Soul Survivor (28 page)

His eyes sparkled and he licked his lips as he glanced down at my card. “Oh, I know this place,” he said.

I looked back again at Drew to find him staring at me. His lips were pressed into a thin line, eyebrows knitted in the center.
Good,
I thought,
be jealous
. I turned and headed for the exit, glancing over my shoulder one last time to look at Drew. Instead, I found the married man staring at my ass. Sometimes it was just too easy being a succubus.

 

The itch between my legs simply would not go away. As I drove down Las Vegas's dusty roads, I knew I had to take care of my desire, and soon. I hoped the married coffee shop guy would show up, or I'd be forced to sleep with one of the other regular assholes who frequented Hell's Lair. That's the name of the strip club—real original, huh? I shifted myself into my stripper look while driving, which was becoming increasingly hard to do as my powers lessened. I made my hair a dark brown—almost black—as I tried to decide which costume to wear tonight. Schoolgirl seemed too obvious. Cowgirl was
so
overdone here in Nevada. And dressing like an angel hit a little too close to home for me. Maybe a 1950s housewife character tonight? Or even better—I'll go vintage chic. Classy but naughty. I shifted into a tight black dress that was backless but left something for the imagination. Underneath, I put on lacy black underwear that was styled in a retro fashion, with thigh-high stockings that had a seam running up the back of my leg and a garter belt. As the finishing touches, I added a pillbox hat, black elbow-length gloves, and a long cigarette holder. Like the one Audrey Hepburn had in
Breakfast at Tiffany's.
I had to make my shift gradually so that the other drivers on the road didn't notice anything funny. Luckily, Lucien's club isn't in the heart of Vegas. Being off the beaten path makes it a little easier to not only attract the scum of the earth but it is also perfect for bringing in the immortal crowd.

I parked and ran inside, feeling completely out of place. The costume didn't even look like a stripper's costume. Grabbing one last look at myself in the full-sized mirror at the entrance, I had to admit it was unusual for a dirty strip club but still incredibly sexy.

I walked into the dark, smoky club and saw a few of the girls dancing on the stage. Hell's Lair was frequented by both mortals and demon-folk, and the seats around the stage reflected the lowest of low from both worlds. The floor was slick with oil, grease, and probably bodily fluids that I didn't let myself think too hard about. To the right and left of the stage were two bars. I crossed next to the crowd of men who were circling around the stage, each turning to look at me as I made my way past them, the smell of my sex hitting their noses—among their other regions. I nodded at T, our bartender and bouncer, and he winked in my direction. T got his name because he wears jewelry like Mr. T, and although he has a similar coloring and height, that's where the resemblance ends. Where Mr. T had muscles, T simply has fat.

Standing in front of the stage entrance blocking my way was Lenny, the annoying new manager Lucien had hired to run the place. He stood there, arms crossed over his man boobs, tapping his foot with his eyebrows knitted together. I inwardly rolled my eyes. He's shorter than me, probably somewhere around five foot four, and his greasy black hair combed over his balding scalp resulted in a zebra striping pattern along the top of his head. His belt was cinched tightly around his hips, and his belly spilled out over top. I could guarantee that at some point during the night, his shirt would come untucked, revealing his dimpled belly fat.

“You are late! Again!” He pulled out his clipboard and scribbled something down.

This time I rolled my eyes so that he saw me and brushed past him to go backstage.

He followed at my heels like some sort of balding, ugly puppy. “Monica!
Monica!
Are you even listening to me? I'll fire you if you continue this pattern.”

At that threat, I twirled around to face him. A slow smile spread across my face. I spoke quietly and calmly—and continued to give him a biting smile through my gritted teeth. “No. You won't fire me, Lenny. You can't and you
know
it. Now get the fuck out of my dressing room.” I sat down at my mirror and dabbed on some lip gloss.

His chin dropped to his chest, creating even more jowls. “You're on in fifteen minutes,” he muttered, dragging his feet behind him.

For tonight's music, I chose an old jazz tune with a lot of bass. The curtain opened and the spotlight warmed me. I started center stage, and as the first beat began, I smoked my cigarette from the long holder, taking the time to inhale deeply and slowly. The smoke streamed from my lips and swirled around the top of my head. After slipping the gloves off one at a time, I tossed them into the audience. As I slowly pulsated my hips to the rhythm, the dollar bills shot high into the air like statues in my honor. Starting with an older gentleman to my left, I allowed him to unzip my dress and peel it down over my body. His knuckles shook nervously as they brushed the smooth flesh on my back. When it reached my ankles, I opened my legs to him and stuck my hip in his face. Giving me a shy smile, he tucked a twenty into the garter belt. I danced away, moving on to the next man in the crowd, but not before I let my fingernail travel down the older man's cheek.

I stood at the edge of the stage, moving my hips in rhythm to the music. At the back of the crowd, I met eyes with a sexy man. Despite the dark bar and bright spotlight, I could see him clearly. Thank you, succubus vision. He had dark brown hair that tickled the tops of his ears and thick eyebrows that sat low over his eyes. I held his gaze for a few moments. He broke eye contact first and turned to leave the club. Some men just can't handle a forward woman.

Pivoting, I found my next tip, and that's when I noticed him against the edge of the stage. There, in the front row, was my married man from the coffee shop. His knuckle was raised to his lips, and low and behold—he had no wedding ring on his finger. Tsk, tsk. My lacy panties grew even wetter. He was no Drew, but he was definitely hotter than most of the men in this joint. Not to mention the most nervous. The beat wore on, the neon lights hit his eyes, and I sauntered over to him, crouching down so that my breasts were in his face. I was sure he could smell my sex from where he stood below me. I took another drag from the cigarette and blew it into his face. He drank in the smoke—and his eyes flashed with lust. I was his cocaine—his drug of choice, sweeter than any alcohol, more addictive than nicotine, and far more dangerous than any hallucinogen. I passed him the cigarette and he took a drag as I unhooked my corset, letting the straps drag over my arms and fall to the floor. My nipples puckered as the men around me gasped.

Through my peripherals, I saw more dollars fly into the air. I winked at my married man and continued on to collect the rest of the money. I moved fluently around the stage and finished my dance in nothing except heels, thigh-highs, and the pillbox hat.

After my set, I quickly shifted into my original dress, sans the panties and corset, and headed back out to the club. Every man I passed called out to get my attention. Propositioning voices circled around me as I walked straight for my married man. I was done waiting. I needed my fix now. The needy feeling was not one I ever got used to—an itch that is so uncomfortable, if we wait too long, it actually becomes painful. With the types of men I sleep with, I'm lucky to make it forty-eight hours before I need to find my next fix.

Ignoring everyone else, I plopped myself down on his lap. His eyes darted around the club. “My name is Erik.” I smiled to myself watching him glance nervously about.

“Really?” It was less of a question and more of a bored statement. No need to feign any interest. “Well, Erik, I don't give a fuck what your name is.” I took another drag of my cigarette and looked into his mundane brown eyes. “Buy a private dance.”

“Oh, um, well . . . I-I don't know about that. You see, I'm a newlywed and I was just curious about this place . . .”

“Erik, please.” I rolled my eyes. “You knew what you were getting into by coming here. Especially after a personal invitation from me.” I lowered my face so that my lips brushed his as I spoke. “So . . . buy a fucking private dance. Now.” I paused once more, giving a second thought to how forceful my voice was. “Unless, that is, your wife satisfies you fully.”

If the stress lines around his face were any indication, I'd bet that he was sexually frustrated. But for a moment, his face softened at the mention of his wife. I thought he was going to push me off his lap. Go running back to his wife for some plain old meat-and-potatoes missionary sex.

Instead, he simply nodded, drool practically dripping from his lips. “She's a prude. Only ever cares about her work.”

I sighed. Men are such shits. In the couple of centuries that I've been around, that's never changed. I guess I couldn't be too annoyed by him though—it was that lack of morality that would give me enough energy to survive the next couple of days up here on Earth. I grabbed his hand, leading him to the back room. I yelled to Lenny as I passed the pot-bellied manager. “Gotta private one here, Lenny.” He marked something on his clipboard.

I shut the door behind me. “Money first,
Erik
.”

“Right. Uh, how much again?”

“Four hundred dollars. Plus tip.”

“Four hundred? Dollars?”

“Plus tip.”

He gulped. “Wow, I don't know that I have that much . . .”

I slipped my tongue in his ear. “Trust me. I'm worth it. What I'm about to do to you would typically cost much,
much
more.” I pressed my breasts into his back.

“You're killing me. . . .” He groaned and exhaled between barely open lips. It was unclear whether he was referencing his wallet or his libido.

Ha
. “Oh, sweetie. If you only knew.” I nibbled his earlobe.

He reached into his back pocket, opening up an expensive-looking leather wallet. A few wallet pictures of a baby fell to the floor. I bent to pick them up and studied the beautiful child smiling back at me. She couldn't have been more than six months old. A knot formed in my throat, and I instinctively placed a hand on my stomach. “Is this your daughter?”

Erik grabbed the photograph and tucked it into the folds of his wallet. “Nah. It's my brother's kid.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied his aura. No shift in color—he was telling the truth. I sighed, my tense shoulders relaxing.

He handed me the cash without any more debate, plus an extra twenty. Cheap-ass. You don't come to a strip club with several hundred dollars in your wallet and plan on leaving here innocently. It definitely made me feel better about what was to happen. Nevertheless, I always marvel at how easy it is to get men to cheat on their wives.

He sat in a chair in the middle of the room. I slowly undid the buttons of his shirt and slid it down over his shoulders. Surprisingly, he had an amazing body. Much more fit than I thought he would be. Grabbing his bottom lip between my teeth, I sucked on it while undoing his belt and lowered his pants. They dropped to the floor with a clunk.

“What do you have in those pockets? Rocks?” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. He was already hard, standing at full attention.

I left him in the chair, his pants pooled around his ankles, and danced around him, lifting my leg over his shoulder. It offered him close-up view of my sex peeking out from under the black fabric of my dress. “You want to taste me, don't you,
Erik?
”

He cleared his throat, allowing his eyes to travel up my thigh and land on the glistening flesh between my legs. “Uh-huh.” His eyes were wide and dazed.

“So? Go ahead. Give me your best tongue.”

He flicked his tongue out, lightly brushing over my skin. The contact made me moan softly, yearning for more. He slowly ran his tongue along my lips and into my folds until finally covering my clit with his mouth, sucking. I grabbed his hair and pulled him into me harder. Two fingers entered me. I was so wet, I begged for a third. He quickly obliged, pulsating them in and out with a “come hither” sort of movement. My muscles tightened around him. It wouldn't take long for me to come.

“Just your tongue. . . .” My voice was hoarse and breathy. He followed my orders, removing his fingers and delving his tongue deep within me. In seconds, I was coming on his face.

As my tremors finished, I grabbed his hair and pulled his face back so that he could see mine. “How'd I taste?”

“Amazing.” His voice was gruff. The shy stutter was completely gone, replaced with lust.

“Tell me I taste better than your wife,” I demanded.

“You taste so much better than my wife. She's nothing compared to you.”

I turned around and had him unzip my dress, slipping the soft fabric off my body. The movement made my already-hard nipples even tighter. Naked, with the exception of my thigh-high stockings and heels, I straddled him.

“Wait.” Concern suddenly filled his eyes. For a moment, there was hope for his soul. “Don't we need . . . protection?”

I laughed a sultry, throaty chuckle. “Not with me, baby. That's not an issue. Relax. . . .” I dropped to my knees and lowered my mouth to his cock, running my lips along his shaft and twisting my tongue around his tip. I loved the feel of a cock slamming into the back of my throat. I increased my pressure and speed until he was ready for me.

I sat up, facing away from him in the reverse cowgirl position, and lowered myself down. It felt incredible having him fill me entirely. He sat there, not moving at all. And it figured. For four hundred dollars, of course he expected me to do the work. I lifted myself up, enjoying the sensation of his dick pulling away from me, and just before I lifted up entirely, I came back down hard. He groaned and grabbed my breasts, tweaking my nipples. I continued bouncing on him, feeling his size grow larger as he got more and more excited.