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Six Inch Heels

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The bar is hazy from smoke, silhouetted bodies gyrating against neon lights. It’s sleazy for such an expensive joint, but then that’s the point. The rich businessmen here don’t always want the trained, high-class escorts who resemble their wives too much to provide proper escapism, which is why these girls twirling around poles are perfect. Far removed from that sophisticated world; younger, wilder, faster. Fast food strippers for the ravenous.

Lilah doesn’t know why she’d agreed to come. She’s not opposed to a little hustling, not morally at least, but she prefers her sexual encounters to be mutually consensual and less… desperate. The idea of her having anything in common with the drooling men corralling around the stage, waving Washingtons at girls young enough to be their daughters, is enough to make a grimace appear on her face.

“Not your usual Friday evening haunt, then?” one of the men who’d dragged her here taunts, and Lilah plasters on a smile.

“You’d be surprised.”

An hour and several margaritas later and she is hopelessly, impossibly bored. Lilah didn’t even know you could get bored at a strip club, but there she is. Half a dozen women with beautiful half-naked bodies clad in gold lamé bikinis and dead eyes parade back and forth across her view, and she wishes she’d gone home instead. She’d have scored the case anyway, this is just turning out to be unpaid overtime, and they’re not even discussing business. She orders another margarita from another pretty dead-eyed girl, a waitress this time, and leans back in her seat.

Lilah is jostled in her chair as a girl dashes past, knocking into her shoulder and sending her drink skidding on the table.

“Shit, sorry.” Dark eyes lined with too much kohl, biker jacket, full red lips. The girl smiles an apology and disappears through a door behind the stage, leaving Lilah to lap at the spilled alcohol on her hand.

She reappears not much later, this time on stage in a skimpy black lace set, two scraps of fabric that leave very little to the imagination. Even less so when she clings to a pole, arching her body so her ass caresses the metal. A few banknotes flutter through the air to land at her heels and the girl bends over to push up her breasts in their direction, hands trailing down her body and between her legs. She winks, returns to the pole and executes a maneuver that looks deceptively easy but which makes the muscles in her stomach stand out.

Lilah is, put simply, transfixed.

There’s nothing empty about the girl’s eyes, not even close. They’re dark lures, the excessive black kohl enhancing the effect underneath the red and blue lights so that she looks almost otherworldly. Lilah’d bet on succubus, but she suspects this girl is entirely human, albeit an alluring specimen. Ever so often she turns her gaze on Lilah, the first girl to do so. Lilah can’t blame the others, she hasn’t spent a single dollar so far.

A body roll turns into a spread on the floor, and her eyes never leave Lilah’s. She saunters over. “Sorry for earlier. Can I make it up to you?”

“Be my guest,” Lilah tilts her head back to look up at the girl as she lowers herself off the stage, onto Lilah’s lap.

“Got a name?” It’s whispered into Lilah’s ear, hoarse and low enough to be intimate despite the loud music. Her perfume is overwhelming up close, something deep and spicy.

“Lilah.”

She grins. “I’m Faith. Long day at the office?” Her ass is grinding against Lilah’s skirt, rucking up the material. If Lilah looked down she’d see her breasts pressed against Lilah’s own, but she’s satisfied for now cataloging Faith’s features.

“Always,” she says, palming Faith’s ass and dragging her closer until their hips are flush together.

Faith cocks her head. “We got a no touching policy here, Lilah. It’s a respectable establishment.” She’s smiling as she says it, dark red lips curled and playful. Lilah wants to drag her home and smudge the lipstick into her skin.

“How’s the after hours policy?”

“Expensive,” Faith says, raising herself off Lilah’s lap to rest one sparkly six inch heel on the chair, brushing Lilah’s thigh. The rolling of Faith’s hips is mesmerizing up close. When she leans even closer Lilah does look down at the sway of her breasts, barely contained by the thin lace. “But you look as if you make big bucks, hm?”

It’s a line, of course it is, but it seems any moral high ground Lilah could have claimed is quickly disappearing in the rear-view mirror, because she feels herself heating all the way through. Faith’s musky scent, her tantalizing skin and hypnotizing movements, they overwhelm Lilah, going to her head quicker than the cocktails did.

“When do you get off?”

“After you.” Faith grins at her own joke. Her skin seems to shine under the neon lights. “Midnight.”

Two hours from now. That’s two hours of sitting here waiting in this smoky club. Two hours of watching Faith dance across the stage, winking at men who aren’t taking her home.

“I’ll make it worth the wait.” Faith trails her hands down Lilah’s chest, up her neck. “Won’t regret it, promise.” Her eyes seem to sparkle with sincerity. Lilah nods, and Faith leans in, her hair brushing Lilah’s cheek. “Don’t go anywhere, ‘kay?”

She climbs back onto the stage, giving Lilah an enthralling view of her thong. Lilah blows out a breath, signals the waitress. She’ll need another drink if she’s going to make it until midnight.