dancers left the stage and made their way around to all the tables. There were at least two other bachelorette parties here tonight, each of which got a special show from one of the dancers, especially the brides.
I wasn’t surprised when my Russian admirer zoned in on our table.
Jasmine politely waved him off, laughing. She and Roxy had mentioned they’d made a no-touching rule with Cris and Ace. This, however, gave our server the perfect opportunity to prance around the table and focus on me. He didn’t waste any time diving right in to his striptease either. When he ripped the tearaway suit from his body, he did it facing me, so I got the full-frontal angle.
This left him in nothing but his tiny silver Speedo.
Although, that obscenely large bulge in said Speedo was not at all tiny.
I wonder if it’s real.
He might have pumped it up before taking the stage.
Bigger tip, bigger tips.
And yeah, he was nice to look at. Lean and muscular without a single hair on his body. His oiled-up physique gyrated in my face, very suggestively. He seemed to be putting a little extra roll in his hips every time he thrust them in my direction. Everyone at my table, as well as the women at surrounding tables, cheered me on, yelling things like, “Smack it, girl!” and “Make him work for it!”
I laughed and smiled good-naturedly through it all, but I felt inexplicably uneasy about any naked man who wasn’t Nico getting this close to me. Which was absurd. I hadn’t even seen him without clothes on. Something felt unjustly wrong about this stripper taking it off for me before my own—fake—husband did.
So, I decided to pretend it was Nico in front of me.
Dancing for me.
Shaking it for me.
I imagined it was his olive-skinned, tattooed torso being shoved in my face. His six-pack, his broad chest that had a little bit of hair between his sculpted pecs and just below his navel. Nico’s V-framed hips swerving from side to side. Nico’s tight arse twitching with his every move. And whether it was from the vodka or the mental imagery accompanying this show, I felt my insides go molten.
Where was my bullet when I needed it?
Or the man himself.
When the Russian server suddenly lifted me in his arms and turned for the stage, I was so shocked and unprepared I didn’t even think to protest. He guided my legs around his waist, prompting my hands to automatically grip his shoulders for balance.
Everything moved so fast, the room having erupted into pandemonium, I could barely process what was happening. As he climbed the stage and deposited me into a waiting chair, he kept his mouth right at my ear, whispering Russian endearments.
The crowd was going nuts, while I sat frozen.
Realizing that I was the only woman getting a free lap dance onstage, I felt my face go beet red. I didn’t have any idea what to do as he got down on his knees and basically humped the floor, offering me an unobstructed view of his undulating arse as he drove into the imaginary woman beneath him.
That has to classify as some type of porn.
But I played it up as best I could.
I didn’t want to encourage him—on the off chance that he wanted to give me a tip backstage—but the man was just doing his job. After all, the people paid for a show.
I didn’t return his heated eye contact or respond to his dance moves with anything more than friendly smiles and obligatory clapping, but it seemed enough for the crowd, who cheered even louder when he flashed them a winning grin.
Somehow, even over the blaring music and applause, I heard a commotion coming from the entrance to the club. When I looked in that direction, I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Nico.
Wearing a savage, killing expression.
Storming toward the stage.
Glaring at the Russian server with death gleaming in his eyes.
I thought he was a mirage at first. Something my confused libido conjured up. But as he drew closer to the stage and started garnering attention from the audience, I knew that he was very, very real.
And this poor, innocent stripper had no idea what he’d just coaxed to life.
He kept right on dancing, oblivious to the two hundred-pound angry man train steaming toward him. In fact, he didn’t even notice Nico until he was stomping up the steps of the stage and barreling down on us.
My body jerked forward in the chair, ready to intercede should