Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
But deep down, I know it won't be that simple.
Deep down, I know that, no matter how the night ends, my heart will never be the same.
Deep down, I know that, no matter what happens, the real battle is with the man who already owns Iris.
CHAPTER FIVE
Iris
The pulsing electronic beat fills my ears as I gyrate and twirl around the pole, hands caressing the cool metal.
Red and purple lights flash across my skin, painting me in a seductive kaleidoscope of color.
Beads of sweat drip down my bare back but I keep moving, hips swaying in perfect time.
I lock eyes with a handsome patron in the front row and give him a sultry wink, ramping up my sex appeal as I slide down into a split.
A thrill rushes through me as the men hoot and holler, throwing bills onto the stage.
Dancing at Satin Dreams is already such a rush, so different from working in the tattoo parlor.
It’s a different type of high.
The clientele here are rich, powerful men in expensive suits, not any of the gutter rats from the rough sides of Tinsel Creek .
I should thank Rosa for getting me this gig and saving me from the inability to pay my bills.
Flipping my long deep brunette hair over my shoulder, I crawl seductively to the edge of the stage, back arched.
With a coy smile, I accept the cash being waved at me, tucking it into my lacy bra and panties.
The song crescendos as I pull myself up the pole, twirling and flipping my legs over my head to cheers from the crowd.
My adrenaline is pumping, sweat glistening on my tattooed skin as I lose myself in the erotic dance.
As the final notes of the song fade out, I strike a provocative pose, one hand on the pole as I lean back, pushing my ample chest forward.
Wolf whistles and applause reward my efforts.
I strut offstage, a satisfied smirk on my glossy lips.
Nothing makes me feel more powerful and alive than commanding a room full of men with the sensual movements of my body.
Backstage, I grab a towel to dab at my damp skin and neck.
Some of the other dancers nod at me approvingly as they get ready for their sets.
"Nice work out there, new girl," Raven, one of the veteran strippers, says as she touches up her dark lipstick. "You've already got them eating out of your hand."
"What can I say, I know how to put on a show," I reply with a confident toss of my hair. "This place seems like a good setup."
Raven arches one of her perfectly sculpted brows. "Mmhmm, just be careful. Management expects us to do more than just dance, if you know what I mean. The big money is in the private rooms."
My stomach twists a bit at her implication.
I'm no stranger to getting cozy with clients, but the fact that it seems almost mandatory here puts me on edge.
I signed up to dance, not turn tricks.
But I need this job and the fat paychecks that come with it.
I can't afford to have anything off-limits.
Forcing a breezy smile onto my face, I shrug. "Nothing I can't handle. Wouldn't be the first time I've had to fend off a handsy customer."
"I'm sure you're an expert, honey." Raven chuckles before sauntering off, her sparkly G-string catching the light.
I head over to my locker and check my reflection in the small mirror hung inside the door.
My dark eyeliner is slightly smudged, giving me a smokey, sultry look.
I reapply some ruby red lipstick and shake out my long hair so it tumbles over my shoulders just so.
Giving myself a little nod, I adjust my black lace bra, custom made to showcase my killer tattoos.
I look every inch the sexy, edgy fantasy I aim to portray.
Just as I'm about to close my locker, a flash of color on the tiny TV mounted in the corner catches my eye.
A news report shows shaky camera footage of what looks like a drug bust, a grim-faced reporter speaking into a mic.
"...Authorities are not revealing much about this latest raid, but sources say it may be tied to an ongoing turf war between an unnamed source and the Crimson Reapers motorcycle gang..."
My heart leaps into my throat at the mention of the Crimson Reapers—Lyon’s club.
Why can't I escape that man?
Tearing my eyes away from the troubling news report, I slam my locker shut and take a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Lyon out of my mind.
I have to focus on my job, on making that money.
For fuck’s sake, I need a fresh start.
I can't afford distractions or complications.
This is my chance to take control of my life and get back on my feet.
Squaring my shoulders, I strut out to the main floor of the club, my stilettos clicking on the polished crimson floors.
It's time to set aside Iris, the girl with the troubled past and bad taste in men, and become Ivy, the untouchable seductress who beguiles and teases, but never lets anyone get too close.