Destined for the Dom [Masters of Submission 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (2 page)

Some of the girls would even leave with the men who frequented the club. They weren’t supposed to. It was strictly against the rules at Les Belles. The management knew it went on, but they turned a blind eye to it. Zoë had been propositioned on several occasions, but sleeping with men for money just wasn’t her style. She knew it was prostitution by any other name, and she’d rather go hungry than give herself away like that. Men could look all they wanted, and she knew they jerked off to a mental image of her when they returned home, but under no circumstances were they ever allowed to touch her. This was one rule the management at Les Belles did enforce without exception. She knew that being naked yet untouchable gave her the power over the men who paid to see her dance. Guys acted like real jerks when a woman danced for them. Just watching a scantily clad girl seemed to disconnect their powers of reasoning and judgment. They were like lambs to the slaughter, happily parting with ten-dollar bills, just because the dancer gyrating in front of them flaunted her tits and ass.

The door to the changing room suddenly swung wide open, and her friend and work colleague, Karen, burst in. She was breathless as she spoke. “Thank God I made it in time. That fucking babysitter turned up late again.” Sighing loudly and shaking her head, she sat down at the dressing table next to Zoë’s. “I don’t know, I pay good money and yet the babysitter treats me like shit. She knows what I do for a living, so she thinks she can treat me like crap, and get away with it.” In an effort to get up to speed, she hurriedly began applying makeup to her face.

Zoë picked up a brush and proceeded to pull it through Karen’s mane of blonde hair. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks, you’re a real doll.”

They both knew that the sooner they got ready, the sooner they could attract the attention of a paying customer. Time was money in this business.

Karen patted Zoë’s hand, and smiled. “Thanks, doll, you’re a true friend. You don’t get many people you can rely on in this game.” Changing the subject, she said, “Hey, on my way in I noticed there’s a lot of new faces out there. It should be a good night.”

Zoë brushed Karen’s blonde locks once more. “Let’s hope so. I’m a month behind with the rent, and my landlord isn’t noted for his patience.”

Karen swiveled in her seat, and looked at her. Caring, soft brown eyes studied her more closely. “I can lend you some money, Zoë. You’re the only real friend I’ve got in this stinking world.”

Zoë shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t allow you to do that. I still owe you fifty bucks from last month. You’ve already done more than enough. If I don’t start getting more attention from the guys out there, I’m gonna have to look elsewhere for work. I’m gonna give it till the end of the month before I finally hang up my G-string for good.” She forced an unconvincing smile.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m not getting any younger, Karen, and in this business we’re not allowed to grow old and lose our looks.”

“Tell me about it, doll. It’s a fucking crying shame that men cast us aside as soon as our tits and ass start to sag.”

Zoë put her head back and roared with laughter. “Honey, believe me they cast women aside at any age.” As a young teenager, a kid of just sixteen, she’d been let down by a man. Men just couldn’t be trusted, not a single one of them.

“I know exactly how you feel, Zoë. I’m five years younger than you are, and I can already sense a lack of interest in some of the guys. At least there’s some fresh faces out there tonight.”

Zoë squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re such a beautiful girl, Karen. You’ve still got plenty of time left to make good money here at the club, and at least you’ve got your kids and Dale. I don’t have a man to care for me like you do.”

Her friend’s brows drew together. “What about Mike?”

“I threw him out a week ago. Just look what the animal did to me when he’d had too much to drink.” Zoë unclasped a large leather bracelet from around her wrist to reveal the dark, ugly bruise beneath.

“Holy shit, Zoë. I’d never have thought Mike was like that. He always seemed such a nice guy.”

“Yeah, well, when he used to pick me up, let’s just say he was on his best behavior.” Zoë had grown tired of defending Mike’s drunken rages. Enough was enough. While he was out at work one day, she changed all the locks, packed his belongings, and threw it all in the street. He hadn’t been happy, but then neither was she. He was frustrated by life the same as she was, but she was tired of being his punch bag. Let him find someone else to vent his anger on.

Looping a band around her beautiful golden locks, Karen put the finishing touches to her hair. After drawing it into a ponytail, she stood up. “Well truth be told, I’m glad the bastard’s gone. I never liked him anyway. I never thought he was good enough for you, doll.”

“But I thought you liked Mike?”

“Zoë, he was your man, and I respected that, so I’d never do him down to you, or any of the other girls at Les Belles. But now he’s history, I can tell you I never trusted the creep.”

“Well that makes two of us now, Karen.” She laughed.

They made their way out front where the action was, squeezing each other’s hands as they parted company. The heady music throbbed and pulsated, easing away Zoë’s worries and insecurities. She switched off her emotions. Nothing could hurt her when she was in the zone. Here at Les Belles she was no more than a mannequin, a doll to be studied and observed. Men never wanted to know the true Zoë Leighton. They were quite happy to accept the facsimile of the woman she presented to them. At Les Belles she could be anything she wanted to be. Tonight, she’d imagine she was a beautiful young girl waiting to dance naked for her sexy man. It was her defense mechanism, a way of surviving the soul-destroying business she found herself in. Zoë’s coping strategy had served her well these past twelve years.

As she scanned the faceless men before her, she wanted more than anything else for her time at Les Belles to become just a distant memory.

She watched Karen climb onto the stage, before placing her bottle of mineral water on the floor. She then began dancing to the beat, whirling her sexy body around the chrome pole.

Zoë moved to the bar, and ordered herself a drink. “An orange juice please, Frank.”

“Coming right up, Zoë. How’s life treating you, honey?” He shook the bottle, then tipped the contents into a glass.

“Fine, Frank. Getting by in the shitty world we find ourselves in.”

“That’s all we can do, honey. Ice as usual?”

“Please.”

He topped her drink with crushed ice, then added a sparkle and handed it to her. “You’re the prettiest girl out there, honey.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Frank, you make my day as always.”

Completely in a world of her own, Zoë never once looked at the guys in the audience. In her mind they just didn’t exist. She watched Karen, gyrating around the pole. Her lithe, athletic body flowing from one sinuous movement to another. She was such a beautiful girl, she soon had an audience of men willing to slip ten-dollar bills into her G-string, taking a long, lingering look at what lay inside. When a fat guy beckoned to Karen, she moved across and leaned provocatively forward, pushing her breasts together as he tucked money inside her bra.

Jocelyn, the floor manager, came across and whispered in Zoë’s ear, “The guy sitting at table eight wants you to dance for him. Shouldn’t be a problem, Zoë, he’s a real looker. If I were ten years younger, I’d be tempted to do it myself for free.” She laughed.

Zoë smiled at Jocelyn’s humorous comments. She grabbed her orange juice and wound her way through the tables. It seemed her sexy man awaited. She hoped he was as fit as Jocelyn had made out, and not an ugly four-hundred-pound guy with halitosis. Table eight was hidden in a discreet alcove. Sometimes it was deliberately chosen by customers, aiming to get the girls to do more than just dance.

As she squeezed into the alcove, she glanced quickly at the man. There was an air of danger about him. Each of his well-developed forearms sported large tribal tattoos. “Hi, I’m Chantelle.” At Les Belles they never used their real names. She made direct eye contact with him. Men loved this. It made them feel special and important.
Dumb jerks
. Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, he somehow seemed familiar. His dark-blond hair appeared streaked by the summer sun. The thick texture caressed idly around his collar. His vivid blue eyes held hers. The familiarity of this guy unnerved her. She shook the unsettling thought from her head. Most probably she’d danced for him before, although she couldn’t remember when. “Would you like me to dance for you?”

“No, just sit down. I prefer to talk.”

Zoë looked at him again.
Just who is this guy?
I feel sure I should recognize him, but I don’t.
Is he dangerous?
His shoes were well polished, and he wore an expensive watch. He didn’t seem like the average jerk that frequented the club. “Sir, I’m happy to dance for you, or just talk, but nothing else. I hope I make myself clear.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

She heard him let out a long, slow breath. “You don’t recognize me do you, Zoë?”

Her body stiffened when he used her real name. “How do you know me? How do you know my name?”

“It’s me, Zoë, Hunter. Surely you remember me?” His voice was deep and strong, and reminded her of safety.

Her lower lip quivered. The only Hunter she knew had broken her heart when she was just a teenage girl. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was really him.

Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off Zoë. Her little elfin face suited the short bob she’d styled her jet-black hair in. Two crazy red streaks cascaded fashionably through her bangs. They certainly enhanced her incredible green eyes. He’d forgotten how wonderful they were. The color of ferns on a bright summer’s day, they literally took his breath away. The flimsy red fishnet dress she wore did little to conceal the naked feminine flesh beneath. The swell of her breasts and the tight bud of her dark nipples pressed erotically against the thin material. He could just make out a tiny black G-string and nothing much else. Hunter tried his best not to stare, but he was a hot-blooded male just like any other man.

When they were kids together at the children’s home, he’d always had a soft spot for Zoë, and felt very protective toward her. But being only ten years old when he’d first met her, he’d tried to hide the fact that he cared about her. It was only when they’d both become teenagers that he’d started to notice how pretty and sexy she was. When he was eighteen and legally an adult, he’d left and never returned.

With eyes downcast, Zoë rested her elbows on the table, and brushed her fingers through her short black hair. She lifted her eyes to his, never flinching from his gaze. “So, what happened to you, Hunter? Why come to see me after all these years?” He figured his sudden reappearance in her life had put her on the defensive.

“I suppose I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“After fourteen years?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yeah, crazy isn’t it.”

“A bit.”

Hunter thought he might as well tell Zoë the whole story. “About nine months ago, I bumped into Jake McGovern for the first time since leaving St. Mark’s. He told me where you worked. I said to myself, if I were ever in Pittsburgh, I’d look you up. So here I am.”

“Why?”

Searching for the right words, Hunter swished the bourbon around his glass, before downing a large slug of the potent liquor. Right now he needed it. Zoë looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. “I guess I wanted to see if you’re happy and settled.”

“I see, so you were satisfying your curiosity. Since I’m the happiest girl in Pittsburgh, Hunter, you can go now. There’s no need to feel obliged or anything.”

Hunter watched Zoë for a moment. There was a time when he knew exactly what she was thinking. They’d been so close when they were kids at St. Mark’s. He shook his head. That was fourteen years ago. A lot had happened since then. Was she putting up a defensive barrier? It was something she’d done to block out the evils of the children’s home. He decided to call her bluff. “If I thought for one minute you were really happy, I’d have left without talking to you.”

In all honesty, Hunter genuinely wanted Zoë to be blissfully content. It would ease his conscience, and another ghost from his past could be laid to rest. He certainly wouldn’t have made his presence known. Instead he would have just slipped quietly from the club, and left her to carry on with her wonderful life.

His initial impression was that Zoë appeared calm and at ease with herself. Perhaps he’d wanted to believe she was. It certainly would have made things easier. On the point of leaving, he’d noticed the tension in her body. She’d always had a nervous habit of tensing her fingers into tight bundles, and he spotted her doing precisely that as she walked over to the bar. It betrayed her otherwise calm exterior. Growing up together, she’d done exactly the same thing during times of stress and anxiety. It was her coping strategy when she’d been worried or apprehensive. That’s why he’d decided to stay and talk to her. He had to make sure she
was
genuinely happy and contented with her life. He owed her that much at least.

She fixed him in her gaze. “Whatever makes you think I’m unhappy, Hunter?” Her words were said calmly, but he had a feeling that was just bravado.