Read an ExcerptGet Your Sexy On
By Kimberly Kaye Terry APHRODISIA BOOKS
Copyright © 2008 Kimberly Kaye Terry
All right reserved.
Chapter One The Sweet Kitty Gentlemen's Club Downtown Washington, DC
"Sin, it's showtime. Time to get your sexy on, girl."
After curling the mascara wand one last time over her naturally thick lashes, Sienna glanced away from the mirror.
She smiled at the woman who gave her the reminder and pushed the wand back inside the mascara tube and twisted it closed.
"Yeah, Kitty, I know," she murmured, throwing the woman a small affectionate smile. "I'll be ready in a sec. Gotta give 'em the best that I got, to get what I want," she quipped.
Deloris, aka Delatta Kitty, ran her hands down the sides of her thong-covered rounded hips. "Definitely, baby girl. And maybe after your last set, you and I can have a drink and you can show me the best that you got," the older woman murmured in her whisky-toned voice, and gave Sienna a small wink.
"I don't know if you can handle the best I've got. I may be too much for you." She rose from her chair and glanced at her reflection in the chipped oval mirror.
"Promises, promises. Why don't you let me be the judge of what I can handle, baby girl?"
"Yeah, right. I value my health too much, even if I were so inclined, Ms. D," she said, looking back in the mirror, checking her makeup. "Carmen lets it be known that if anyone, man or woman, ever tries to step to you,they will have to deal with her."
Deloris had been with her lover, Carmen Delgado, one of the other dancers, for more than a decade. Barely out of their teens, the two women had met at another club, dancing two in a cage. No matter how much Deloris flirted with other women, Sienna knew she would never cheat on Carmen. She loved Carmen as much as the woman loved her.
"Yeah, my woman can get a bit hot around the collar sometimes. But still, if you're ever lonely ..." Deloris let the sentence dangle and Sienna released a groaning laugh. "Girl, you're going to get me in trouble. If your woman even thinks I'm trying to step to you, my ass is grass!"
Deloris returned the laugh and strolled away from Sienna, her full hips swaying.
Sienna shook her head and grinned as Deloris put more than a little bit of attitude in her walk as she strolled away. Sienna released a small chuckle before she turned her attention to the mirror for one final, critical assessment, pursing her crimson red lips.
She opened the tube of lip gloss on the vanity and ran the cotton tip over her full upper and lower rims.
Sinful lips. She had sinful lips.
That's what she'd been told on more than one occasion. Her foster father had told her that her lips were full of sin, just like she was. He had licked his thin lips; a nasty, lustful smile had crossed his pinched features while he watched her dress for school.
Sienna thought of the other crude things he'd said when no one else was around to hear.
When no one had been around to stop him.
She shoved the memories out of her mind of what he'd forced her to do with her sinful lips. She focused her thoughts on her future, away from her painful past.
"Just one more night of this, and I'm done. Lord, just let me make it through one more night," she whispered out loud, closed her eyes, and sent the prayer heavenward.
She opened her eyes and smiled, determinedly, at her reflection. Using both hands, she fluffed the long, dark blond, curly wig around her face, making sure that none of her own dark, silky curls escaped.
Sienna turned from the mirror, leaving the dressing area as she heard the DJ start to mix in her signature song with the R&B tune bumping from the speakers.
As she walked, her sway became more pronounced, her body relaxed, her small breasts pushed out, her shoulders thrown back.
Sienna tossed her hair away from her face, licked her full lips, and smiled.
She was almost ready.
The closer she came to the long, black velvet curtain cloaking the stage, the more she shed her inhibitions.
The less she cared.
It was showtime, like Deloris said.
Time to get her sexy on.
The slow, hot heat from the rhythm invaded her limbs and she reached back and fluffed out the colorful feathers attached to her thong.
Her fingertips then ran lightly over her breasts, skimming her protruding nipples, making sure her sequined pasties were secure.
With a toss of her head and a smile, the transformation was complete. She was no longer Sienna Featherstone, part-time substitute grade-school teacher, full-time college student.
She was Sinful Feathers, headlining act at the Sweet Kitty Gentlemen's Club.
And for one final night, one final time, it was time to get her sexy on.
Chapter Two Garrett McAllister sat back in the high-backed wooden bar chair and raised the shot glass of whisky to his lips and took a healthy swallow. With a grimace, he placed the glass back on the small dented table in front of him, and turned bored eyes toward the gyrating woman on the main stage.
Her moves were the same as all the others before her.
She shimmied and danced, kicking her long legs out in front of her, gyrating for all she was worth. She worked her double-D cups, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them, dancing and twirling around the small stage for the throng of men standing in rapt attention.
When one of the men looked particularly animated, the dancer dropped down on all fours, slid on her back, throwing her legs in the air, and shimmied her ass in front of him.
At his vantage point, Mac could see the saliva practically oozing from the sides of the man's lips as the dancer slid one long, manicured finger inside her thong panties. She pushed the scrap of lace aside to give the man an extra peek at what else she had for sale.
It was no secret that some of the strippers at the Sweet Kitty offered more than a stage or lap dance to the men who frequented the club.
There were several rooms upstairs where, with the right price, a man-or a woman-could buy a "bed dance." According to club rules, all bed dances, although conducted on an actual bed, with the customer lying down and the dancer on top of him or her, were conducted fully clothed.
But what happened when the doors were closed in the bedrooms was a different matter altogether, Mac thought cynically.
The music ended, and with it, the dancer's set. The woman abruptly stopped dancing, midshimmy, and gathered the tossed bills before swiftly walking off the stage.
At the curtain separating the stage from the back room, she paused and glanced over her shoulder toward the customer she'd given a private viewing. She pointed to the back of the club with one of her long, talonlike fingernails, where a winding staircase, leading to the upper rooms, was located.
With nonchalance, Mac observed the exchange. He noted the man's head hastily bobbed up and down in affirmation and the woman left the stage area with a satisfied grin.
His gaze raked over the clientele at the Sweet Kitty. The clientele ranged from men in beat-up jeans, T-shirts, and yellow work boots, to businessmen wearing Brooks Brothers suits and Rolex watches.
"Mac, ain't nothing going on here tonight besides tits-and-ass shakin'. I don't think our guy is going to show," Kyle Hanley said, drawing his attention from the scene on the stage. His partner's gaze was on the women dancing on small round upraised stages, scattered throughout the dimly lit club.
"Patience, man. It's his club, he's bound to show. Besides, you have somewhere else you'd rather be?"
"Hell yes. The luscious Tawny and her sister, Tanya, and I have plans. I thought we'd be done with this case, and if ol' boy ain't showing, I can sure in hell find a better way to spend my time." Kyle's restless eyes scanned the room.
Mac released a grunt for a laugh. "He may still show. Don't want to take the chance on missing him. I'm sure you lovebirds can do whatever the hell you have planned, later."
Mac turned back to the stage, ignored his friend's glare, and did a quick scan of the room, hoping to find Damian in the crowd. Although he preferred one woman at a time, had only participated in one ménage à trois, which left him strangely unsatisfied, Mac had no problem with his friend's proclivity for multiple partners.
To each his own.
He didn't understand male/female relationships, much less a relationship involving two women-so what the hell did he know anyway? Although he'd been surprised when Kyle had disclosed his sexual preference-a need he'd said-for two women at once, that he couldn't find satisfaction with one woman, it hadn't altered his view of his friend.
Mac and Kyle had been friends as well as battle buddies throughout their career, from their first enlistment in their Special Forces unit in Heidelberg, Germany, to their last duty station in Afghanistan. Dating back over fifteen years, he was closer to Kyle than he was to anyone else in the world, besides his sister. Mac couldn't think of a better man, one he'd trust more to have his back, than Kyle.
Their latest case had been an easy one. They'd been hired to locate Larissa St. John, the missing daughter of a wealthy couple in New England. Larissa had left home the previous year, leaving behind a note that said she was tired of school and wanted to live her life the way she wanted.
Although she had been over the age of consent, twenty-one years old, her parents had hired Mac to go and find their daughter.
Mac and Kyle had tracked the wayward deb to DC and found her shaking her moneymaker like a seasoned pro. When they identified themselves to her, and explained that her family had sent them to bring her back home, she'd broken down in tears.
The life she envisioned "on her own" hadn't turned out to be the life of glamour she thought she'd have.
They'd finished the case in less than two weeks, after having placed her on the plane to go home. The men would have returned to their home base in Hampton, Virginia-had Mac not discovered something far more interesting than a runaway quasi adult thumbing her nose at conventionality, trying to prove she was grown by stripping.
He'd discovered the Sweet Kitty was a front for a money-laundering operation, among other criminal activities, all tied up with a Dominican named Carlos Medeiros. Mac had first come across Medeiros's name during a previous investigation, another runaway case. Medeiros ran a tight operation, and Mac hadn't been able to tie him into the disappearance of two young college-aged women, although the intel he'd gathered pointed to Medeiros being involved.
Medeiros surrounded himself with a bevy of guards, 24/7, and Mac hadn't been able to get close enough to him to gather the evidence he needed to take to the police. When he and Kyle found the young women in a Vegas brothel, they'd been so desperate to go home, they hadn't given him any substantial information about their involvement in the brothel. Either that, or they were too afraid to speak. Mac had been left frustrated, knowing there wasn't a damn thing he could do. His gut, however, told him Medeiros had been involved.
The owner of the brothel had been just as tight-lipped about how she'd "found" the girls.
Damian Marks, the owner of the Sweet Kitty, was nothing but a local hood. Trying to play with the big boys, Damian thought he'd hit gold when he'd hooked up with Medeiros. Mac had a feeling Marks had bitten off more than he could chew, dealing with Medeiros.
"Man, check her out. Shit, she's fine." Kyle had interrupted Mac's thoughts. Kyle nodded his head toward the stage, and Mac's glance fell on the new dancer.
Damn, it was her. His dick thumped against his zipper and Mac readjusted himself, his eyes glued on the woman on the stage.
The second reason Mac wasn't ready to leave DC yet was because of her. Sinful Feathers.
Damn, she was beautiful. And she stuck out like the peacock her feathered costume suggested-she was all bright color in a gray lackluster world.
He adjusted his seat, to see her better. He and Kyle were seated at one of the tables to the right of the stage. They'd picked a table giving them an optimal view of the entire club, but still protecting their backs, so no one could sneak up on them. Both men had trained for covert operations, where that was an essential part of any mission.
Still, they were angled and positioned close enough so Mac could catalog her beauty, along with the graceful way she moved. His eyes narrowed against the spiraling smoke from the cigarette he'd left burning, unnoticed, in the glass ashtray.
She wrapped both of her slim hands around the thick pole in the center of the stage with practiced dexterity. With fluid ease, she flipped her curvaceous, yet agile, body upside down and slipped one long, muscled cocoa-brown leg around the lower end of the pole. She wrapped the other leg higher up the pole.
Her torso dangled downward, one hand casually holding on to the pole keeping her balanced, the other arm thrown behind her. The ends of her long hair swept the stage floor as she arched her body away from the pole in time with the heavy beat of the music.
Mac blindly reached for his half-forgotten drink as he watched the beautiful dancer work the pole.
With a grimace, he took a swallow, his eyes never leaving the semi-nude dancer on the stage.
Chapter Three Unlike the other dancers, this one never looked at any of the men who whistled and called out to her. She wasn't dancing for the ogling men, but for herself.
Mac was intrigued by her casual, absentminded sexiness. As though she didn't give a damn what the ogling, horny bastards at the club thought as they watched her sinewy body wrap around the pole, dancing as though she were alone in the room.
Throughout the two-week investigation, Mac had witnessed several degrees of skill from the strippers at the Sweet Kitty. From the burgeoning, awkward attempts by the neophytes, much like the stuck-up heiress he'd rescued, to the jaded, yet proficient, skills of those who'd danced for years.
None he had seen were like this woman. None of them had played with his mind, had given him hot dreams at night, cold showers in the morning, like she had.
Everything about her was different, from her slow, hypnotic moves, to the sensual, rhythmic music she moved her body to, or the way she never glanced at anyone in the audience while she danced.
She danced to a slow rhythm that really had nothing to do with the music, a beat that only she could hear. It made a man long to be the only one she was dancing for. Made him long to have her wrap her beautiful body around his, have her look in his eyes, seeing him, no one else but him, as he stroked into her hot, creaming pussy, until she cried out his name.
Blindly Mac reached inside his jacket and pulled out his money clip, his eyes never leaving the stage.
At the end of what felt like an eternity, but was only the five-minute length of the song, Mac felt as though he were coming out of a fog.
Sinful glanced around once the song ended-as though she shared the same dim fog of unawareness with Mac as the music faded away, blending into the next song-and then slowly stood.
In that sexy backhanded way of hers, she casually scooped up the pile of bills scattered on the stage. She was hunched down, gathering the money, when her gaze connected with Mac's.
Mac's heart loudly thumped, audible to his ears, his nostrils flaring as she came close to him. One slender arm reached out, palm outstretched, and he looked down at his own hand, a twenty-dollar bill held between his fingers.
He hadn't been aware he'd taken the money out. When she came close, he inhaled deeply, picking up on her scent, despite the cloying perfume and smoke in the club, and closed his eyes briefly. He opened them when her fingertips touched his, and an electrical current passed from her to him.
He glanced at her face. In the dim light, he saw the red flush darken her smooth brown skin, her eyes widen in awareness.
Her small pink tongue darted out and laved the lower, full rim of her lips as they stared at one another.
When she noticed the new dancer on the stage ready to perform, she was the first to look away. With one final, hesitant look his way, she gracefully left the stage.
Mac felt inexplicably shaken, wondering what the hell had just happened between them. He shook his head, as though to clear it, and turned to see his partner, Kyle, staring at him, mouth slightly open, his expression puzzled.
"What the fuck was that all about?"
With a noncommittal shrug, Mac pretended nonchalance, picked up his shot glass, ignored the way his hand shook, and took a healthy swallow.
Excerpted from Get Your Sexy On by Kimberly Kaye Terry
Copyright © 2008 by Kimberly Kaye Terry. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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