The Pleasure Trap (11 page)

Her eyes saddened as she released a heavy breath. He looked past her for a second to see Kezia looking over at her in concern.

“The only advice I can give you is to not let anything—in the past, present, or future—push you where you're looking for some kind of alternate-reality-type shit again, you know?”

Lionel. Graham knew he was still running from that experience.

Lola was not much older than him, but sometimes she dropped little tidbits of knowledge as if she had lived for a hundred years. He remembered he'd asked her once why she seemed to know so much. Her answer came back to him clearly. Graham had never forgotten it. “Troubled times always have a way of aging a soul,” he said.

Her green eyes opened a bit in surprise. “Right,” she said in agreement.

Kezia came back over to them and stooped down to her backpack to pull out DVD cases. “You ever been to a male strip show?” she asked.

“Hell no,” Graham balked with a deep glower.

“I think the first thing you gotta do is look at the competition,” she said. “I brought a couple DVDs from shows I went to.”

Lola rolled her eyes at his expression. “You want our help or nah?”

Graham eyed them and then the television. “A'ight,” he said begrudgingly.

Kezia loaded the first disc into the DVD player and used the remote to turn it on. Graham's eyes widened at the sight of a male stripper upside down on a chair as he worked his entire body in a slow-motion body roll that was a smooth, seamless move.

Lola sucked air between her teeth and stood up to easily flip her body until she stood on her head with her feet pressed to the wall by the door to replicate the same move before she paused mid–body roll and looked at him. “Trust me, we got you,” she assured him.

He believed it.

 

 

Graham sat on the bench outside the community college and kept checking the time on his cell phone. He had just a few more minutes before class started, and he didn't want to be late. Leaning forward a bit, he looked up and down the street to see if she—Quinn—was approaching. He felt disappointed that she wasn't.

Wanting to perfect his sketching abilities, Graham had signed up for a month-long free art class offered at the college. Just a few days later, a brown-skinned cutie joined the class as well. She had the looks and body that would normally set the dog in him on the loose, but what drew him was her smile as she slid into the seat before the easel next to his. All during class, she had asked for his help with her sketching and leaned over to squeeze or pat his hand whenever they shared a joke. After class, she introduced herself, and he felt himself drawn to her warmth and affability. He liked that they shared a love of art—although she wasn't very good at it yet.

It had become their habit to meet outside the campus and walk together to the building for their three-times-a-week class.

Graham didn't quite realize how much he looked forward to the one-minute stroll until that night. Taking one last look, he finally rose and walked through the gate alone with his carrying case lightly bumping against his leg. He was surprised at his desire to look back to see if maybe she was running to catch up with him. He was disappointed that she was not.

In the days after getting out of rehab, Graham had pushed so many people from his past out of his life. He missed Marco and all of his crazy Brooklyn tales, but Graham understood that he had to get himself together and focus on that. Most days he was either with his parents or alone in his apartment working out or sketching. He only saw Kezia and Lola on rare occasions, and he hated playing third wheel to their love. He was not looking for another relationship, and most women eyed him with hunger, so he dreaded any conversation.

Entering the building and jogging up the stairs with ease, Graham tried to push away his disappointment that Quinn was missing class. He turned the corner and entered the small room through the open door. His large steps faltered at the sight of her already positioned at her easel.

Theirs was a class of about twelve with an eccentric male art teacher who always wore brightly colored caftans that made his bald head all the more shiny, but Graham's eyes zoomed in on Quinn just as she looked over her shoulder at him. He loved that her heart-shaped face lit up at the sight of him as she raised her hand and waved.

Quinn was pretty. She had a head full of reddish-brown curls and a smooth caramel complexion. Her brows were perfectly shaped and her face was always done with makeup.

Graham walked over to his easel. “I was waiting for you outside,” he said as he unzipped his case and removed his supplies.

“I was early and thought I missed you, and once I got to class I was too lazy to walk back,” she said in a whisper as their professor began the class.

Graham glanced over at her sketch of what was supposed to be the beginning strokes of a dog's head. He frowned.
What the hell is that?

He bit back a smile.

She leaned in toward him. “You want to get something to eat after class?” she asked, glancing over at him.

Graham felt uneasy. “Quinn, I'm not in the market for a girlfriend or nothing like that,” he said.

Quinn paused in sharpening her pencil before she looked over at him with an arched brow. “Big ego, huh?” she asked, her voice teasing. “I just wanted a burger, not your heart...
or
your dick.”

He didn't even know his body was tensed until he felt himself relax. “My bad,” he said with a smile.

As she turned her face to look toward the front of the class, he studied her pretty profile. He couldn't tell if she was in her twenties like him or her early thirties but he liked her high cheekbones, her small pug nose, and the smile always in her bright eyes. She reminded him of a more dressed-up version of Geneva—especially her disposition.

She shrugged. “The burger? Or nah?”

“Cool,” he said, trying to find comfort on the small seat for his large frame.

It felt good to have a friend.

Quinn

 

 

“Y
ou're a stripper?”

Graham looked up from the female form he was sketching on his pad as he sat on his couch to find Quinn staring down at his box of business cards sitting on the countertop. She held one in her hand.

“Huh?” he asked, dropping his head and sketching away.

“Really, Graham?” she asked, her husky voice tinged with annoyance. “Plea-
sure
?”

He looked up just as she came to stand behind his brown suede sofa. “What?” he asked innocently.

“Pleasure Principles,” she read with her eyebrow arched. “For all your erotic needs.”

He just smiled.

She squinted her bright, wide-set eyes as she tapped the card against her dimpled chin. “All on or all off?” she asked.

Graham laughed and shook his head as he shrugged.

“Bad boy,” she teased as she dropped the card atop his sketch.

“Working boy,” he emphasized, looking down at the photo of himself greased up and in nothing but a strappy leather contraption that showed off his long dick as he advertised his contact info for private parties.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said in sarcastic disbelief.

In the last three months his popularity at the club had surged as his performances improved. Vera had a few of her “superstar” dancers do revues through the state, and she had recently asked him to join the show. When the ladies inquired about him performing at bachelorette parties like other dancers, Graham had followed the lead of his counterparts and had business cards, flyers, and a website done. Pleasure the stripper, built to please, was in business.

Quinn sat on the back of the sofa and turned to slide down onto the seat in her jeans and turtleneck. “Don't fall in love with all your tricks,” she said, picking up her own sketchbook.

Graham dropped his pencil to open and close his hand a few times to work out the kinks. “It's me they better not fall in love with,” he said confidently.

“Don't let a big head”—she eyed his crotch—“make your other head big,” she finished, looking pointedly at his face.

“How you know if it's big?” he asked.

“It's pretty hard to miss in them pants you love so much,” Quinn said, pointing her pencil toward the outline of his dick.

Graham looked down at it and then raised off the sofa long enough to readjust himself. “Better?” he asked in his deep voice.

“Um, have you paid attention to your business cards? Your schlong is looking like a long exclamation point,” she said.

Graham tapped his pencil against the sketch. “Schlong?”

Quinn laughed. “Schlemiel. Schlimazel? Hell, I don't know,” she said, her husky voice filled with exasperated humor.

“How old are you?” he asked.

Quinn looked offended as she reached over to remove the clip holding her eraser to the sketchpad. “Nosy much?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I'm not twenty-five . . . but not quite thirty,” she admitted. “And I look good.”

“You straight,” he admitted, rising from the sofa to set his pad on the easel. “As a matter of fact, I'm going to hook you up with somebody.”

“Right now, you're rolling with strippers, so I'll pass,” she said, rising a bit to slide her feet beneath her rounded bottom. “I'm not into body oils
or
body rolls.”

And that's why Graham adored Quinn. All of his gut instincts about her being the close friend he needed were on point. She was funny, smart, and a great listener. After the art class ended, they'd stayed in touch and even attended art shows together at local galleries.

“See, ask and you shall receive—”

“Knock and the doors shall be open unto you,” she said, finishing the Bible verse with ease.

“Church girl, huh?” he asked.

“I used to be,” she said, tapping her pencil against her sketchpad as she stretched out her feet and crossed her ankles in the leather booties she wore. “I need to go back. I have nothing but good memories. Matter of fact, we should go togeth—”

“I'll pass,” he said, rising to his feet.

“Why?”

Graham felt that familiar sense of annoyance whenever anyone pressed about attending church. “Be right back,” he said, standing up to pull his cell phone from his pocket before he stepped over her legs and left the apartment, pretending to dial a number.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Graham slid his phone back into his pocket and walked down the length of the hall to a window overlooking the parking lot. He didn't have a call to make, he just wanted to break Quinn's train of thought to completely avoid the church discussion. More advice from his father on how to sidetrack a woman.

He looked over his shoulder as the door to the stairwell opened. One of his neighbors stepped in the hall and gave him a long look before she waved and turned to walk down to her apartment.

His eyes dipped to take in the back-and-forth movement of her hips and the jiggle of her ass in the leggings she wore with heels and fitted long-sleeved tee. She gave him another long look before she unlocked her door and entered. His dick stirred to life as he pictured following her inside and pulling her leggings down as he bent her over the back of her couch.

“Shit,” he swore, jumping up and down in place to fight back his urge.

Sexing a woman who lived so close was not a good idea when all he was looking for was one-night stands and sex with no ties.

Anxious to get back to his sketching to occupy his mind, Graham headed back to his apartment. As he stepped inside, he spotted Quinn slip a pill in her mouth before washing it down with a glass of water.

“Cramps,” she explained with a rub of her flat stomach when she noticed his eyes on her.

Graham frowned deeply and he joined her in the kitchenette as she quickly washed and rinsed her glass before setting it in the dish rack. “TMI,” he advised her.

“Deal with it,” she said, playfully nudging his side with her shoulder.

“How's everything going?”

Graham turned from looking at his calendar on the door of the fridge. Quinn was looking up at him in concern. He nodded. “Real good,” he said truthfully, knowing she spoke of his addiction.

She lifted one of his strong arms to wrap around her shoulders as she held him around his waist and hugged him close. “Here's to three hundred and sixty days,” she said..

Graham nodded. “Three hundred and sixty days,” he repeated, swallowing back his emotions. “No relapses.”

“Of course not,” she said with confidence in him.

Graham smiled a little as he hugged her close and bent down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

 

 

“Ladies, give it up for the one... and the only . . . Plea-suuuuure.”

He hit play on the CD player and opened the bathroom door of the hotel room wide before stepping inside the doorway with his hands on his narrow hips just as “So Anxious” by Ginuwine began to play.

The twenty or so college girls gathered in the junior suite all broke out in oohs and aahs as they took in his body in the pair of shiny skintight breakaway pants of gold that clung to the length of his semi-hard dick. The scented oil he wore emphasized the hard-earned definition of his muscles and made his tattoos gleam against his caramel skin.

He stepped out of the bathroom and worked his entire body in a series of sensual body rolls with each step that brought him deep into the middle of their circle of chairs. He kept his handsome face stern and serious as he locked eyes with each woman. He drew life from the desire, amazement, and heat he found in their depths. He could almost feel the heat he stoked in each one, and that made him just as hot.

“Good Lord,” someone hollered out dramatically when he kicked his leg up high in the air and then brought his foot down on the back of the chair of the bachelorette. He leaned in until his dick pressed against her cheek and then pumped his hips in a slow back-and-forth motion that he knew made them all envision him thrusting away between their thighs in much the same fashion.

She blushed and fanned herself as she leaned back from his inches.

“Girl, could you quit this stallin'? You know I'm a sexaholic,” Pleasure mouthed along with the music as he moved back into their circle and extended his strong arms forward as he worked his hips and buttocks in tiny clockwork motions that sent his dick flying up against his pants. Again. And again. And again.

He smiled as cuss words and dollar bills were flung at him.

He rolled his body, being sure to work the muscles of his abs as he lowered his body backward with each refrain. Making his body deathly still for a few moments, he felt their gasps of pleasure and appreciation shoot through him like pure adrenaline. Smiling again, he reached to lightly slap his dick back and forth before rolling his upper body upward until he stood before them with his muscles tensed like a warrior about to go to war.

The music faded to silence.

He dramatically spun around.

“What's my name?” he asked the conservative cutie in jeans and a cardigan with pearls sitting before him with her mouth slightly ajar.

Her lips moved but no words came out.

He dropped to a squat before her and opened his arms wide as he mimicked fucking a woman from behind.

“Say it,” he ordered her.

“Pleasure,” she mouthed before she took a hard audible swallow.

He did a controlled back flip and lay on his stomach on the floor just as “We're Not Making Love No More” by Dru Hill played. He did several slow push-ups before swiftly flipping over onto his back and easing his hand down into his pants to stroke his dick.

“Damn it, Pleasure,” one of the women said as the rest applauded or whistled.

Money rained down on him as it grew longer and harder in his hand.

He flipped back over and did a blend of one-arm push-ups and body rolls before jumping up to his feet and whipping off his pants with one hard snatch. He tossed them over their heads to float down onto the floor outside their circle, knowing he looked as good as they wanted him to in his black leather thong with a fringed sleeve and leather straps running around his muscled thighs.

He slowly walked around the inner circle and held his hand out to the bachelorette, pulling her to her feet when she slid her hand into his. He took her chair and easily lifted it high above his head as he continued to tease and tantalize them with his decidedly sexy gyrations. Carefully dropping the chair to its feet on the floor, he twirled her until she stood before it.

He nudged her until the backs of her legs hit the chair and she sat.

He straddled her lap and grabbed the back of the chair as he worked his hips to send that long, leather fringe-covered dick lightly against her cheeks and then her chin. He looked up and his eyes rested on the conservative chick again. The sight of her literally clutching her pearls as she bit her bottom lip actually caused a true stir of his dick. He had to force himself to look away from her, and so he turned and did a headstand while still circling and grinding his hips.

The women roared and he closed his eyes as he let the sound of that surround him along with their heat in that circle. It made his heart pump wildly. It stroked his ego. It fed him.

Graham was no more. Pleasure reigned.

He had found a brand-new high.

Pleasure finished packing the last of his equipment into his Nike duffel bag and left the bathroom. The suite was empty save for the bachelorette, Nina, and her friend Drea, who had hired him for the party. Even though he was fully dressed with his dreads pulled back from his face, they eyed him closely.

“Y'all have a good night,” he said, heading for the door to the suite.

“Excuse me, Pleasure.”

He paused and turned to find Drea picking up her purse and walking out of the room ahead of him. Nina smiled nervously as she walked up to him. Pleasure took her in: her tall, thick, and shapely frame with a short do that emphasized her high cheekbones and full, plump lips.

She smiled again uncertainly as she twisted her engagement ring around her finger. “I've been with my fiancé since we were in kindergarten,” she began, stopping before him. “Our mothers are best friends. So we've been tied at the hip forever. Same schools since kindergarten . . . and . . . and we even made sure to get into the same college.”

Pleasure fought the urge to frown as he wondered why she was bothering to fill him in on her relationship.