Stripped by the Professor_The Office Hours Series Page 2

  “Thanks for this,” I said, pulling away from her. “Thanks so much, but I need to get out of this outfit.”

  “You need to get into something for lap dances,” said Amber, a gorgeous redheaded dancer with years of experience. She acted like more of a stage mom than anyone else.

  “Oh, I don’t do lap dances,” I said, sticking to the one rule I’d made for myself. It seemed much too intimate and too close of a connection for me to handle.

  “Tonight you do.” Amber raised her eyebrow. “We just got in a special request for you. Five hundred dollars for fifteen minutes. When are you ever going to earn that kind of cash again?”

  “Can I say no?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “Not if you want to keep dancing here.” Amber flipped her hair and walked away.

  “Come on. I’ll help you get ready,” Dusty said. “This isn’t going to be bad, I promise.”

  But I wasn’t sure if she could promise anything like that, the way my stomach flopped around and I felt like I was going to be sick.

  Lock

  The Silver Dollar Club was exactly what I’d expected. It was probably dingy and dirty by the light of day, but at night the bright lights and darkened corners chased out any evidence of the seedy nature.

  And the girls didn’t hurt their image either, of course. Everywhere I looked there was a gorgeous, plastic-looking woman dressed in next to nothing.

  They were perfect for what I wanted—a quickie, a meaningless fling. Something that would alleviate my pent-up tension, a release, and allow me to move on.

  Troy caught me looking and smirked. “If there’s one thing I know about this guy, it’s that he’s just as horny as the rest of us once you get him out of his office.”

  “You got me there.” I laughed uncomfortably and ran my hand through my hair. I hated that I had such a base nature that needed to be satiated from time to time, but let’s face it, sometimes a man just had to fuck.

  I was only half paying attention when Troy whistled through his teeth and the DJ made a big deal about a brand new dancer. I didn’t catch her name, but the hush that came over the club made me turn away from the waitress I was ordering drinks from and pay attention to the stage.

  And my jaw almost dropped, along with every other man’s in the club.

  She was stunning.

  More than stunning, she was absolute perfection wrapped up in a beautiful, vulnerable energy that almost seem to swirl around her.

  Her dark auburn hair hung in thick, shiny waves down her back, her stomach was trembling and flat as she danced, and her breasts thrust out in beat with her movements and the music.

  They were full, almost spilling over the top of her tight bustier, and they were very obviously real.

  That’s what struck me as so incredible—in a sea of plastic women, fake tans, and dyed hair, the girl on the stage was absolutely, one hundred percent authentic.

  And I didn’t understand how she could be hanging off a pole, grinding her hips against it, finally exposing her beautiful body, and yet still so authentically innocent.

  “She’s fucking hot,” Troy said, half under his breath. “Fuckably hot.”

  “That she is,” I replied slowly, but when our eyes met and mine locked on her smoldering, impossibly blue gaze, I felt the need to protect her rising up from somewhere inside. I fought the urge to drag her off the stage, throw her over my shoulder, and take her back to my place.

  To make her mine.

  I couldn’t stop looking at her and watched her stroll to the back and off the stage, where I kept my eyes locked onto the spot where she’d disappeared.

  “That does it. You’re getting a lap dance from that one.” Troy snickered and high-fived our other friends. I barely registered his words as I downed another whiskey, neat, and imagined myself buried deep inside the girl I’d just fallen for.

  It was ridiculous—surrounded by all these easy women, I wanted the one who had walked away.

  Britt

  The private rooms were at the back of the club. I hadn’t done much more than take a peek in there during the day when I’d been practicing my pole work with Dusty.

  They seemed pretty cheesy to me, a single pole in the middle with a purple velvet couch along one side. The rest of it was mirrored so you could see hundreds of variations of yourself falling from grace.

  And I couldn’t imagine the things that went on in those rooms. Club rules were no touching and men were allowed to look but must stay seated at all times, but I wouldn’t want to take a black light in there.

  I shuddered at the thought of how dirty the rooms must truly be.

  “Amber said you’re in room seven.” Dusty grabbed my hand as if she sensed my need to run away from the impending encounter. “Don’t worry. You look fantastic. You have a few more layers to peel away, and all you have to do is what you did on stage, but inches away from the guys who paid. Just pretend they’re blow-up dolls or something.”

  I glanced up to the stage where the club’s biggest star, Ebony, was doing her thing. She was a true athlete on the pole, and her body was absolute perfection. The lights glimmered off her glittered body lotion, and her thick, black hair moved as if it was a living being on its own.

  Her legs were long and lean, her breasts full and pert, and her skin was flawless and dark. I couldn’t help but stare at her in open admiration.

  She was essentially everything I was not, and I suddenly felt like a pale little potato next to the goddess on the pole.

  Dusty caught the direction of my gaze and laughed. “Don’t worry. She makes us all feel like that. You’re perfect the way you are. There’s no way to compete against a woman like Ebony, so find out what makes you special and shake it like you own it. That’s all you can do in this biz.”

  I nodded and followed her to the door with the golden, glitzy number seven emblazoned on it.

  Dusty squeezed my hand and told me, “Good luck—you’ve got this,” and opened the door for me.

  I stepped inside and mentally crammed all my nervous, stomach-flipping energy deep down, pretending I was a cool, calm, sexy woman who was doing something she did every day.

  The door closed behind me, and I adjusted my eyes to the dim light.

  On the velvet sofa were four men, but only one of them caught my attention.

  Mr. Sexy himself, looking as bashful as I felt, and even sexier than before.

  I stumbled, and he reached out to grab my arm.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, that deep voice sending a shiver of delight down my spine.

  “Sorry,” I stammered. “It’s these heels.”

  “They look like fuck-me shoes.” His friend snickered. “I guess there’s no chance of finding out if they look better on my shoulders while I do just that, is there?”

  “Seriously, Troy, I knew we shouldn’t have done this,” Mr. Sexy snapped.

  “Jesus, Lock, lighten up. I’m just having a little fun, something you might try one of these days.” Troy sneered and slapped Mr. Sexy—Lock—on the shoulder.

  The other two men looked a little embarrassed as well, and a dark-haired man with dark eyes said, “Troy, why do you always have to take it too far? Let’s just enjoy the show and stop treating her like she’s a slab of meat for you to gobble up. It’s gross.”

  “God dammit, you too, Adam?” Troy grumbled but settled back onto the seat, defeated by his peers.

  Lock seemed annoyed but relaxed after Troy settled down. He looked at me and shrugged as if embarrassed of his friend’s behavior.

  “So what does this buy us?” Troy demanded, and the music began to play in the background out of tinny-sounding speakers. “Are we allowed to touch or just look?”

  One of Lock’s friends said, “I think that’s up to Lock here. It’s his celebration, after all.”

  “What are you celebrating?” I asked, still standing awkwardly in front of him. I felt entirely unsexy at that moment.

  “I got a promotion.” He smi
led. “It’s not that big of a deal. I think this crew was just looking for any excuse to come to this place.”

  “We love titty bars!” Troy chortled. “I think we’re breaking Lock’s peeler club virginity though, so make this dance worth his while!”

  I felt frozen to the spot, looked down at Lock, and pretended he was the only one in the room with me. As much as I didn’t want the intimacy of being one on one with a man, I couldn’t handle the way his friends were treating me.

  “So you’re not the strip club type?” I asked Lock and swayed my body to the slow beat that came from the speakers in the ceiling.

  “This is his first time,” Troy blurted and punched Lock in the shoulder. “We’ve been trying to drag him out for years.”

  I wanted to tell him it was my first time too, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to act like a professional, a seductress who knew her stuff and could shake the dollars from any man’s wallet. I needed to. I had that tuition to pay, after all, and making less than minimum wage and depending on tips at the restaurant wasn’t going to cover anything.

  “Seriously, Troy, let the poor girl do her job. Your name was Candy, right?” Lock asked, looking up at me with a gaze that made my knees weak. I hated that he saw me as a person, a woman, and not just an object.

  It made it harder to maintain a mental distance from him, especially given the way every cell in my body was aware of how close I was to his body in that cramped little room.

  “Yeah, Candy.” I smiled and closed my eyes, the only way I could manage to get this dance going without tumbling into Lock’s arms and falling into the sensual depths of his eyes.

  Of course my name wasn’t Candy, but the first thing Dusty had told me was to never use my real name. It was all part of the fantasy, and somebody named Britt wasn’t going to make as much as a dancer named Candy.

  I swayed and moved, sliding my body by my spine like a snake, and Troy and the other men made comments of approval at my performance.

  The second song came on, and I shook out of the little white negligee I was wearing, exposing my breasts again but so close to Lock I almost ached for him to break the rules and touch me.

  The other guys said rude things about what they’d like to do to my body, but there wasn’t a sound from Lock. I worried that I was boring him, so on the last song, I swung myself around, brushed the hair from my eyes, and allowed myself to take a look at him.

  I had to suppress a gasp at the mask of pure lust on his face.

  And I had hide my smug smile at the massive, thick erection pressed down his pants along his upper thigh.

  It seemed I wasn’t the only one aware of the sexual tension between us, so I danced my sexiest moves for the remaining time and practically ran out of the room once I was done.

  I didn’t know how to process what had just happened, and as good as it made me feel, it terrified me too. I didn’t like being that out of control, and yet when I thought about Lock, all my body wanted was him in total control of it.

  Life wasn’t exactly simple, but I had a feeling that was going to be the last I saw of him, so I would carefully tuck those emotions away and focus on school.

  But I should have known that nothing ever goes as planned.

  Lock

  Troy and the guys dragged my half-drunk ass to the rooms at the back of the club and shoved me down onto the velvet couch, laughing raucously.

  “Holy shit, this is going to be epic.” Troy whooped and hollered as the waitress brought more drinks.

  “Who is it?” I asked. “Is it your little favorite?”

  “Troy has more than one little favorite, maybe three or four,” Adam, one of our friends from college, added. “Not that it’s something to write home about.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty impressive,” Colton, another one of the group added. “The thing is most of the girls like him too.”

  “As much as I love being flattered by all the dancers who love me and my money, this one’s for Lock tonight,” Troy said. “Tonight is all about Dr. Craig, professor of languages with full tenure. And apparently on his own—his daddy didn’t have to pay for it.”

  “Unlike your lazy ass.” I chuckled and downed another shot.

  “How else was I going to get my degrees and bang that many hot co-eds?” Troy asked, holding his hands out in mock apology.

  I laughed and took another shot. I might as well get drunker after seeing that girl on the stage, the one I wanted who apparently didn’t do private dances.

  Yes, I’d asked.

  She was the only one I wanted, the only woman in my head on repeat, her body moving like a snake through my mind.

  I needed to be more than a little drunk to dull the need for that dancer, to help me focus on whatever plastic doll Troy had shaken out of the tree for me. Fake blond hair, rubber breasts, pumped up lips…the usual type you’d find somewhere like here and the reason I never came to strip clubs.

  But the need to celebrate and release some of the pent-up sexual tension threatening to drive me mad meant I would be taking one of them home tonight.

  Not the one I wanted though. My vulnerable beauty with the thick hair, perfect ass, and those legs that went on forever.

  Troy jumped up when a dancer stumbled in and almost fell. He made some crude remark, and I caught her eye.

  And could barely breathe.

  It was her, the girl from the stage that got under my skin and into my blood and dominated my mind.

  We managed to stammer out some small talk, and finally, prodded by Troy, Candy began to dance. As sweet as candy, I’d suddenly developed a sweet tooth and wanted nothing else than to have her as mine.

  I regretted drinking so much. She deserved my uninterrupted focus and all of my attention.

  How could I pay her all my attention when my cock throbbed for her and I fought the urge to bury myself deep inside of her hot, tight pussy? As she moved in front of me and pressed herself against me, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, my candy girl, and taste her sweetness on my tongue.

  I wanted to moan, growl, and drag her onto my cock, thrust up into her and make her gasp with pleasure as I claimed her cunt as my own.

  Before I knew what was happening, she had finished her dance, gave me a long, smoldering glance, and ducked out.

  “Fuck. She’s gone,” Troy snipped. “Nothing worse than a dancer with morals. Let’s find you a real slutty one.”

  He stomped out. I could tell he was about to throw one of his rich boy tantrums, but I wasn’t interested. The other guys followed Troy, and I left the group and headed toward the back, a door on the side of the stage I imagined led to the dressing rooms and my candy girl.

  A huge, beefy dude held his hand up and glowered at me. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  “Candy,” I said, a little startled at how fucking drunk I sounded. I slurred my words. “Where’s Candy?”

  “You’re looking for a stripper named Candy? Do you know how fucking ridiculous that is?”

  Troy found me, saved me, and dragged me away laughing and pouring more booze down my throat until somehow I found myself back at my place sleeping off a mean headache that threatened to turn into a wicked hangover.

  I had a vague memory of getting my cock sucked in the back of an Uber on the way home, but there was no sign of a woman in my apartment.

  Had it been a dream, or had I really been that drunk?

  I didn’t feel as pent up as I had before, so who knew? Maybe one of Troy’s slutty strippers had drained my balls after all. At least now I could focus on teaching my upcoming classes and trying to forget a perfect woman with the fake name Candy.

  But as I rolled around in bed and thought about her again, my cock hardened and throbbed, and that old sensation of pent-up lust returned.

  It didn’t matter how many of Troy’s women sucked me off—I wasn’t going to be able to relax until I found the real woman behind the sexiest little candy girl I’d ever seen.

&
nbsp; Britt

  My alarm went off bright and early at six in the morning.

  I groaned and wanted desperately to roll over and fall back asleep, but today was the big day. The entire reason I’d left the farm and the stifling confines of my homeschooled existence.

  I was starting college and needed to get to the campus early enough to secure the limited loans and scholarships I’d managed to get.

  And to pay more on my tuition. The money from the last two nights of dancing was stacked on my night table, and I could barely believe how much I’d made as I let myself look at it again.

  I didn’t have to do any more private dances, but I had done two more sets after Lock and his friends left and it seemed as if the longer the night went on, the more generous the men got. I hadn’t expected Sunday night to be that busy either, given that back home it was a church and family kind of day, but here in the city it seemed people didn’t dedicate their time to those things.

  Dusty said it was the drinking that did it. Both nights seemed as if men’s wallets loosened up the more booze they got in their systems.

  I didn’t mind, of course. I felt like I earned every penny of it, but there was that strange part of me that didn’t feel connected to the girl who shook her ass on stage. I didn’t know if I ever would.

  I sat up, grabbed the thick stack of bills, and flicked them through my fingers as I grinned like a crazy woman.

  This was going to work. I was going to make this work.

  I set it down and went to shower, pulled on my comfy jeans and hoodie for my first day, and headed to the bus stop just in time to make my way to school. I sat near the front of the bus and hunched over with headphones on, feeling the bulk of the money roll pressing into my side through my backpack and praying nobody would realize how much I carried with me.

  As much as I loved having this much cash on hand, I couldn’t wait to get rid of it by paying off a portion of my tuition.