“They didn’t want me, and they made that perfectly clear every day of my life, but they were stuck with me, since we didn’t have any other family. And my stepmother grew quite fond of the small stipend the state would send her every month to continue taking care of me,” I say, remembering how the minute it came in the mail, that money would be spent on something stupid that we didn’t even need, instead of food or water or electricity. “The minute I turned eighteen and could get the hell out of there, I ran as fast as I could and never looked back. I worked two jobs just to keep a roof over my head in a tiny, shitty apartment, and I knew I would do anything to make sure I never had to live like that again. Then I met Brian a year later, and I got pregnant with Anastasia. And he made me promises. So many promises that a girl from the trailer park latched on to like it was the last cup of water in the desert. I just wanted someone to love me, and I wanted security, and he gave me that. Then I spent the rest of our marriage turning into something I wasn’t just so that love and security never went away.”
I let out a huge breath, turning my head to look over at him as he pulls into my driveway and puts the truck in park with the engine still running.
Leaning over in his seat, he brushes my hair off my forehead and presses his lips against it, holding them there for a few seconds before tipping his head down and pressing his forehead against mine.
“I never want Anastasia to think she has to rely on someone else for her happiness, or be afraid to be whoever she wants to be. I want her to learn how to be strong and independent and how to make something of herself on her own, never changing just to suit someone else’s ideas or vision of what a wife and a woman should be, or how they should act,” I explain to him. “I know not everyone is going to be proud of the Naughty Princess Club, but I am, and I know my daughter will be too, and that’s all that matters.”
PJ pulls his head back and presses one of his hands to the side of my face.
“You amaze me,” he whispers. “Every single day, every single minute I spend with you, I watch you do exactly what you set out to do, so strong and confident and sure of yourself, and it amazes me. Anastasia is going to grow up to be a remarkable young woman because you have already shown her what a fierce, independent, incredible woman looks like, and you are a wonderful mother.”
I wrap my arms around PJ’s shoulders and he wraps his around my waist, and we pull each other closer as I turn my head and rest my cheek on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I tell him softly as I stare out of his driver’s side window and see Anastasia and Ariel come racing out of the house.
I pull out of PJ’s arms and point to the two of them giggling as they run across the yard. PJ hits the button to roll down his window just as they make it to his side of the car.
“So, Mom, Ariel has been teaching me some sweet dance moves while you were gone. How soon can I join the family business?” Anastasia asks.
“Ariel!” I shout, which makes her shrug.
“What? She wanted to learn how to dance like a stripper, so I showed her how to dance like a stripper. It’s fine. I didn’t let her take any clothes off. She’s underage, and I’m not a monster or anything,” Ariel replies.
“No more stripper lessons with my daughter,” I scold her.
“Chill, Mom. When you croak, someone’s gonna need to handle things around here,” Anastasia says.
“Maybe I should have waited to sit her down and tell her about the Naughty Princess Club when she was older. Like, thirty. Or never,” I whisper to PJ.
“Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. Your daughter has the rhythm of a drunk baby on meth. It was hard to watch.” Ariel grimaces, which earns her a smack in the arm from my daughter.
PJ and I watch the two of them bicker as they head back toward the house, and we both get out of the car and follow behind them.
“What was that you were saying about me being a wonderful mother?” I ask with a sigh as he wraps his arm around my shoulder.
“Eh, it’ll be fine. We’ll just throw some chocolate at her and she’ll forget all about it.”
Chapter 27: Human Ficus Tree
Swivel your hips. Make eye contact with the men across the room who are watching. Sensually slide your hands over your breasts. Bend over and come back up nice and slow.
“Oh my God, your shoes are so cute!”
My mental pep talk is interrupted when I bend forward and my eyes latch on to the adorable black heels that lace halfway up the legs of Staci, the woman whose lap I’m currently sitting on.
With my ass in her crotch, her hands on my hips and my back to her, I’m leaning over her legs so far at this point my boobs are pressed against her knees.
“Thanks! I got them at the Rack Room. Fifty percent off.”
I pull myself up and lean back against her chest when she kicks one of her legs out in front of us, bringing her leg up between my knees, twisting and turning her foot so I can get a better look at her killer shoes.
“Do they come in red? I have this adorable red bra with matching garters and those would look great with them.”
Someone clears their throat from across the room and I look over to find PJ standing in the corner with his arms crossed in front of him and his eyebrow raised.
I thought I would be nervous as hell dancing at my first official Naughty Princess Club party this weekend, but as soon as I walked in the door and saw it was a couple’s bachelor/bachelorette party, all my nerves vanished in an instant. It helped having other women here. Sisters in solidarity and all that shit. It also didn’t hurt that PJ decided he would come with me and act as my bodyguard. It was one of the rules he put in place when he was helping us with the terms and conditions on our website. I still don’t let him tell me what to do, but when he explained that a beautiful, sexy woman walking into a house full of strangers, most likely drunk men, all alone was a safety issue, I understood where he was coming from. Until we’re making enough money to hire someone else, PJ will accompany me, hiding in the corner like he is right now, while I work.
Honestly, the only nerves I had coming here today all centered on walking in this house and finding out someone I knew was one of the guests. What would I do if I walked in here and one of Anastasia’s teachers was sitting on the couch, patting his lap for me to sit on it? Would he expect me to do a little dance for him at the next parent/teacher conference to bring Anastasia’s B in math up to an A? What if the polite, soft-spoken eighteen-year-old who bags my groceries and calls me ma’am opened the door after I rang the bell, and the next time I went through his checkout line, he gave me a knowing look and a wink when I bought cucumbers? I mean, I don’t actually use cucumbers, or any prop, for that matter, in my dances, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.
Thankfully, the ranch-style home located two counties over from where I live was filled with nothing but strangers. The best man and maid of honor, who happen to be happily married, welcomed me into their home and immediately offered me something to drink. I greedily accepted, double fisting two shots of vodka and downing them like a champ. Don’t judge me. I own this company and if I want to drink on the job, I will damn well drink on the job.
The living room was filled with the rest of the wedding party, six men and six women, including the bride and groom. As soon as I walked in, everyone introduced themselves, cracked jokes, told me a little about each other, and made me feel right at home. After one more quick shot of vodka (seriously, whoever invented vanilla-flavored vodka should have a national holiday named after them), I hooked up my Bluetooth to the homeowner’s sound system and pulled up the playlist I’d made in preparation for this party. It’s fine—I was supervised by Ariel, and thankfully, she only had to veto three of my choices.
As soon as the first song started playing, which happened to be the same one that played at Charming’s the afternoon PJ gave me my first orgasm in ten million years, I let the music take over and I got to work. It was exhilarating and empowering, and I’
m not going to lie: I got incredibly turned on with each article of clothing I took off. My eyes caught PJ’s every couple of seconds as I moved, and eventually I was down to my white-lace bra with tiny hot-pink bows that connected the straps to the cups, and a pair of white lace boy shorts with hot pink ribbons that laced the sides together on my hips.
PJ softly clears his throat again and I realize the bride-to-be is still chatting about where she got her shoes while I remain unmoving in her lap.
He gives me a small smile from his dark corner of the room when I roll my eyes at him and go back to moving my body.
“Your husband is hot,” Staci whispers as I grind myself on her lap, rubbing my back against her chest as I bring my arm up and gently fling it back behind her head.
I run my fingers through her hair as I continue moving, giving PJ a wink when he shifts from one foot to the other and subtly adjusts himself in his pants.
“He’s not my husband. I’m just using him for sex.”
I feel Staci’s laughter rumble through her chest pressed against my back.
“Even better.”
The song comes to an end, and I slowly slide myself off of her lap, turning around and smiling down at her as everyone else in the room starts clapping and whistling, followed by playful arguing about who’s next.
“Thanks for making my first official lap dance not as painful as I thought it would be,” I tell her.
She stands up from the chair I pulled into the middle of the room, and we both turn to look at her future husband, who never took his eyes off her the entire time I danced on her lap.
“Thanks for giving Todd excellent spank-bank material for the nights I’m too tired or have a headache.”
We both laugh as I point to my next victim and wait for him to situate himself in the chair Staci just vacated.
For the next hour I do my thing, giving each member of the bridal party stellar lap dances, if I do say so myself. After putting my clothes back on in the half-bath off the living room, collecting a wad of cash and a huge tip from the best man, and wishing the bride and groom the best of luck, I walk with PJ out the door into the crisp night air.
He didn’t say anything to anyone when we said good-bye, just gave them terse nods before ushering me outside. He doesn’t say a word as we make our way down the walk, and he still doesn’t say anything when he holds his truck door open for me, waiting until I’m settled in my seat before closing it behind me.
I wasn’t nervous taking my clothes off in front of those people and dancing on their laps, but now that I’m fully clothed and PJ isn’t talking, I feel like I want to throw up as I watch him walk around the front of the truck and get behind the wheel, slamming his door closed behind him so hard the truck shakes.
Is he mad that I was really into those lap dances? It’s not like anyone in that room turned me on. I was turned on having PJ watch me and thinking about the times I’ve been on his lap. Is he jealous? It’s not like I’m giving customers the same kind of dances I’ve given him. But I’m still on their laps, shaking my ass, shoving my boobs in their face, and everything else that goes along with the job.
And since he helped us come up with our rules and regulations, which include no touching the dancers, it’s not like anyone had their hands on me. Well, aside from the women. I tossed that rule out of the window for them because, well, they’re women. I don’t swing that way, so it’s not like it would be a problem. And really, they only held onto my hips every once in a while, it’s not like they were rubbing their hands all over me. I knew it might end up being a bad idea to have him come with me and act as my bodyguard. It’s one thing to know the woman you’re sleeping with is dancing for other people. It’s a whole other nightmare when you have to witness it, being forced to stand in the corner and not say or do anything unless you have to step in because someone gets out of hand.
“Are you mad?”
In the dark interior of the truck, with just the dashboard lights glowing on PJ’s face, I watch a muscle tick in his jaw before he looks over at me and finally speaks.
“No.”
Great. A one-word answer. That doesn’t scream pissed as hell at all.
“Why would you think I’m mad?”
I want to shout, “Because your voice is all low and gruff, and even though just the sound of it is turning me on and making me want to mount you, I’m not an idiot, and you are definitely mad at what you just witnessed, and how dare you get mad when you knew what you were in for, you annoying man!”
Thankfully, I don’t shout that. I take a nice, calming breath and speak like a rational adult.
“Because there was a vein popping out of your forehead all night that I thought would seriously kill my chances of getting a tip if it exploded. Removing blood stains from the walls and carpet is pretty expensive, from what I hear.”
I watch his hands clench and unclench around the steering wheel a few times before one of those hands suddenly shoots out, wraps around the back of my neck and tugs me toward him.
Our lips collide and my mouth immediately opens for him. I let out a soft moan when his tongue swirls around mine, bringing my hands up between us to clutch the front of his shirt in my fists as I pull him closer. He deepens the kiss, and I forget about being mad that he’s mad and just enjoy this moment—the taste of him, the heat of his body, the way his hand at the back of my neck grabs a handful of hair and holds my head in place so he can devour me. Right when I’m ready to shove him back so I can climb onto his lap, not even caring that we’re still in the driveway of my first paying customer’s house, he ends the kiss with a few soft, pecks against my swollen lips, pulling his head back to stare into my eyes.
“I’m not mad. I’m sexually frustrated after having to stand in the corner of the room and pretend to be a ficus tree while watching you take your clothes off and dance like a fucking goddess. I’m definitely not mad. I’m proud of you. And horny. But mostly proud.”
I smile at him, sliding my hand down his chest, over his abs, and resting my palm over the impressive proof of his horniness straining against the zipper of his jeans.
“You promise you’re not even a little bit mad I danced on other men’s laps tonight?” I whisper, pressing my palm harder against him and smiling when he lets out a groan.
“Sweetheart, this is your job. I’m not mad. And besides, while I stand there in the corner of the room, knowing those men and women are going to be fantasizing about what you did to them for weeks to come, I know you’re going home with me at the end of the night.”
And just like that, I melt into a puddle of goo in the passenger seat.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here so I can reward my human ficus tree with a little fuckus.”
PJ’s laughter fills the cab of the truck as he starts up the engine and backs out of the driveway, reaching over and lacing his fingers through mine as we make our way back to my house.
Seriously, how did I get so lucky to find a guy like this?
Chapter 28: I More Than Like You
I can’t believe this is my life now.
It’s been three weeks since my first paying stripping job, and I’ve successfully conducted ten more parties since then, always rewarding PJ when we get home each night for being the best bodyguard and human ficus tree. Each week with him is better than the last. True to his word, he made sure Anastasia came with us to his mother’s house the next time we went for a visit, and I practically had to drag her and Luanne away from each other when it was time to go, they got along so well. Since then, Luanne has stopped by several times to take Anastasia shopping and to spend the day with her, giving PJ and me some time alone. And giving my girl a taste of what it’s like to have a loving, caring grandparent in her life.
Surprisingly, I haven’t heard one word from Brian’s parents since that day in the mall, when I ran into Claudia. It’s not like I expected her to feel guilty with my parting shot about her granddaughter’s well-being and suddenly show up here to se
e her, but I also haven’t received any more threatening phone calls from Vincent about his stupid money. It’s been a nice change of pace not having to break out in a cold sweat each time my cell phone rings. Not only have the calls from Vincent stopped, but so have the ones from the bill collectors, since the Naughty Princess Club has been turning a very nice profit.
PJ continues to burrow his way into my heart with the way he treats Anastasia as well, the two of them getting along like they’ve known each other forever—oftentimes ganging up on me, but I don’t mind. I could never mind when I see the happiness on my daughter’s face, and I definitely didn’t mind when PJ was the one who convinced her to stop wearing so much black clothing all the time.
And yet, I still don’t know what we are. Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Are we serious? Are we even exclusive? It’s not like I’m going out and testing the waters now that I’ve learned how to swim again, but what if he is? These are things we probably should have discussed by now, but I don’t know how to bring it up without looking like an insecure, needy woman.
“Am I moving too fast?”
The sound of PJ’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize I should probably be paying attention to him right now instead of letting my mind wander. And then it occurs to me what he asked and a thrill of excitement goes through me.
“OMG I’m so glad you said something! I wasn’t sure if this was something people were supposed to talk about or if you weren’t saying anything because you didn’t feel the same way, but I really, really like you, and I like what we’re doing, and maybe it’s fast to other people but it feels right to me, you know?” I ramble, looking down at him expectantly.
“Jesus, you’re adorable,” PJ laughs. “I was actually referring to my dick moving inside you, but if you’d rather talk about our feelings, I’m okay with that too. As long as I can keep my dick where it is. He’s very warm and cozy.”