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into the strip club.
    A new girl is working the pole, and I pause for a few minutes, watching her gyrate on the stage. She's cute—a better body than face, but there are two great reasons she's a stripper.
    I find a table near the back, and it takes only three minutes before a co-ed approaches my table. She's gorgeous, drunk, and probably exactly what I need. "Want to dance?"
    I give her a mocking smile, "Sugar, unless you’re working the pole, I don't think this is the place for dancing."
    She giggles, an annoying, high-pitched noise that makes my skin crawl. Sways closer to me. "I could do a private dance. I bet you'll like me."
    She leans closer, and I'm about to push her away—send her back to her friends—when I catch her scent. Clean, slightly citrusy.
    It's not the same as the scent now permeating my bathroom and clinging to the blanket Scout left on the couch—but it's close enough that I can close my eyes and pretend.
    So I drag her the girl closer, tuck her into my lap, and murmur, "What's your name, sugar?"
    "Rose" she says, her voice a little breathless.
    "I'm Dane."
    The girl on stage is being joined by another, the music pounding through the club. She twists, a pouty look on her face. "I want to go somewhere private."
    I kiss her and let my hands wander. She whimpers when my fingers dig into her hips and shift her so she's firmly pressed against my dick. I stifle a groan—it's been almost a week since I got laid, and, Jesus in heaven, it feels amazing. I nibble at her lips. When she gasps, I really kiss her, letting my tongue flirt with hers, sliding into her mouth with a strong stroke as my hand slides up her shirt. Her bra is lace, and I find her nipple, tight and puckered, begging to be kissed.
    She shifts, and I pull away. "Watch." I twist her in my lap, and when she starts to protest, I bite lightly on her neck, licking the spot and sucking softly on the skin while I slip a hand up her skirt. Her panties are wet, and I lift my head, licking the shell of her ear before murmuring, "Watch them, lovely girl." Her gaze goes to the stage, where both dancers are swinging on the pole. One is naked, her pert breasts dusted and glittering in the light. Rose shifts, watching them, and I slip two fingers into her panties, into her.
    She groans, and I swallow hard. God, she's hot. Wet. And she's doing what I wanted. Because I don't really give a shit who she is. I move my fingers, and she whines, a low noise as I bring my thumb into play, toying with her clit as I finger her in the middle of a packed room.
    When she comes, she's loud, and I pull her back for a kiss, swallowing her shriek as she bucks against my hand. "I want you," she mutters against my lips.
    I drag her from the little table and into a dirty bathroom. She's on me before I've even got the door locked, kissing me and jerking at my clothes. I close my eyes when she drops to her knees, willing to forget. She's good, bobbing on my cock until I'm riding that amazing edge, on the verge of coming. I groan, loudly, and she pulls away with a laugh. I grab the condom she retrieves from her purse, rolling it on and lifting her onto the sink.
    I slide into her without fanfare, and it's good. It's hot and wet, and it does what it's supposed to. I screw her like it’s my job, until she's screaming and panting through her orgasm. And then I close my eyes and let the smell of oranges drown out everything but the sensations on my dick, and if I picture Scout, no one knows but me.

 

Chapter 5
Scout
    I hear him, when he comes in. I'm awake, but when he peeks into my bedroom, I lie still and quiet, and he buys it—he goes away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
    I can smell him, though—the distinct scent of smoke and sex and alcohol that makes my stomach twist and tells me one thing.
    He was out getting laid.
    Why the hell does that bother me so much? It's not like Dane means anything romantic to me. I know better than to think he ever could. Not like that,