Billionaire's Stripper novel Chapter 2

Zoning out in my head, feeling the beat, was the plan. What would a rich boy want with me? His expensive clothes told me he comes from money. Also, the way he carried himself. He was laid back, not hard up for anything or anyone. His domineering persona told me he didn't take shit from anyone. He was a man who got what he wanted. Yeah, he was that type.

The navy-blue blazer over the burnt orange t-shirt appeared impeccable against his muscular physique. Resting my hands on his muscular thighs while inhaling his intoxicating scent, I lost myself momentarily.

Fantasy took my thoughts. Brushing the sexy dangling piece of hair out of his face while I took his lips ran through my mind.

Lydia focus. He's a customer. I swore I'd never get involved with a customer. All right, I was focused. Shit, why did he ask my real name? He didn't need to know it.

Placing his hands against my waist felt perfect. I loved the way his hands slipped down, rubbing my ass. The second I faced him; our eyes met. Like second nature, my lips parted for his. He didn't refuse me. He wanted it, too. The electric shock shot through every nerve ending in my being. The charge, the force between us, was hot. I didn't want to turn his lips loose.

He saw right through me. The way he said my real name behind the devilish smirk, he knew he got to me, so he pushed. Asking to take me on a date. Please, he lost his mind. Telling me he'd be here every night until I agreed to go out with him. Again, that was domineering.

My eyes dropped to his lips that I longed to taste again, which could never be mine. I stood, recollecting myself. None of this could be forever. Standing to his feet, he slipped his big hands around my waist, halting me. Demanding my undivided attention. His lips softly caressed my face.

I wanted to shout to the roof tops, I will forgo my silly rule and go out with Hayden. Just the way his name rolled off my tongue. Fuck, I wanted him. Even though I knew we could never work.

Hayden walked away from me, leaving me there to stew in my thoughts. All of a sudden, I was cold and only wanted him to keep me warm. Putting on a poker face was what I had to do to get through the rest of my shift. Hayden's eyes followed me all over the club. Diamond had no luck holding his attention.

Eventually, he whispered something in her ear. She stepped away and begin dancing for his friends. Hayden sat back, sipping his drink, watching me. I was no longer dancing for my customers, but for Hayden. The temptation to stroll across the room and dance for him again was tearing me apart inside. Swirling my fingers in his black locks was what I wanted to do. Imagining the warmth of his lips against my breasts was plaguing me.

He and his friends rose to their feet. The second the song was over, I rushed into the dressing room. Hovering over the makeup station, my chest heaved in and out. I tried to calm my breathing. I don't have to ever see him again. His one-night obsession with me is over, I thought.

After a hot bubble bath, I stared at the ceiling before I dosed off.

Hayden stood outside my apartment door waiting when I arrived home from work. Never saying a word, his lips took mine with hunger and lust. Once through the door, he kicked it closed, grabbing me up into his arms. Our lips devoured each other's. He placed me on my feet long enough to rip my clothes from my body. My fingertips slid his t-shirt up over his head. Slowly, I rubbed his tight, tanned abs. Hayden threw his shirt to the floor. I couldn't release his throbbing cock fast enough from the constraints of his jeans. I marveled at its beauty.

"Can you take it all?"

My eyes swept over his handsome face. The single black hair dangled against his nose, driving me insane. I didn't answer him. I jumped back up into his arms. Slamming me against the wall, his long fingers massaged my pussy lips. I was dripping wet for him. Hayden slid his long, thick dick inside me.

"Fuck," I breathed. My head dropped back against the wall.

Hayden devoured my neck as he stroked deeper and deeper inside me.

I wanted a man to love me the way my father loved my mother; unconditionally.

My mother Lorena Lydia Baker was a petite African-American woman who was part Cherokee Indian with brown eyes. My father said he loved my mother's middle name and wanted me to share her name. When I was born, he named me Lydia. That story always brings a smile to my face.

My dad, Alastair Stuart Carmichael, was part Scottish and African-American. He was almond complected with gray eyes.

He loved mom's dark chocolate skin. He often brushed his fingers along her arms.

My mother's coworkers were supportive. Often, they'd send casseroles to our house. They would also perform household chores. We were fortunate to have them and my mother's parents. My father's parents passed away when I was seven, then eight. My grandfather died a year after my grandmother from a broken heart.

Despite all the sadness surrounding my mother's illness, our home was filled with love.

Watching my mother slip away while in hospice was traumatic. I couldn't sleep for weeks after she passed away. My father didn't get out of bed sometimes for days after my mother's passing. He was understandably depressed. At sixteen, I was able to slick my hair into a ponytail, cook meals for me and my dad, and get myself off to school. At seventeen, my father's health began failing.

The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong. I stayed with my grandparents, visiting my dad in the hospital often. Mother's life insurance money didn't last long. My father used most of it to pay off our home. The rest of the money began going toward medical bills. By the age of eighteen, I told Dad to save the last twenty thousand and I'd pay his medical bills. He used his pension from Georgia State University to pay for property taxes, groceries, and monthly bills.