Sweat coats my skin as I grind against the metal pole, the heat’s verging on over-powering, and even though I’m wearing next-to-nothing the feel of cool steel beneath my fingers is still more than welcome.
Loud music pounds from concealed speakers, wrapping itself around me, the dimly-lit club vibrating to the beat of a heavy rock track, and I close my eyes and lean back against the thick metal pole, gripping it loosely as I slide slowly down, spreading my legs, my arms raised high above my head, and still that thumping beat washes over me, allowing me to lose myself in the music.
So many eyes are on me right now, but I like that. It gets me off, it’s what I do now – demand attention from men so weak all it takes is a smile; a flash of my tits and they’re mine. They’re all fucking mine.
Winding my legs around the pole, I feel that familiar rush flood through me, taking me over. The music seems louder, the beat heavier as I twist my body down the cool metal, feeling it slide between my thighs – thighs I know most of the men in this club would kill to get between. But they’ll never get the chance. I don’t go there, this isn’t that kind of place.
Reaching the floor, I set one spike-heeled boot down first, then the other, hands on hips as I throw back my head, I’m lapping up every second of the attention I’m getting. Almost every man in this room wants me, and that’s good, that means I’m doing my job. I’ve worked hard to make sure this is the way things are now, I want that power, and I have it, in spades.
Falling to my knees, I allow myself a second to scan the crowded bar – this place is my home now. From the well-groomed men in suits that have probably told their wives they’re talking business at some Sushi restaurant, to the tattooed bad boy bikers that always outnumber the former, to the A-list celebrities that make this their hang-out of choice when they’re in Vegas, they’re all here to see me. To watch me dance, see me this close to naked; fantasize over everything they’ll never get, very few men even get close to touching me, to touching any of us girls. And those that do – those that choose to pay for the private rooms – they get what they’re given. It’s all at our discretion. We call the shots, they play on our terms.
With one swift flick of my hand, I tear off my black strapless bra, flinging it aside, hands on my rock-hard thighs, my back arched slightly, pushing my tits up to heaven. This is my power. Every man in this room is right where I want them, and I’ll never tire of that feeling.
I find myself staring out into the crowd again, something I don’t usually make a habit of, I have no idea why I’m doing it so much tonight. But as I once more scan the room, my eyes suddenly lock with those of a man who seems vaguely familiar to me. He’s one hot son-of-a-bitch, too, but I can’t quite place where I’ve seen him before. If he’d paid for a private room, I’d've remembered someone like him. Dressed in dark pants, cowboy boots, and a white shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned, heavily tattooed forearms – it almost makes him a contradiction. Somewhat smartly dressed, yet those tattoos – and those boots – they tell me there’s probably another side to him, and that excites me. Predictability isn’t my thing. I’m almost addicted to danger; the thrill that comes with spontaneity. And this man, he seems dangerous to me, the way he’s sitting – right back in his seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, it smacks of a laid back arrogance.
I hold his gaze for probably a second or two longer than I should’ve done, but his stare, it’s setting every nerve-ending in my body on red alert, and I’m starting to like it just a little too much. I can’t let that happen. I’m not giving him a private show here. So I break that stare, I stand up. I turn around, bury my fingers in my mane of dark curls; I start to walk away, but the look I throw over my shoulder as I strut off the stage, that’s just for him. And it’s only when I’m safely back in the dressing-room that I realize his eyes had constantly been on mine – they hadn’t fixed on my tits or stared longingly at my thighs in the hope that the heaven that lies between them would be exposed. He’d looked at me. And that in itself is enough to send a shiver of raw excitement shooting right through me.
The adrenaline’s still coursing through my veins as I grab a robe from the back of the dressing room door, smiling to myself as I check my reflection in the mirror. I’m practically glowing! Because I love what I do. I love messing with men’s heads. I’m playing games. Games I always win…
Running a hand along the back of my neck, I let out a long, almost drawn-out breath. I’m not a stranger to this private club tucked away amidst the bright lights and huge, towering hotels of the Las Vegas Strip, but sometimes these girls have a habit of hitting you right in the solar plexus when you least expect it. It’s almost as though they can sense any tiny shred of vulnerability, and take advantage of that without even realizing they’re doing it. Not that I’m vulnerable. Far from it. They’re just something to look at, these girls. Something to help take my mind off whatever shit’s happening outside, they’re forgettable, throwaway dancing dolls. But that one there – with the killer hips and eyes that seemed to stare right into me – there’s something about her that I can’t seem to let go of.
“Are we staying here all freakin’ night?”
I stand up and raise a questioning eyebrow at the scowling young man in front of me. “You telling me you don’t like it here?”
“I frigging love it here, Jesus! It’s like all my fucking Christmases have come at once, but I’m wrecked, man! That was one kick-ass set we played tonight, and all I’m ready for now is a few beers over at Clay’s and some mindless sex with any pretty face that wants it. Then I’m gonna sleep for two days.”
I raise that eyebrow again, a slight smirk on my face. “So, you’re banking on there definitely being a pretty face that wants you, huh, Cal?”
Cal looks at me as though I’ve just said something completely ridiculous, laughing an almost disbelieving laugh as he drains the last of his beer before tossing the bottle aside. He’s a rock star. He gets away with that shit.
“I’m gonna round up the rest of the band. You coming?”
I glance quickly behind me, as if I still expect her to be there, on the stage – the girl with the shit-hot body and legs that seemed to go on forever. “I’ll meet you in a bit.” I turn back to face Cal. “Clay’s, right?”
Cal nods before turning around and making his way back over to the bar.
Bowing my head, I rub the back of my neck again. I really need to sleep. The past few weeks have been crazy, and all of a sudden it feels as if everything’s catching up with me, Christ, maybe I’m getting too old for this shit. Hell! Who am I kidding? I’m never gonna to be too old for this shit. This shit’s in my blood, always has been. Cal Connor may be the hot young rock star right now, but I know exactly what it’s like to stand in those boots of his…
I’d been one of the biggest names in rock, once. No, fuck that, I’m selling myself short here. I still am one of the biggest names in rock. I’m a fucking legend!
Deep and gravel-toned, that’s how they’d described my voice when I’d been starting out, and it was that, and my dark, brooding good looks – ‘cause I’m one handsome son-of-a-bitch, make no mistake – that won me a fan base to outnumber any of my rivals back in the day. I’ve sold millions of records all over the world, played to sell-out crowds at gigs and festivals in so many countries I can’t even remember; had groupies falling at my feet wherever I went, some of which I took advantage of, come on! Of course I did! I’d been one of the biggest rock stars in the world, for Christ’s sake! And you don’t turn that kinda shit down when it’s put right there on a plate for you.
But all that came to an end, briefly, when, in a stupid, spur-of-the-moment action, I’d married one of those groupies. A beautiful blonde with incredible tits and a smile that could stop traffic, she’d turned out to be one huge fucking mistake. And people had told me at the time, man, they’d never stopped telling me, but I never had been one to take advice from anybody. That ill-fated and ultimately short-lived marriage had ended after just seven weeks, when I’d realized I didn’t want to leave my rock star life behind. Because she had. The second that ring had gone on her finger she’d wanted me to settle down, give her babies; move into a condo in Miami and live a quiet family life. Fuck that!
I gave her enough money to set her up for decades, kissed her goodbye, and went back out on the road. I lived life to those crazy excesses for a few more years, with back-to-back sold-out tours and albums that wouldn’t stop selling. I was a freakin’ rock god, an idol. I could command a stage like nobody else, I loved every second of being out there. Until I hit my late thirties. And I have no idea why it happened then, but that’s when I’d started to grow more than a little tired of the constant touring. But no way was I just disappearing, I went out on a high, with a run of farewell gigs that had sold out in minutes; record sales that went through the roof. Nobody was gonna forget Seth Carter in a hurry. Which is why, despite me saying goodbye to the limelight, I couldn’t leave the industry behind, I loved that world too much. I’d lived in it for far too long to tear myself away from it forever. I’d just needed to find a way to stay a part of it, and setting up my own record label, that seemed the obvious thing to do. The next step.
From that moment on, I’ve made it my mission to discover a new generation of rock stars that may never find that lucky break they need to get past all the TV talent show dross that seems to have a stranglehold on the music industry. I’m a respected record company owner and producer now, but that ain’t stopped women throwing themselves at me; hasn’t stopped me from taking advantage of that, but marrying again? Hell, no! I got burned once, why the fuck would I go there twice? Women still want me – they ain’t making no secret of that. And I still want them. Man, I’m one damn lucky bastard!
Clay’s is packed to the rafters, the music’s loud, the beer’s ice-cold, I’m good. I’m more than good, I’m on a freakin’ high! Life’s one big party right now, and I’m not wasting a fucking second of that.
Looking around the bar, my eyes lock on those of a pretty redhead over the other side of the room, and I throw her a smile that lets her know she can have me, if she wants me. And why wouldn’t she? They all want me. Spending a night with Cal Connor is like hitting the jackpot, and there’d certainly been some winners over the last few weeks as this tour wound its way across Canada and North America before finally landing here in Vegas for four nights of wild excess and shows that had rocked like no others. That’s what this town does to people. It gets inside you; makes you crazy. The drugs have nothing to do with it. The alcohol merely heightens everything. It’s Vegas that does it for me, it’s in my blood. I was born here, in Primm, to schoolteacher parents; brought up here before my family moved to Santa Monica just before I started High School. But it’s never left me, this place. My heart’s here, I’m comfortable here. This place gets me. And even though my base is L.A. now, Vegas will always be my home.
Little-Miss-Redhead’s still looking my way, and I flash her another winning grin, she is so fucking mine tonight. This shit comes so easy when you’re one of the best rock band front men around right now, and I got no right being anything other than the best, we’re being guided by a bone-fide rock legend. Seth Carter, he saw what we had to offer, signing us to his record label after seeing us play just three songs at a gig in a warehouse just off Hollywood Boulevard. He put Twelve Bore Down where I knew we were always destined to be – on the road to being as much of a legend as he was. Is. We’re one of the biggest rock bands in the country right now, thanks to Seth. He’s shown faith in us, deemed us important enough to manage us himself, and that – as anyone in the rock world knows – means that Seth Carter thinks we’re going places. We’re killing it wherever we go, as this latest tour’s proved, man, I’m still on top of the freakin’ world! Still buzzing! Still on a high after a crazy final gig and two hours spent in one of Vegas’ most elite private clubs, where the women show you almost everything but give you fuck all – unless you put in a specific request, and even then there’s no guarantee. But I don’t ask for anything, I don’t need to. Whatever I want, it’s given to me, and that includes women. They don’t need asking twice, just ask Little-Miss-Redhead over there. So, I’d been more than happy to do nothing but look at the perfect tits and the rock hard thighs of those women in Isla’s. Happy to watch them gyrate their red-hot asses just meters away from me, they were there to start the party. Here’s where it really gets going.
Taking one last swig of beer, I slam the empty bottle down on the counter, smiling like the cat who’s about to get the cream as Little-Miss-Redhead saunters over, starting at me with wide eyes and a pout on her pretty face that’s telling me that mouth’s gonna work its own kind of magic on me before this night is done. I fucking love my life!
Copyright © Michelle Betham 2018
'Reckless' is available to download HERE.
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Read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited.