Page 35 of Convict’s Game (Skeleton Crew #1)

M ila

The throbbing club beat sank through my body, and on the dance floor, Convict moved against me, his mouth on mine. He was okay with his friends. The relief it gave me was bigger than it should’ve been.

Possibly because I was a little drunk.

When I’d sat down at the booth with Cassie, Lovelyn, and Genevieve, a round of Espresso martini cocktails had magically appeared. I’d knocked mine back in a few gulps, then welcomed a second. I rarely drank so was a lightweight. The alcohol loosened me up nicely.

Convict put his mouth to my ear. “As much as I want to bend you over that rail and fuck you for all the club to see, there are better places to do that. Can I show you the rest of the warehouse? Maybe reward you for your unspoken confession somewhere along the way?”

Need surged in me, and I nodded. He caught my hand and led me out of the VIP area. I waved goodbye to the women to follow him out of the nightclub and through a corridor, a padded door opening into a darkened hallway with private rooms either side.

My heels sank into the plush carpet. Even the walls were velvet. This was part of the strip club, I guessed, though I wasn’t tempted to peer into any of the rooms.

I squeezed Convict’s hand. “Are those rooms used for…extras?”

“Men who aren’t brave enough to go up to the brothel? Yep.”

We emerged into a wide club with a busy bar and booths and seats facing a stage that extended out onto a catwalk.

Every seat was filled, almost exclusively with men. On the lit-up stage, barely dressed women performed, one either side of the main stage and a third at the end of the catwalk that split the room. All of them were knockout beautiful with bodies that had me staring.

When I glanced up at Convict, his gaze was on me.

“Many of the lasses who work here only dance. They make decent money from stripping, and that’s enough for them.”

I watched the nearest woman slide to the catwalk floor with a sexy bump that had the nearby men drooling.

The music changed to ‘Just Keep Watching’ by Tate McRae, the sultry beat indicating a switch up of the performance. The three dancers strutted off the stage, and the lights dimmed further.

Convict pressed a kiss to the side of my cheek. “Want to watch?”

I pulled his arms around me, not budging. At least for a minute, we could stay, just to satisfy my curiosity about the club. Plus there was an energy in the room I wanted to follow. An expectation of what was coming.

A new woman crossed the stage from the wings, whoops and hollers from the crowd marking her appearance.

All eyes were on her, and with good reason.

From the six-inch heels of her thigh-high boots up to her cascade of dark hair, she was captivating.

Her breasts overspilled a silver bodysuit which played peekaboo with the curves of her ass, and long gloves covered her arms.

On her saunter down the stage, she perused the avid audience like she was stalking prey, ensuring she had everyone’s attention locked on. She had nothing to worry about. The men were caught on every roll of her perfect hips.

At the end of the catwalk was a pole. The dancer circled it, her fingers trailing on the gleaming metal.

Then at the beat, she gripped the pole and lifted herself effortlessly, spinning high in the air until she flipped upside down, one slow arm at a time peeling off the bodysuit to reveal glittering black lingerie and skin laced with ink.

Holy hell, that was impressive.

Convict didn’t look at her. While his fingers slid over my sides and caressed my waist, grazing under my breasts, his focus stayed on me.

Steady and hungry, like my reaction was part of the show.

And God, I reacted. When she dropped into the splits and rolled her hips on the floor, I nearly whimpered.

His other hand eased under my dress from behind. He was close enough to me that anyone nearby wouldn’t get an eyeful, but my heart hammered.

Even as I inched my legs apart.

“Are you playing a game with me?” I whispered.

“Always, little gangster. I like you crazy.”

The dancer crawled across the stage, the crowd clamouring to get closer with their fistfuls of cash. Convict ghosted his fingers over my thigh then up to my ass, a light touch over my skin.

His breath ghosted over my ear. “The dancers sell an illusion. A tease that they are available and down to fuck. They allow access to parts of themselves that are otherwise tightly controlled and hook in the weak-minded men who think it’s just for them.”

A chair appeared. The dancer straddled it backwards, knees wide, chest arched high. She unhooked her bra with a teasing slowness. It hit the floor. She cupped her heavy breasts, shameless, confident, beautiful.

I was overheating. I didn’t know if it was the dancer, or the smirk curving Convict’s mouth when I peeked back, but I was wet and flustered.

“I could never do it,” I confessed. “I mean, I don’t have the body for it?—”

“Yes, you do. They’d be lucky to watch you. Then unlucky as I’d burn their fucking eyes out for daring to see what’s mine.”

My heart thumped harder. If he touched me now, I’d melt for him right here in the shadows of the strip club.

I arched up to speak into his ear. “Can we go upstairs?”

A spark of mischief shone in his eyes. Convict led me to a lift and hit the button for the third floor.

Third, not fifth and the cam girls’ floor. “We’re not going to your room?”

“We aren’t done with the tour yet.”

We emerged halfway along a corridor, and he tipped his head to the right.

“Down there is the sex club. You say you couldn’t strip, but a lot of the people in this building have already seen you mostly naked and got off to the image.”

Heat painted my cheeks. “I’m aware.”

He watched my reaction then gestured to a series of doors either side of us. “We can give them another show, or we can pick any one of these private rooms. Just tell me what you need.”

Either his challenge or the martinis bolstered me. I linked my fingers through his and drew him in the direction of the club. Turning a corner revealed a big room, painted black and with neon-pink low lights. The beat in the air mimicked my fast pulse.

In here, all pretence of civility had gone.

Three gold cages hung from the rafters, each holding a naked woman or man engaged in some kind of physical act. Then there were sofas, tables, and stations with people sprawled across them. Bare breasts, bodies, hands everywhere.

They were having sex. Openly, and with an audience of at least a couple of hundred people around the wide-open space.

On a padded mat beneath a wall apparatus, a man pulled a chained and blindfolded woman down onto his waiting cock, his head tipped back in ecstasy. Standing over him, another guy fed his dick into her mouth.

A muscular blond man tied an older man onto a stand-up cross, both of them completely naked and hard, then picked up a sex toy from a table.

I didn’t know where to look first. Or when to stop staring. I turned into Convict’s embrace and hid my eyes.

“Too much?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know.”

He took something from his pocket then brushed back my hair. Material landed over my eyes, and I touched my face to the blindfold he tied on.

“You make good use of the skeleton bandannas I always carry. Listen up. I know this place is a lot to take in. I also know you’re wound up so tight that if I touch you, you’re going to come so hard. So tell me, should I take you home, or do you want to play?”

Need laced his tone. I squirmed on the spot.

“Tell me what you want,” I asked.

“To find the nearest open place and fuck you in it. People will see. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

The thrill that had been building under my skin cascaded through me in an electric rush. I reached for him, but he caught my hands and linked them at the small of my back.

“Choose, Mila.”

“Here.”

“Good girl.”

He guided me deeper into the club, through the sounds of people fucking. Moans and gasps passed us, people coming or getting close, others encouraging them. Then we stopped.

A dizzying rush of hyperawareness chased my need as I waited to be touched.

Anyone could be watching me. After so many years of playing the perfect granddaughter, I couldn’t have done this without the blindfold.

I didn’t kid myself that it truly disguised me, but it stopped me from seeing others, and somehow that made it okay.

Convict stroked into my hairline at the back of my neck and angled my head to receive his kiss. “Hold the bar.”

He brought my hands down to a waist-height padded barrier. Then he wrenched at the front of my dress so my breasts spilled free. I gasped in shock, but it soon turned into a moan when his hands and mouth played and sucked. He teased my nipples until both hardened, then kissed my lips again.

“How does it feel to know every man and woman in this room is staring at your perfect tits, Mila?”

I shook my head, unable to answer. I didn’t even try to imagine myself, bare boobs out and my strapless dress around my waist.

“They wish they could get their hands on you. Should I let them?”

“No!”

“Damn right.”

With gentle pressure, Convict guided me to bend forward then shifted something over me. It clicked beside my head, and I flexed against a restraining bar, locked over my hands and neck.

I was in the stocks, a frame with a gap for head and hands. I was otherwise trapped and entirely at the mercy of whoever wanted to touch me.

Blindfolded, I’d never know.

Convict’s satisfied laugh told me he was behind me. Slowly, he inched the hem of my dress up over my backside. “I hope you aren’t attached to this underwear.”

He snapped the straps then kicked my feet apart. Cool air touched me between my thighs, and I gripped the padded bar, loving and hating the fact I couldn’t see in equal measures. But I could feel and I could hear. The rustle of his clothing. The graze of his touch over my bare cheeks.