of the demon realm looks like, before I take you to bed, lamb.” He slips it off your face, but your eyes are squeezed shut. “Are you sure my face won’t melt off when I see you?” Curtis chuckles, “I’m quite sure.”

The light in the room is not bright, but your eyes still take some time to adjust from being closed. When you finally see the demon king, you have a hard time taking it all in.

He looks human-ish, except for his height and the horns on his head. They sprout from his forehead, curving back over his skull and the short buzz, before curving back up and slightly forward again, sharp points pointing upwards. It just adds to his height, and he is the tallest person you’ve ever seen, and you thought Lloyd was big. He is best described as massive, with thick, broad shoulders and a wide torso left bare to reveal hard muscle beneath a scattering of dark hair.

After you took a bath and got new clothes, Lloyd had been kind enough to conjure a picture of the demon king while he explained everything, and you thought Curtis looked good then. But up close, he's gorgeous, and so big your knees feel weak from both nerves and arousal. So what if the majority of your romance books on the shelves had monsters in them?

“Hi,” you manage to croak out. He smiles, and you're relieved that he doesn't have sharp teeth; neither does he have claws or cloven hoofs. “Hello, my sacrificial lamb,” he reaches out his hand, and you take it. His skin is much warmer than a human's, but not uncomfortably. With a yank, he pulls you into his body, right into his bare upper body.

You look up into his face, and his eyes glow with the same eerie blue that Lloyd’s did. Power and strength radiate from him, but you're not afraid. This whole thing is crazy and fucked up, but if you don't take it at its word, you're going to drive yourself insane.

Therefore, to calm your mind, you place a chaste kiss against Curtis' skin and tell yourself it's going to be alright. Strong hands close around your waist, and you're suddenly lifted. A shriek escapes you because you've never been lifted before. Sure, some dudes have tried, but it mostly ended with them grunting with failure and you feeling miserable. Curtis does it effortlessly. He only says, “Come up here and do that instead,” with a wicked grin.

As you're face-to-face with him, you realize he is even more gorgeous up close. You wrap your legs around his body, and he holds you with one hand on your ass, while the other grips the back of your neck. A low rumble seems to come from Curtis' chest. “Your ass fits perfectly in my hand, it's like you were made for me, my lamb.”

You stroke your hands over his face, feeling the scruff of his beard, making his rumble louder, which you think means he likes it. The grip on your neck hardens, and a second later, he's pressing your mouth against his.

He's not shy about kissing you in any way; he knows what he wants, and he takes it, opening your mouth, exploring with his tongue, which is human-like, if a bit more pointed. You wind your arms around his neck, holding on as he starts walking towards a bed that is bigger than any you’ve seen before. But you're not surprised since Curtis is so big. He sits down on the edge with you in his lap, straddling him, and the unmistakable feeling of his bulge presses right into your cunt.

You want to blame the fact that it's been a long time since a man touched you, and that's the reason why you're already so horny and wet. But it's not. It's everything about Curtis. The way he feels, smells, and tastes. And the way he handles you like you weigh nothing.

Experimentally, you grind down, and when Curtis moans into the kiss, the whole room seems to vibrate with it. You find you need to ask an important question, though, before this goes any further.

“How…,” but you feel a little embarrassed at asking. He raises an eyebrow. “How is it gonna fit?“ A slow smile creeps up his face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Don't worry, my lamb. I will make it fit.” That shouldn't turn you on even more, but it does. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a moan unbidden falls from your lips. With a growl, Curtis flips you onto the bed, then tears the bra and panties from your body, leaving you naked and exposed.

“Does my lamb like that idea?” he asks as he kneels between your spread legs. But he's not looking at your cunt, he's keeping eye contact with you as he picks up your foot, kissing your ankle. You have a hard time forming words, even thoughts, so you just nod as he moves higher up your leg with kisses and licks. “Do you want me to force my demon cock into your human cunt? Want me to watch as you struggle to take it?” Ashamed, you hide your face in your hands before nodding again. “I'll have to thank Lloyd for finding the filthiest little lamb in the human realm for me,” he chuckles. His kisses stop in the middle of your thigh, and you peek from your fingers to see why.

Now his gaze is glued to your exposed cunt, his chest heaving heavily, the grip on your leg hardening. Without looking away, he commands, “Clench.” For a second, you're confused, and then you do what he wants, clenching the muscles in your vagina. As you do, more wetness leaks out. “I'm going to enjoy ruining that wet cunt after I've feasted on it,” he says, letting go of your leg and lying down on the bed.

His massive hands spread you open, but he's not hurting you; he's careful with his touch, you can tell that, despite your mind being overrun by lust. The moment his mouth lands on you, all thoughts go out of your head, though. There is only the feel of his tongue and lips, exploring all the most sensitive parts of you. His eyes are closed, and there is a content, constant hum coming from him. You try to keep your eyes on him, because he looks divine nestled between your full thighs, but he's doing things you've longed for, and it's hard not to sink back into the bed and just let him do what he wants until you break.

He suckles on your clit, using his tongue to play with it, before sliding his mouth down and pressing his thick, long tongue into your channel, over and over again, driving you insane with pleasure.

You're scrambling for something to hold onto. The sheets on the bed aren't enough, and you want to touch him, but you're not sure you're allowed to touch his horns, and you're not coherent enough to ask. But still, your hands creep down your body, itching to feel him, and before you know it, your hands close around the ribbed surface of the horns, right as he does something devilish with his mouth, and you use the grip to pull him even closer and grind against his mouth.

He looks up at you, and your eyes meet for a second. Your chest rises and falls, but he doesn't look mad. “It feels so good,” you say, almost pleading, even though he's giving you everything. He hums in response, because he can't talk with his mouth so closely pressed to you, before continuing like before.

When a thick finger slides into you, searching, then finding, there is no way for you to hinder the orgasm crashing into you. With a strangled cry, you come around Curtis' finger and against his mouth. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure envelopes you until the only thing you feel is the point of contact, where his finger is still working you over, and his tongue plays with your bundle of sensitive nerves. And he doesn't stop, even when it starts to become too much, and you whimper instead. When you try to push at his head and move away, he simply pulls you back.

For every orgasm after that he pulls from you; you get more delirious, but something is missing. Even with two fingers in you now, fucking you in times with his tongue, you want more. “Curtis,” you plead, again, “I need more!“ He pulls back, kissing your cunt one last time, before sitting back on his knees. His mouth and chin are wet with you, and he licks his lips as he undoes his pants.

Curtis’ cock is, well, it's a monster, bigger than anything you've had before, bigger than your toys, and fucking gorgeous. You're scared and aroused at the same time. His massive hand closes around it, stroking it a few times, and precum leaks freely from the tip. At least it's one; you've read books where the main male characters have had two, and you're not ready for that yet.

“The ring will protect you,” Curtis says, his voice tight, clearly holding himself back. “It will only be good for you. Now turn over, on your knees, head down.” You do as he says, nervous energy fluttering in your chest despite your previous orgasms. Curtis places a steadying hand on your ass, and you take a deep breath as you feel the nudge of the big cockhead against your opening.

The ring might protect you from splitting in two, but it doesn't take away the feel of the delicious stretch as Curtis pushes into you. Your body somehow gives, and there is no pain, only pleasure. He takes his time. You can hear him breathing heavily behind you, and if you look over your shoulder, his eyes are fixed at the point of connection, watching your body swallow inch after inch of his cock, until he bottoms out with an almost painful groan.

He leans forward and grabs one of your hands, guiding it in under your body and pressing it up against your soft stomach, until you feel what he wants you to feel—the bulge of him. “It fits perfectly, my lamb. You're filled to the brim with me now.”

“I- I love it!” you confess, and you keep your hand there as he starts fucking you, feeling the bulge in your belly over and over again. His heavy balls slap against your exposed cunt with every thrust, and it's so sensitive from previous orgasms that you're quickly on the brink of another again.

“I feel you, lamb, pulsing around me. Are you going to come with a demon's cock in your tight cunt?” “Yes, Curtis!” you answer with a moan. Suddenly, you hear him spit, and cool saliva hits your skin, right against your asshole. A moment later, Curtis' big thumb enters you there, too.

It's simply too much for you. You come like you've never come before, cursing and screaming, losing all strength in your body. Your arms and upper body lie limply against the sheets, drool seeps from your mouth, as Curtis continues to fuck you. It's a miracle you can stay on your knees, but you do it for him, because it continues even after, the pleasure he brings you over and over again never stops. It could be the fact that you're in a whole other realm, or it could be because of Curtis, or maybe both. He's unstoppable, pulling many more orgasms from you, until your head is empty of any other thoughts than that of his touch. But finally, it's his time too.

The walls of the chamber rattle and shake the louder his moans get, things fall from shelves, and you hear glass breaking somewhere. With an inhuman growl, he flips you onto your back, and then he comes inside you with a roar until it overflows, and he pulls out to continue coming over your stomach and tits, painting you and marking you with his seed. “Mine,” he says, over and over again.

Curtis' eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn't want to sleep. Even though you're already snoring softly in his arms, he doesn't want to look away from you, his lamb. His chest has felt so hollow for such a long time, so it's a strange feeling to now have it filled with contentment and a bit of happiness.

"No, you don't," you said honestly, rising from the couch and padding over. You stopped right in front of Curtis, pressing a hand to his broad, beefy chest and brushing a kiss to his cheek above his beard. "You look hot,” you murmured in his ear, letting your voice go husky with desire.

"No, you look hot," Curtis muttered, grabbing your ass in his big hands and hauling you into his strong arms. "Don't think I didn't notice the flap in the back, doe—you better believe I'll be fucking you bent over on the couch before the night's through."

With a breathy giggle, you pressed your soft curves flush against the hard lines of his body, feeling his cock thicken and grow between you until he was hot and hard against your stomach. Smirking, you rubbed yourself against Curtis shamelessly, feeling his hard length twitch with need. 

"Mm, don't threaten me with a good time, bear," you purred before giving him a deep, lingering kiss. 

Heat built between the two of you as the kiss went on for a small age. Curtis groaned when he slipped his tongue into your hot mouth, his hands groping your ass shamelessly while you rubbed your body enticingly against his. Already, you were as wet for him as he was hard for you—and you were eager for more.

Before you could decide what exactly you wanted to do with your man, though, Curtis pulled away with a growl of frustration, his pale face flushed pink. He yanked at the collar of his pajamas, swearing. "Jesus, do these things have to be so warm, I feel like 'm suffocating."

His words gave you an idea and you jumped into action, tugging at the zipper beneath his chin. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Oh so slowly, you bared his broad, hairy chest for your hungry eyes. There was so much pale skin and dark hair, so much soft flesh and hard muscle, that you felt your desire dripping down your thighs. But still, you kept going, revealing more and more of your boyfriend’s body.

When you lowered yourself to your knees, Curtis finally seemed to catch on to what you had planned and his eyes darkened, his hands falling to your head. He held you like you were something precious, his fingers brushing reverently over your cheeks and chin as he stared down into your upturned face.

“You had this planned all along, didn’t you, doe?” Curtis teased, his voice low and gruff like an animal’s growl. “Get me all hot ’n bothered, then suck me off so I won’t change out of this fucking onesie.”

You tugged his zipper the rest of the way down, then reached inside the warm flannel to pull out his thick cock. He was already leaking precum and you ducked your head forward to lick it up like it was a dripping ice cream cone, reveling in the low groan Curtis let out.

"Maybe," you teased right back, pressing a kiss to the underside of his hard length and closing your eyes as you breathed him in. You loved the smell of him, warm and musky and all Curtis. When you opened your eyes again, they were glassy and unfocused as you looked up at your man. "Is it working?"

“Fuck, better than it should be," Curtis confessed, his head hanging low and his eyes going impossibly dark as he watched you press kisses all over his cock. “Jesus, just look at you, doe, so pretty on your knees for me.” His fingers shook slightly as he stroked your cheeks affectionately, making you smile. 

For the moment, Curtis was content to leave you to your own devices. He simply watched you with that dark, hungry gaze of his while you worshipped his cock with your lips and tongue, getting him nice and wet with your spit and kisses. 

His sounds of pleasure were music to your ears, and you were eager for more, so you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock and took him into the tight heat of your mouth. Curtis moaned, low in his throat, his fingers flexing against the sides of your face as he fought to let you remain in control.

You worked his cock deep into you throat, bobbing on the shaft and taking him just a little bit more with every inhale. After a few moments of this, your nose finally brushed the hair at the base of Curtis’s cock, and the edges of your mouth curved upward in a pleased smile. 

Looking up at your man, you found Curtis nearly undone above you, chest heaving with heavy breaths, his eyes dark with a feral kind of lust. His handsome face was twisted into an expression of pure desire, and you felt his fingers tremble that much harder against your cheeks as he kept his control on a tight leash. 

But you were ready for that tether to snap. You wanted your bear of a man to let loose and take what he needed from your mouth, so you braced your hands on his thick thighs and peered up at him with wide eyes. Then you hummed, the vibrations of your throat making Curtis’s cock twitch violently in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he cursed viciously. "Want me to fuck that pretty throat, doe?" he rumbled, brushing a tear from your cheek that had fallen from the corner of your eye. 

Even though he was practically shaking with need, Curtis waited until you nodded your head as best you could before he finally gave in to the beast inside him.

In a split second, Curtis grabbed your head in a firm grip, bracing you between his hands while he pulled his hips back, until only the tip of his cock remained on your tongue. Then he shunted forward, burying his thick cock back in your throat with one brutal thrust, his balls slapping against your chin, which was already coated in drool.

“That’s it, fucking take it, doe. Take my cock deep in that tight throat,” Curtis growled, pounding into your mouth with a ruthless strength, making you gag as tears streamed down your cheeks. “Choke on it, baby, choke on my fat cock.”

Since he had such a good grip on your head, there was nothing for you to do but take his cock as he skull-fucked you—and you fucking loved it. You knew you that if you pinched his thigh, he would’ve stopped immediately, but you were happy right where you were. 

There was something so glorious about seing Curtis Everett completely unleashed.

It made your own slick desire drip from your cunt, and you moaned around Curtis’s pounding cock, drawing a grunt from the big man, who fucked your mouth harder.

“You’re so pretty crying on my cock, doe, y’know that?” he cooed down at you, his voice a deliciously patronizing growl as he rubbed your tears and spit into your skin. “Such a pretty, slutty little mess.”

You moaned, long and low, around Curtis’s thick cock, and he rumbled a pleased sound low in his chest. It felt so good to let him use you that your hips began rocking, humping the open air between your spread thighs, trying desperately to rub your clit on the seam of the pajamas with no luck. 

“Shit, fuck,” Curtis cursed, catching what you were doing at his feet, his eyes growing sharp and intent on your body as his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Your throat feels good, doe, but do you know what I really want?”

A second later, Curtis pulled his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, and then he was hauling you up from your knees and tossing you onto the couch. 

You bounced once, gurgling a gasp as you tried to catch your breath, your head hazy with pleasure, before Curtis was grabbing your hips and flipping you over onto your hands and knees. Your cheek pressed against the couch cushions while he ripped open the flap covering your bare ass. 

Without anymore warning, Curtis shoved the full length of his cock into your needy, dripping cunt, and you pressed your face into the cushions and screamed your pleasure. The stretch of his girth in your tight hole, the hot, heavy weight of him inside your slick hole—it was glorious.

"Fuuuuck, that's good,” Curtis groaned, pulling his hips back and slamming forward, wrenching another cry from your parted lips. 

You turned your face to the side, panting with pleasure as he began to ramp up his thrusts, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the room.

"Sooo good," you agreed in a slurred, blissed out voice. 

You were right where you wanted to be, ass up and head down, your cheek pressed against the couch cushions so you could watch over your shoulder as your man rutted into you like a beast. 

His teeth bared in a feral grin, Curtis curled his big body around yours, his chest to your back, and wrapped his hand around your throat, tucking your head against his shoulder. Then he set a brutal pace, fucking you hard and fast, his hips clapping against your ass in a cacophony of pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you right on the precipice of your release, your entire body wound tight, only needing another little push to send you crashing over the edge. 

"Cum on my cock, doe, give it to me,” Curtis growled in your ear, choking you with his big hand. “I want to feel you cumming all over my dick before I fill you up." His other hand slipped between your thighs and rubbed your clit over your matching pajamas. "Fucking cum for me."

The dam of your pleasure burst and you came with a choked scream, pleasure crashing over your body violently, making you shudder and shake and weep in his arms. It was all you could do to cling to your man as you weathered the storm of ecstasy as you came.

Curtis followed you over the edge a moment later, pumping you full of his cum while your pussy sucked him deeper, milking him dry. He fucked you through your releases, brushing sweet kisses to your cheeks, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle softly, your throat feeling raw and ravaged.

Once both of you were spent, Curtis gently pulled free from your body and closed the flap of your pajamas, ducking down to press a kiss to the base of your spine—a promise of another round later in the evening. Then he tucked his cock away and zipped himself up to his belly.

Your legs were still shaking when Curtis pulled you into his lap and cuddled you tight, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You threaded your fingers through his beard and held him close, kissing your man until your lungs were aching for air.

“Told you matching pajamas would be fun, bear,” you murmured huskily when you finally pulled away, looking up into Curtis’s handsome face with a pleased smile on your lips.

Curtis Everett had the grace to admit when you were right, and he nodded solemnly. “I’ll wear matching pajamas any time you want, doe,” he promised, stealing a quick kiss before he tucked your head under his chin and held you tight. “Especially if it always ends like this.”

Being here at Rogers Academy, again, was bad enough—a nightmare, actually—but when you’d learned Mr. Everett was your adviser this term, your heart had sunk even lower. You knew there wasn’t a good option, but as far as you were concerned, Mr. Everett was maybe the worst. Your previous classmates would say you were crazy. They’d say that of course your last adviser, Mr. Hansen, was so much worse. But just because Everett wasn’t as loud as Hansen, that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as cruel, maybe even worse. He had the hardest eyes you’d ever seen, unyielding. And he used silence in a way you could feel. Plus, perhaps most importantly, he’d never liked you. Last term, his classes had been the ones you’d dreaded the most. He made you uneasy in a way you couldn’t quite explain. But whenever you were in his vicinity, you could feel his cold eyes on you. Unrelenting. And the more you felt his attention on you, the more nervous you got, the more mistakes you made, and the more you disappointed him. You couldn’t win with him. And now he was your adviser.

There was nothing you wanted to do less than go into this office. But you knew the longer you left it, especially if you were late, the worse it would get. So, you raised a shaky hand and knocked on the door.

“In,” a gruff voiced called from inside. So, you turned the knob and forced yourself into the office, shutting the door behind you.

You only took a few steps in, stopping next to one of the chairs in front of his desk. You didn’t take a seat. You didn’t look around. You just stood with your head down and waited.

He didn’t acknowledge you. You could hear him typing. Working on something more important. You took a deep breath to try to steady yourself, hopefully not too loudly.

Finally, the typing stopped. Silence descended over the room. You didn’t look up. You didn’t dare to. But you could feel his eyes boring into you. It took everything in you not to fidget. Your nerves went up with every minute he didn’t say anything.

It was an age before he finally spoke.  “So,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain, “you’re back.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud you’d call attention to yourself. You let your eyes drift up from the floor to his top shirt button, but no higher. Eye contact without permission wouldn’t be rewarded. And you were too afraid to meet his eyes anyway.

He leaned forward in his chair. He still hadn’t given you permission to sit. “You actually gonna try this time?”

“I tried last time,” you said meekly, defending yourself even though you knew it was useless.

“You did?” he asked, full of mocking surprise. “You tried so hard you failed?”

“Mr. Barber’s the hardest grader–“ you started but were quickly cut off.

“No, don’t do that. Barber had nothing to do with it. You failed because you’re too stupid and lazy to pass a simple test. And now we have to deal with you again.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to be here again. Between him and your brother, everyone acted like this was your choice. But you’d been automatically re-enrolled the moment you’d failed your exam without anyone asking what you thought about that. Your brother had been furious with you. Your failure had messed up all the arrangements he’d been trying to make for you. And now he had to pay for another term here. At a discounted rate, but still. You’d never hear the end of it until you were settled in someone else’s home as their obedient wife. At least you wouldn’t be here.

“I talked to Barber about your final,” Curtis continued. “He said your meal was atrocious. Remind me, who teaches Kitchen Skills here?”

You swallowed hard. Shit. “You do, sir.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I do, don’t I? So, you gonna try to blame me next? Did I not teach you well enough?”

There was a dangerous edge to his voice that you weren’t sure how to navigate. You couldn’t say that he made you so nervous it was hard to pay attention in his class. You couldn’t say that Mr. Barber had inspected your food so fiercely that you weren’t sure how anyone would pass. You couldn’t say that you just weren’t good at it and were afraid that nothing would change that.

All you were left with was “I did try, sir.”

He scoffed loudly and stood up, walking around his desk to you. “Sure. And how about today? Did you try today?” Then he blatantly looked you up and down in a way that made you shiver.

“Yes, sir,” you said, proud of yourself that you didn’t flinch back as he took another step forward so that he was right in front of you. So that there was barely any space in between you.

“Hmm,” he hummed. Then he abruptly bent down and tugged on the bottom of your skirt, hard. “Your hem is uneven.” He kicked at one of your feet, causing you to wobble dangerously in your heels. “That shoe is scuffed.” Then he grabbed your face with one hand, pressing his thumb into your lips. “And this,” he said, disgusted, as he swiped his thumb to the side, smearing your lipstick across your cheek, “is too dark. You look like a whore.” He took a step back to lean on the edge of his desk. “You’re a fucking mess. But I’m supposed to believe that you tried.”

You tried to hold yourself together. You knew you shouldn’t let the rough handling get to you. But you couldn’t help yourself. As much as you tried to blink them away, you felt the tears fall down your face.

He rolled his eyes. “And here come the crocodile tears,” he sneered. “Right on schedule.” You ducked your head as your face heated up. You tried to surreptitiously wipe both the tears and lipstick off your face, but he halted you with a firm “Stop.” He sighed as he shifted his weight to fully sit on the edge of his desk. He wiped one hand over his mouth. “God, what the fuck are we supposed to do with you? Huh? We both know you won’t pass this time either, so what’s the fucking point?”

You swallowed nervously. As awful as it was to be here, not being here would be worse. If all you had on your record was a failure, then if your brother was even able to find a match for you, it’d be without a doubt worse than if you’d never been enrolled here to begin with. More likely, he wouldn’t be able to find anyone to take you off his hands, and if he let you stay, he’d only grow to resent you as he got his own well-behaved wife and began to grow his family. And if he didn’t, if he kicked you out, well. You’d need to figure out how to fend for yourself. And you shuddered to think what that might entail.

“I can pass this time, Sir.” It came out as a whisper, without nearly as much conviction as you wanted. Because you didn’t have any. Only desperation.

He let out a loud, joyless, mean laugh. “Really? You think so? After you’ve just tried to convince me that you already tried your hardest last year? How exactly are you going to do that?” And then he fixed you with a look so intense, so demanding, so cruel, that the only thing you could do was drop your gaze to the floor. “Pumpkin,” he called to you, but you still didn’t look up. “Why did you fail your final exam?”

“Um…” You swallowed again, hands twitching at your sides, “Mr. Barber-“

“No,” he cut you off, stern. “Why did you fail your final?”

“I- um, I- I don’t know.”

“Pumpkin, why did you fail your final exam?”

His voice was so insistent, you felt like it was rattling around inside your head. At the sound of it, something that had been coiled tight inside of you ever since you’d gotten your results finally released. “Because I wasn’t good enough,” you answered, voice so small. “Because I’m not good enough.”

Curtis stood up, standing so close to you again. You flinched when he raised his hand, but he only wiped away a tear. “That’s right, Pumpkin. That’s exactly right. You aren’t good enough. And every single person here knows it. I’m glad you finally do too. So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I- I want to pass.”

“Oh, I know, Pumpkin. And, despite my better instincts, I’m gonna help you do it. I just need you to do one thing for me first.”

“What, sir?” you asked, finally daring to meet his eyes.

You only had half a second to register the smirk on his face before he said, “Beg me to help you.”

Your heart dropped in humiliation, but still, you didn’t hesitate. You’d do anything not to get kicked out of your brother’s house. “Please. Please, sir, I need you to help me.”

“Pumpkin,” he warned. “You know that’s not how good girls beg.”

You dropped to your knees so fast, there was an audible thud. You felt it in your knees. With your eyes fixed on Curtis’s shoes, you started, “Please–“ But before you could continue, his hand fisted in your hair and your head was yanked up so that you had to look at him. You swallowed anxiously at the look on his face but kept going. “Please. Please, sir. I need your help. Please help me. I–“ You’d been punished by him enough times before that you knew what he liked, what he wanted. What he expected. “I’m too much of a stupid slut to do this on my own. Please. Please help me. Please.”

The hand in your hair pulled your head back even harder before suddenly releasing. “You are a very stupid slut,” he said seriously, “but I’m going to help you anyway.” Your body flooded with relief as he leaned back on his desk again. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to meet with all of your instructors at least once a week to find out what kind of progress you’re making. If I hear anything disappointing, there will be consequences. You and I will also be meeting,” he tilted his head to the side briefly, in thought, “three times a week, to start with, I think, for private tutoring as you can’t seem to understand any of these concepts without it. But I expect you to pay full attention and make an effort. If you don’t, we’ll have a problem. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded quickly, still kneeling in front of him.

“And I’m not going to see you in the bottom half of the weekly rankings even once, am I? That should be impossible, seeing as you’ve already done this all before, right? But if you do, you won’t just have to deal with the normal consequences. No, there will be special ones, just between you and me. And I guarantee you won’t like them.”

You gulped. You didn’t doubt him for a moment. “Yes, sir,” you said as clearly as you could manage.

He stood up again, just taking one long stride before his hand was tangled in your hair again, pulling up so hard your back bowed. “And you’re not going to fail again. You will not embarrass me. If you do, you won’t just be expelled,” his grasp in your hair got tighter and he pulled you up even higher, and his voice dropped an octave, “you will have to deal with me personally.”

A wave of terror washed over you. This was why he was scarier than Hansen. He made everything personal. “I’ll pass, sir,” you whispered. “I will.” He let go of you and you fell backwards, then scrambled to get back into position.

“Yeah?” he sneered at you, still standing so close. “Sounds like I’ll be taking lots of time out of my busy schedule to make sure you do. You better be ready to show me some gratitude.”

You gulped. Of course. You should have been expecting this. You could do it. You learned last term that you could do a lot of things that you hadn’t thought before. With shaky hands, you reached for his belt buckle. But to your surprise, he slapped your hands away.

“No, you fucking slut. You haven’t earned my cock yet. But we can check your form, can’t we? See if you’re ready.” With that, he roughly grabbed the back of your head and with his other hand pressed two thick fingers against your lips. You opened your mouth for him immediately. “See?” He asked in a smooth, honeyed tone. “You aren’t too stupid to be a good girl after all.”

He pushed his fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue until saliva pooled. Then he began thrusting them slowly and methodically at first. You closed your lips around him, tucking them over your teeth, moved your tongue along the underside of his fingers. You tried to treat them like a cock, tried to make it good like you’d been taught. To prove to him that you could do this. You could be good. He didn’t need to punish you. Your eyes were glued to him, but his face was impassive, his eyes intense. You couldn’t tell if we was happy.

His thrusts got rougher and faster as he went. He hit the back of your throat, and you couldn’t stop yourself from gagging. He hummed in surprise. “Huh, would have thought Hansen would’ve gotten rid of your gag reflex last year. Well. Another thing to work on.” He pulled his hand away, saliva stretching from your mouth to his fingers. He wiped them off briskly on your cheek, adding to the mess of the lipstick, your mascara, and your tears.

“It’s lunchtime,” he said, going back to his desk. “But you need to go clean up first. Look at you. You’re a fucking disaster. You better do it fast if you want time to eat before your grooming evaluation with Hansen.” His face broke into a wide smile. “I know he’s going to be thrilled to see you.”

Your stomach dropped. Just because you were most scared of Curtis, that didn’t mean you weren’t also afraid of Mr. Hansen. Especially now that he had such a big reason to be upset with you.

Still kneeling on the floor, you tried to take a moment to gather your strength, your bravery, before you faced the rest of your day. But Curtis let out a loud “Out!” that had you racing to get off the floor and out of his office.

Once you were on the other side of his closed door, you leaned against the wall to take a breath. But then one of the hall monitors, Colin, walked by. “No loitering,” he called to you as he passed. And then he turned, so that he walked backwards, and looked you up and down, taking in your disheveled state. “Nice to see you again, Pumpkin. You better get cleaned up, don’t wanna get in trouble for a uniform violation.” He turned back around, but his laughter echoed down the hall as you rushed back to your room.

Last year, you would have sworn that things at Roger’s Academy couldn’t get any worse. You really were stupid, you thought, as you realized just how wrong you’d been.

Tag List

This is the wrong hotel to base a wild bachelorette party out of.

And you’ve clearly recognized your mistake as he observes you talking to one of the front desk agents checking in your party.

The lobby is a sea of sensible shoes and pastel windbreakers. Curtis can clocks eight mobility scooters parked in a neat row by the afternoon tea station, their owners trading stories about aching hips and grandchildren with alarming volume. The carpet is a repeating motif of fuchsia and turquoise shapes, gaudy enough to induce motion sickness, but your posse’s coordinated outfits actually fit right in with the loud colors.

The desk agent keeps assuring you that yes, the hospitality suite is set up for her use, yes, the adjoining rooms are stocked with extra towels and there’s a “cake station” in one of the suite per the reservation notes, but underscores that this is not a “party hotel,” and he has to enforce “quiet hours” after nine p.m.

You nod and sign the forms, clearly trying to pretend this is fine, undoubtedly trying to imagine how you’ll keep ten women entertained in a glorified bingo hall after the sun sets.

As the casino manager for the resort, Curtis was in the upper management meetings when its owner Ari Levinson discussed the deep discount weekends throughout January, February, and March to try and lure snowbirds back in to the senior-citizen-focused resort property. The weekend before Valentines had been discounted even more than most of the others.

He smirks from across the way when he sees you grimace as the agent hands you the keys and informs you that breakfast runs from five to eight am, the bar closes at nine pm, and so does room service.

Curtis can see the frenzied look behind your eyes even from this distance. You’re clearly a type-A planner, so this kind of fuck-up is beyond comprehension in your book. There’s an urban breed of young woman who attacks leisure with the zeal and logistics of a military campaign. He respects that, technically. He saw it frequently at the hotels he was at before this one. And he can already see it in the crisp way you take the key cards, the sharp nod as you gather your flock and herd them toward the elevators. You never glance down at your phone once, fielding the complaints, concerns, and chaos that’s threatening to erupt with unflagging optimism. You’ll Uber out—which had been the plan from the beginning for some of the elements of the itinerary, get food delivered after hours—which would probably be better than room service anyway, and a resort of senior citizens means none of you will have to deal with frat boys or finance bros trying to hit on any of them while you’re all here at the hotel home base at least.

Curtis will not admit that he might be a little bit impressed.

You’re going to end up being trouble for him at some point, he can just feel it.

By two pm the next day the casino floor is a festival of carnage, the slot machines screaming under the barrage of your bridesmaids. Your group is easy to track, a showy spectacle of sequins and synthetics trailing through the baccarat pit, martinis sloshing as conversation ricochets off every surface. The youngest of your group—twenty-two, maybe—already has a paper wristband for the “Mocktail Mania” crawl, and her phone out, live-streaming the chaos to a social media audience. Curtis counts five times you are stopped to take selfies with someone’s grandma. The grandmothers are loving it. They circle your orbit like you’re the new floor show, poking at your feathered headbands and laughing when some of you teach them the choreography to one of the latest viral TikToks.

As the afternoon progresses, you steer the group through the different offerings, trailed by the loyal, the hungover, and the barely-standing. Curtis has to admire the logistical ballet—how you are already distributing twenty-dollar bills with the distracted authority of a treasurer. But he has his eye on you. Appreciated novelty though you may be to the elderly now, Curtis will not hesitate to remove your party from the floor if the menagerie becomes a menace of any kind.

It’s a slow-motion collision of generations. The old folks can’t get enough of you. They beam when your group slips them pink satin sashes and inserts them into group photos, suddenly elevating a routine Tuesday into a major life event. There’s a sashay in the step of Mrs. Eileen, age ninety and proud, as she wheels between slot rows with a feather boa loosely looped around her neck, cackling at the iPad screen her great-niece uses to stream the dance party to “the internet.” Other regulars, in their lavender and beige, sprout out of their seats to offer tales of their own honeymoons, their own marriages, sometimes their own bachelorette shenanigans.

Curtis sees it all from the security desk, which gives him the best vantage on the mayhem. He’s supposed to be finishing paperwork—new vendor contracts, a proposal for replacing the bulbs in the chandelier above the poker room—but he ends up using most of his monitor’s real estate to watch your group’s progress via the security camera split-screen. There’s a method to your madness, he realizes. You’re not just leading the mob. You’re scouting. By three, you’ve had a chat with the cocktail waitresses, a run-in with the barback, and some sort of exchange with one of the off-duty pit bosses. Curtis catches the pit boss’s face on camera, a fleeting, sheepish look as he hands something off to you. At first, he thinks it’s a comped drink voucher—usual for a weekend like this, no crime in it. But you pocket it without showing anyone, flash a lopsided grin, and move on.

You’re working an angle. Maybe it’s the luck of the tables, maybe you’re just collecting stories for your war chest, but he’s suspicious. And it’s his job to be.

Midway through a routine sweep of the floor, he’s making his way toward the back of the penny slots when Curtis makes his decision and threads through the crowd to intercept you. The rest of your group is already deep in the throes of minor chaos—someone in pink is doubled over laughing, two are engaged in a mock arm-wrestling match on a cocktail table, one is arguing with a cocktail waitress about the correct way to say “appletini.” As he closes in, he sees that you’ve parked yourself on a padded bench between the keno machines, legs crossed, phone in hand. You’re texting, or maybe orchestrating something else, but you notice him before he can make the first move. For a second, your expression tightens—he braces for it, the guilt, the deer-in-the-headlights—but instead, your face breaks into a lopsided, almost grateful smile.

“Just the man they told me to talk to!” Like you’re greeting a friend, or long-lost co-conspirator. “You’re Curtis, right? I was told you’re the guy who can get things done around here.”

Curtis is momentarily wrong-footed. This is not how it’s supposed to go. He was coming to find you, he was ready to deal out a polite warning, a thinly veiled threat in customer-service-ese, not this.

But he nods, lips pressed into a neutral line. He waits for the ask, already rehearsing the tight, professional shut-down. But you beat him to it, voice sliding straight into business.

“It’s about the bar,” you say. “We’re not looking to cause problems, really—we’ll keep it down, we’ll clean up after ourselves, we’ll tip everyone at least twenty percent, cross my heart.” You put your hand over your heart for emphasis. “Is there any scenario where the bar could stay open after hours, for us for a special event?” You don’t even glance at the chaos in your wake. “Like, a couple hours. Just for my group. Is there a form for that or something?”

It takes him a second to recalibrate, but he does. “That’s not my department,” he says, definitive. “That’s Ari’s call. The owner.”

You nod, but you don’t miss a beat. "That’s what I heard, but someone said when Ari’s on vacation, you have final say. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask."

He keeps his expression as flat as the casino carpet. "Ari’s out until Monday, and I can’t sign off on something like that. Sorry. Policy." He crosses his arms, which usually signals an end to this sort of conversation.

You tap your nails against your phone. Then your smile turns even sweeter. “But, if you were, hypothetically, going to green-light it for, say, a very harmless group of out-of-towners,” you lean infinitesimally closer, “is there any way we could make that happen?” And you put a gentle hand on his forearm, a brief brush, just for a moment.

Instantly, Curtis’s nostrils flare, and for all of three seconds, his veins surge with hunger, with the urge to press you up behind a row of these machines, and—

“No,” he insists.

None of that.

His sharp refusal has you shaking your head, seemingly coming back to yourself as well. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” you say, and the apology is so barefaced, it almost startles Curtis more than the hand.

You cross your arms, too, hugging yourself in that way people do when they’re recalibrating. “Sorry,” you repeat, “I didn’t mean to…” A vague gesture. “Honestly, that’s not even my style. I’m just—” You look away, jaw flexing. “This whole weekend was supposed to be perfect. I planned it for months. I thought I booked the right hotel, but it turns out the other ‘Sunburst Resort’ is forty miles south. The one with the rooftop bar and the infinity pool. Half the girls already want to murder me. The other half are just… really, really chill about it, which makes it even worse somehow? So, yeah. I just wanted to pull off one thing for them. Still make this weekend special.” You look at him then, straight on. “But I get it. You’re just doing your job.”

Curtis feels his jaw loosen, but he’s not going to lower his suspicions completely or make concessions. He should walk off, should leave you to the swarm of friends and the memorializing of catastrophe into just another party story. And yet…

“It’s not like your girls are having a bad time,” he says, jerking his head toward the havoc at the penny slots. The bride is wearing a plastic tiara and howling with laughter. Someone else is eating maraschino cherries straight from a glass. The bridesmaids might as well be background extras in a movie about senior living remixed for social media. “You may even be single-handedly responsible for the most fun anyone’s had here since the pandemic.”

You give him a look that’s both relieved and incredulous, like maybe you’re not used to being let off the hook. “I guess I’m just projecting,” you say, and your smile does a weird, sidelong thing. “I need it to be good more than they do, you know?” You glance down at your phone—probably to check for incoming fires—and then back up. “I appreciate you not making this into a whole thing.”

He shrugs. “I just know how much worse it can get,” he says. “And I’ll take your rowdy bachelorettes over the Texas Hold ‘Em AARP tour any day.”

“But it’s still zero on the after-hours?”

He shakes his head, and you nod in your polite resignation.

Textbook good girl.

Women in the first halves of their lives are an almost-never kind of occurrence at this place, but it’s not as if he’s never interacted with them before.

But it’s how good you are, how perfect you try to be that’s ignited some itch in him over you. He wants to hold all your attention in his hands for a minute and suffocate it in pleasure, see if he could get you to relinquish the reins of control and let whatever was corked tight inside uncork, explode, run rampant.

Because where he can see you’re spirited in your pursuit of control and perfection, he’s cool, calm, collected in his.

But you’re the last thing he needs.

He clears his throat. “The hospitality suite’s got a fridge,” he offers, voice at half-volume, trying to avoid the path between of being too helpful. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he’ll soften. “If you tip our concierge Lloyd, he’ll stock you with the good stuff. And some of the stuff he shouldn’t.”

You blink, and then give him a real smile. “Thank you.” Your voice is warm with those two words, and, fuck, if now he doesn’t want to get you saying thank you for other reasons.

Again, no. He won’t go there.

You start to say something else, but he’s already pivoting away, put an end to the scene before he can get any more entangled. He doesn’t need to continue looking into your soft eyes, doesn’t need to think about how wide they’d if he stuffed his—

He growls and then barks at one of his pit bosses to keep an eye on table seven, and stalks off toward the cage to count down the afternoon drop.

At 10:17 PM, Curtis is on his way out, mind already shifting to the leftovers and whiskey sour waiting for him in his shoebox apartment.

He freezes, pivots.

Music. Laughter. The unmistakable warble of Abba at full throttle, the chorus punched with off-key shrieking. All of it coming from the bar that was supposed to be closed over an hour ago.

Curtis marches through the swing doors and right into a riot.

The bachelorette party is there, of course, but they’re not alone. At least two dozen seniors are crammed into the bar's banquette, drinks in hand, some already mid-dance on the sticky faux-wood floor. Eileen’s signature feather boa is now a communal scarf, being passed from neck to neck. Someone’s great-uncle—he recognizes him from the slots—has his tie around his forehead like a Rambo bandana, and is doing shots with two of the bridesmaids. The bride is slow dancing with someone’s grandma. The DJ booth is unmanned, the playlist hijacked by a phone plugged directly into the sound system, which is blaring “Dancing Queen” at top volume.

And, somehow, Ari Levinson is behind the bar himself, slamming a bottle of tequila on the counter with a theatrical flourish.

Ari who’s not supposed to be back until Monday.

Curtis wades through the bedlam, dodging an emerging conga line, and slides behind the bar next to Ari.

“You’re supposed to be in New York,” Curtis says, voice low but edged.

Ari just flashes a golden grin. “I have a private jet, and Eileen called me personally,” he says, as if that explains everything. “Said if I didn’t make this bachelorette party’s dreams come true, she’d never forgive me.”

Eileen was their wickedest widow slash beloved queen of the resort, left with more money than god, and stayed at Sunburst in one of the penthouse suites that was essentially hers every other weekend at this point.

Curtis feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “So you’re bartending now?” Curtis asks, monitoring the controlled chaos.

Ari shrugs, “Back to my roots.”

Curtis locates you instantly, perched at the end of the bar, not in the fray but close enough to referee. You’re in a pale knit mini-dress and white sneakers, another outfit to match the rest of the bridal party. There’s a highball glass in your hand, the liquid inside nuclear red and fizzy. Cherry garnish. Shirley Temple. He snorts—of course.

You’re running the spectacle, but not running wild. Your head is tipped just so, like you’re listening for the precise moment the party will veer from beautiful disaster into regrettable territory. The instant it would go too far, you would be there to drag your girls back.

His stare must be a laser, because you catch him immediately, and your face bursts wide open with a smile. Not just a little polite, thanks-for-your-help smile—a full, flashing, not-even-a-little-bit-sober beam. You’re off the barstool and striding toward him before he can look away.

You reach him in an instant, and before he can ask what you need, you blurt, “I just wanted to say, thank you! I never dreamed of anything this big, but it’s bigger and better than I could have hoped for!”

Curtis knows how to field gratitude—he does this every day, nodding his way through the bland, forgettable compliments of winners and losers. But this, the way you lean in, smiling like you’ve just hit the jackpot, tips something loose in him.

“This wasn’t me. It’s Eileen you have to thank for all of this. She’s a force of nature,” he says.

You turn and look for her in the crowd, but Curtis can still hear you. “She’s a fucking legend,” you say, soft, reverent.

Curtis doesn’t let it sit. He leans in, close enough you have to tip your chin up to meet his eyes. “You looked like you were eager to thank me, though,” he says, and the words are so direct, so specific, that your eyes widen.

Curtis’s mouth shifts into a smirk, and then his hand is at your elbow, guiding you up and away from the bar with a grip a shade firmer than necessary. Not a gentle graze, but a serious claim. He doesn’t say a word—just nods to Ari, who raises his tequila bottle in salute, and then steers you through the riot of bodies and then around a corner to a masterfully hidden set of stairs. Privacy to ascend to the dark kingdom of the VIP lounges.

Curtis badges a golden door open and you step in, a little ahead of him, a little breathless, and something dark in him revs at your wide-eyed reaction as you look around, soaking up every angle. You turn in a slow circle, taking it in, the perfectionist in you surely already clocking the amenities, the escape routes, the places where a control freak could retreat if she suddenly needed to.

The room is a jewel box with velvet seating, a mirrored bar with bottles for a hundred moods, and outside the glass doors, a crescent-moon balcony that wraps around the entire level, cantilevered over the revel below. The sound comes up through the floor, dull and distant and thrilling.

Curtis closes the door behind them with a soft click, then flips a switch that kills the ugly ceiling lights and bathes everything in a pinky-purple glow.

He leans against the door, arms crossed, blocking the exit with a casual, unignorable presence. “Not quite the rooftop bar you wanted, but it has its advantages,” he says.

You drift to the balcony railing, which overlooks the bar and a slice of the dance floor below, packed with the intergenerational party. He comes up behind, close enough that you must feel him, but he doesn’t touch you yet.

After a minute, you say, “So this is the VIP suite.” You sound breathless, lighter than you probably want to.

Curtis makes a noise of affirmation. “Should be for high rollers, but turns out ours come here to be in the crowd, not above it.”

You lean on the railing, looking down. “I’ve never been in a VIP anything.” You smile, but it’s tight.

“We should make it an experience you’ll never forget then, shouldn’t we?”

He leans in, sets his palms on either side of you, bracketing your ribs, caging you in as you grip the balcony. He can see you’re nervous, the first crack in your facade.

Curtis wants to see what happens if you let go—just a little. See if he can shake something loose in you that won't snap back into shape. He wants to see how far he can make you unravel, if you’ll trust his control, indulge in surrender, let him break you.

He sets his hand on your hip. A test. He feels you tense, feels the nerves shudder through your spine as you take a deliberate breath, all the way to the bottom. Your hands grip the balcony railing, but you tilt your head just enough that he can see the hint of defiance in your profile. Not fear—just the need for a reason to surrender.

He gives you one.

His lips graze your ear, and he pitches his words low, dangerous. “You know you want to let go,” Curtis says. “You don’t have to run the show every second.”

He waits for a protest. Instead, your voice comes out soft, “What if I don’t know how?”

Now, that is interesting.

And perfect.

Curtis doesn’t hesitate. He puts both hands on your hips, sharp and possessive, and pulls you back against him. There’s no space between your bodies, just the heat and the thud of his heart against your spine and the point of his cock, already hard, pressed up between the small of your back and your ass. The party below blurs out of focus. His lips drag a line from the curve of your ear to the side of your throat, the scruff on his jaw catching and scraping against your skin. He doesn’t bother with sweet nothings, just fills your world with the shudder of your own breath and the slow, insistent sweep of his palms up and under the hem of your dress.

“I’ll show you,” he growls, and you shiver in his hands but don’t resist.

Curtis lifts the skirt up over your hips, slow and sure, not for seduction but to test you, to see if you’ll stop him. You don’t. You’re trembling, but it’s the good kind—a shudder up your spine, a breath snatched and held tight. He likes that. He likes that a lot. He skims his hands further up and under, finds the smooth curve of your ass, finds the edge of your panties and tugs them down with a single, practiced motion, just far enough to bare you.

You twist to glance back, half shy, half incautious, and your voice comes out husky, nothing like the chirpy, put-together party leader from the lobby. “Is this…okay?”

He smirks. “Doesn’t matter if it’s okay, as long as you want it,” he growls, teeth grazing the juncture at your neck.

Then he’s undoing his own belt, one-handed, and you’re already melting into a perfect arch, braced and bent, just how he likes. Curtis is not a man for pleasantries. He likes efficiency, wants results, but something about you—this fine-tuned girl with the power stance and nervous little quiver—makes him want to prolong this, draw it out like the last hand at the table.

It’s a dangerous place to do this, up here and not so far from view, but that’s the point. The wide glass gives a perfect god’s-eye view of the casino, and below in the bar anyone who glances up might see a silhouette, but not a face. That risk turns the air inside electric. He wants to see how far he can push you, if you’ll crash out as a good girl or revel in coming to heel.

There’s no buildup. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t check in, just pushes forward and fills you in a single, breathtaking lunge. You choke out a surprised noise, probably loud to your own ears but lost in the spill of music and laughter that pulses up from below. He keeps going, not giving you time to adjust, not gentling his pace, just claiming you over the balcony with the force of a man who’s been starved.

The drag of his hands, the pound of his hips, the roughness of fabric and fingers and bone—he means every thrust to bruise, to mark you with the memory of this room until you can never walk into another casino again without feeling phantom pressure on your waist. It’s insane, this surge of possessiveness, but it only twists tighter as you arch and gasp and fight to keep yourself silent, because you’re good, you’ve always been good, and Curtis can sense the struggle as you try to keep the noises caged. He won’t let you. He wants you to let go, and he’s not above brute force to get you there.

He snakes a hand up under your dress, flattens his palm against your stomach, keeping you pinned so you’re forced to stay put and take every inch. His other hand creeps up, wraps around your throat and squeezes, thumb against your windpipe—not enough to hurt, just enough to underscore who’s in control.

He fucks you, relentless, and it’s not performative, not for show, just the pure, greedy satisfaction of it. If there’s any doubt in him about whether you want this, it dies when you start bucking back into him, meet him thrust for thrust, until the friction threatens to light the air on fire.

Curtis relishes every stifled gasp you make, the way you spasm and cling to the rail as your knees start to go. There’s a pretty, wild abandon now, your hands scrambling for purchase, and for the first time you look utterly unstaged, raw and perfect. His thumb strokes your pulse, steady, both pushing to more and grounding you at the same time.

Curtis is never gentle, but he’s always attentive. He’s got enough years behind him to tell when someone is about to crash. You’re creaking, threatening to snap in his hands, hips torqued back against him, begging, desperate for more. He takes a hand off your stomach and slips it lower, finds the knot of nerves that he knows can quell your need.

He works you, deliberate and precise, until your body rebels against you, locked tight around his cock as you choke out a single, helpless sound that’s all desperation. “Good girl,” he growls, and you keen.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps punishing you through it, and even when you shudder and sob, proud spine melting into a loose, slack curve, he won’t let you slide off the edge. Not until he’s wrung you out once, twice, three times—he wants you completely spent, the sight of you ruined, breath gone jagged. Only then does he come, a savage surge he buries in your heat, hands digging in with a grip that promises bruises by morning.

He laughs—low, dark, delighted—and stays pressed against your back until he’s wrung every last bit of shiver from your muscles, still touching and tormenting the your oversensitive intimate parts, fingers still tormenting with out, cock punishing your inner walls with slow ruts while he’s still half-hard. When he lets go of your throat, he pulls your face around and bites your earlobe, hard enough to leave a mark.

There’s no clean-up, not with him, not in a place like this. He slides out, fixes your dress, puts himself together with the brutal efficiency. You stand there, trembling, breathless, stuck in place.

His cocky self-satisfaction bubbles in his chest while you stay hunched over the balcony, hands vise-locked on the rail, knuckles bleached to bone. He relishes every second of it—the way you strain to straighten up but can’t quite, the way your body fights to process what just detonated inside. He enjoys watching you flinch when he slides your ruined panties delicately back into place, tugs them up with a snap of elastic. “Gotta keep my hot cum inside your tight cunt,” he mutters, the words more ruin he knows you can’t be used to.

Then he finally guides you to the couch. You look up at him, blinking, lips only slightly parted, doe-eyed in your ruined haze. He pats the side of your head before stepping away.

He pours you both a drink, because he’s not a complete animal, and hands yours over wordlessly. You sip it. He’s got vodka, but he only gave you a flavored sparkling water. You meet his gaze. He likes the way you steady yourself on a few sips.

“Now everyone in the bridal party should be able to say they had a weekend they’ll never forget,” Curtis says a few minutes later, once you seem more settled.

You huff a small laugh. At last, you manage to say, “I don’t even know if my legs work.”

He stands, knocking back the last of his vodka. “You can stay up here long as you want.”

He doesn’t offer to walk you to your room, doesn’t linger, just brushes his knuckles across your cheek and lets himself out the suite, the click of the latch leaving you in a glittering, elevated hush. He’ll send a note to your room, leaving his number and a line letting you know he’ll ruin you more if you want him to before you leave.

🥵🥴

so, again, that happened.

I must throw out a note to @stargazingfangirl18 who was there when I imagined up this man and encouraged his development! Gave great fuel to my fire once again!!

read what happens the next morning: MORNING DEPARTURE

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