All posts by Jo-Anna W

#REVIEW – Defy (Sinners of Saint 0.5) by LJ Shen

Defy is a short novella. It is a prequel to Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1) and can be read as a complete standalone. Now an international bestseller.

My name is Melody Greene, and I have a confession to make.
I slept with my student, a senior in high school.
Multiple times.
I had multiple orgasms.
In multiple positions.
I slept with my student and I enjoyed it.
I slept with my student and I’d do it all over again if I could turn back time.
My name is Melody Greene, and I got kicked out of my position as a teacher and did my walk of shame a la Cersei Lannister from the principal’s office, minutes after said principal threatened to call the cops on me.
My name is Melody Greene, and I did something bad because it made me feel good.
Here is why it was totally worth it.

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
So I read this book after reading Vicious and while it didn’t make a huge difference, I did get some spoilers. So I highly suggest reading this one first. I believe this little book was written for an anthology and holy moly was it ever hot.
Jaime. Dude, where the heck did you come from???? And what an impact you made!
Melody is a teacher. Correction, Melody is Jaime’s teacher and the insane chemistry they have is off the charts. I do love me some age gap romances and this one definitely raises the bar.
Defy is HOT. DELICIOUS. And oh so sinful.
LJ sure knows how to write some yummy sex scenes. 😉
I also enjoyed that we got to see more of Vicious and his douchey ways and also the rest of the guys. I do wish I would have read this first but oh well. Live and learn.
The only thing I wish was that it was longer. But that’s just me being greedy.

#REVIEW – Vicious (Sinners of Saint Book 1) by L.J. Shen

Emilia

They say love and hate are the same feelings experienced under different circumstances, and it’s true.
The man who comes to me in my dreams also haunts me in my nightmares.
He is a brilliant lawyer.
A skilled criminal.
A beautiful liar.
A bully and a savior, a monster and a lover.
Ten years ago, he made me run away from the small town where we lived. Now, he came for me in New York, and he isn’t leaving until he takes me with him.

Vicious

She is a starving artist.
Pretty and evasive like cherry blossom.
Ten years ago, she barged into my life unannounced and turned everything upside down.
She paid the price.
Emilia LeBlanc is completely off-limits, my best friend’s ex-girlfriend. The woman who knows my darkest secret, and the daughter of the cheap Help we hired to take care of our estate.
That should deter me from chasing her, but it doesn’t.
So she hates me. Big fucking deal.
She better get used to me.

Vicious a complete standalone and a part of the Sinners of Saint series

Twinsie Jo’s Review:

So I had seen this book floating around for awhile now. And then LJ blew up with the rest of the series and now the kid’s books. Well, I actually picked up the first book to the kid’s and stopped reading cause it made me twitch that I wasn’t starting with the parents. So I went all the way back to the beginning. The OG of the characters. The first HotHole. And…uh…wow. So I’m all for grumpy, brooding men but Vicious or Baron (which I really like that name by the way) took it to a whole other level. I was chatting with an author friend about her grumpiest hero and she said that Vicious reminded me of her character who I absolutely adore. That’s when I knew I would love this book.

First off…Vicious is mean. He’s outright cruel to Millie but as the book goes on, you begin to understand why. Not that it makes it any more right but he atones for his sins. Eventually.

Vicious is one of the HotHoles. Which is four rich guys, or kids rather, who run All Saints High. They run the school, the town, basically everyone around them. They party, play football, have this game called Defy that sounds pretty brutal if you ask me. And did I mention they party? Where were these kids when I was in school?

The book also jumps from the past to the present in the beginning of the book but as you learn about how Millie and Vicious meet, it ends up sticking with the present situation. Ten years later and Vicious is on a mission. To get his girl and avenge a loved one.

I really enjoyed this book. Also, this cover. Now that I read the book, the cover makes complete sense.

#REVIEW – A Reason To Breathe (Reason Series #1) by CP Smith

WARNING: Author believes in soul mates and insta-love. Proceed with caution if you’re not a romantic at heart.

Love at first sight was never so dangerous.

Jack Gunnison has a problem, well, two, actually. One stands 5’5″ and the other? . . . A killer.

Jennifer Stewart needs a change after losing her husband and sending her daughter off to College. Jenn moves to the high country of Colorado to start her life over and follow her dreams. Unfortunately, she gets more than she bargained for when she attracts the eye of a killer.

Together, Jack and Jenn must figure out his identity before he strikes again.

Mature content 18+

Twinsie Jo’s Review:

So before I picked up this book, I wasn’t reading as much as I would have liked. My editor gave me “homework” and told me to pick up a book. She recommended CP and I’m SO glad she did. I’ve known CP for quite a few years but haven’t actually read her. Well, now I’m on a mission to read every book by her. It’ll take a while but I will get there.

This book is the start of the Reason To Breathe Series. It has Alpha men and strong females. I already know that just from reading the first book.

Jack…oh Jack. Yeah…his Alpha grumpy broodiness totally did it for me. He was protective…maybe over protective at times but it worked for him. And also annoyed the heroine, Jenny at the same time. Their banter was hilarious. I laughed out loud so many times while reading this book.

Jenny moves to a small town. Since her daughter is away at school and Jenny’s husband died, she needed a change. Well insert new town, new job and new man? And I think she got more than what she bargained for.

This book had some suspense in it too! And if you can figure out who the bad guy is, good job because I know I sure couldn’t!

#REVIEW – Filthy Vows by Alessandra Torre

Would you tell your husband everything?I was a loyal wife. But in my mind, I’d gotten on my knees in front of his best friend. I’d been pushed onto the grass of our back yard and violated by our landscaper. I’d visited the doctor and imagined an entirely different sort of exam.And then, I did the one thing a good wife should never do.I told him my fantasies.And my husband? He gave them to me.

Twinsie Jo’s Review

I read the blurb, loved the cover and needed this book instantly. Now that I’m done the book, it actually wasn’t what I was expecting. I’m not sure what I was expecting though. I didn’t realize that this book was about a married couple’s journey to exploring their kinky side. It was a nice surprise actually. I guess I thought the kinky fantasies would have happened sooner. Boy was I wrong. Lol!

I was traveling home and devoured this book in one sitting basically. Elle and Easton have an explosive chemistry. The love they have for each other melts off of the pages. Add to the fact that Easton fulfills his wife’s fantasies…

So this book lets us see how Elle and Easton met. Some sexy times they share. And a look into their friend’s lives as well.

I think I would have liked a little more chapters from Easton’s POV but again, I devoured the book, so it’s not a huge huge deal.

Once the fantasy finally takes place, it’s hot. So so hot. Oh and this is actually my first book of Alessandra’s but I’ve heard that it’s her hottest. There is a part 2 to this book coming out and I really can’t wait to see how else Easton fulfills his wife’s delicious fantasies.

#REVIEW – Sweet Enough To Eat by Alexa Riley


Nikki’s been crashing weddings with her bestie Sugar as she tries to find the one. When she least expects it, Dean pops up and he’s on the same page as she is. But a catastrophe involving a piercing, an IUD, and a trip to the emergency room has her running for the hills.

Dean always knew that when he found the woman that was meant to be his, he would know it. And the second he saw Nikki, he was ready for the white picket fence. But when they get separated she takes off… But not to worry – he loves the chase.

Warning: This quick follow-up to Wedding Cake Crasher gives you the whole story on Dean and Nikki. Read their side of the story and fall in love all over again…

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
This story is about 2 side characters from Wedding Cake Crasher. I haven’t read that story but plan on it. Even though this is a follow up, I wasn’t confused and I didn’t feel like I missed anything.
This story is super short but fun and of course, HOT.
Dean and Nikki meet at a wedding. Sparks fly and they feel an instant connection. Well things get moving pretty fast and while they’re getting hot and heavy. They get stuck. Literally.
How embarrassing??
After that unexpected incident, it doesn’t stop them from finding that happiness and love they feel from the very start.

#REVIEW – Too Many by Alexa Riley


Nellie has a desire so filthy she can’t say it out loud, but having two men at once was never on her radar until she met the twins. Now all she can think about is being sandwiched between Owen and Elijah. It’s all just a fantasy, because she could never have it in real life. Right?

Elijah and Owen have finally graduated college and are taking over the family business from their dad. The final step in creating the life they want is claiming Nellie. She’s the one they’ve been waiting on, and though she might be shy, they know she’s made to take them.

Warning: Can a woman really have too many men love her? We don’t think so! Grab the follow-up to Too Hard and find out if these three can find their happily ever after.

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
This hot little number continues right where Too Hard ends.
Nellie is attracted to both Elijah and Owen and wants them. Both of them. Not one or the other. Both. But she thinks it’s wrong because she doesn’t know that they feel the same way.
This little story is just that. Little but hot. And so delicious.
Elijah and Owen are twins who have been determined to get Nellie as soon as they graduated college. Now that their schooling is done and their careers are set, they just need their woman.
Grab this short but hot story now! And if you’re anything like me, you’ll end up binge reading the rest of the books by AR!

#REVIEW – Too Hard by Alexa Riley


Harlow Harrison has just moved into a new apartment. The only problem is that Harlow thinks she can do everything on her own when it’s better to leave it to a professional After a disastrous water leak and an emergency call, the man that comes to her rescue might be more than she can handle. 

Butch Barton is busy running his company and raising his adopted twin sons. They’re almost ready for college and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself when they’re gone. One night on an emergency call he meets a young woman who calls to every dark place inside him. He’s old enough to be her dad and he has to keep his distance. The only problem is, Harlow doesn’t agree and it won’t take long for her to break down his resolve. 

Warning: Butch isn’t too old to find love and Harlow isn’t too young to be taken like she wants. Find out what happens when these two finally give in to what their bodies have been begging for.

Twinsie Jo’s Review:
I’ll be honest. I grabbed this one because I want to read the one that comes after it. I’m a sucker for threesome stories and these ladies don’t disappoint! I also didn’t want to read out of order AND I need to catch up on all the AR books I’ve missed anyway, so it’s a win-win all around.
It’s been awhile since I’ve read an AR book and man, I have I missed these ladies and their filthy minds.
Harlow is a gamer/hacker/techy type person while Butch is a contractor. Sparks start flying high when she tries fixing a leaky faucet and water starts spraying everywhere. Butch comes to her rescue and fixes the issue but not the issue of his feelings for a much younger woman.
They try and fight their feelings and the intense connection they have but we all know, that neither of them win that fight.
This story was short, hot and oh so filthy.
Now onto the next one!!

#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler



If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/

Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler

Connect with Vic Tyler

Website  →  https://lovevictyler.wordpress.com

Facebook Group  →  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVicTyler/

Twitter  →  https://twitter.com/LoveVicTyler/

Instagram  →  https://www.instagram.com/lovevictyler/



#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler

If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

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