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Mine (A Real Man #13)
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That one word has never meant so much.
Ballet was my life, but after getting injured that dream faded. I still needed fast money, so I sucked up my pride and decided to strip.
All clubs could use a virgin stripper, right?
But from the moment I saw Cole Savage, owner of the strip club I was trying to get into, all rational thought left me.
He was dark and dangerous, and his personality screamed arrogance.
But I should keep it strictly business, right?
From the moment I first saw Jana I wanted her. She needed a job at my club, but the possessive side of me rose up demanding she was only mine. I might have just met her, but I was already so damn territorial of her.
If she wanted a job I’d give her one, but she’d be keeping her clothes on.
Jana would soon realize what it meant to be mine.
*Warning: This is a short story featuring an over-the-top possessive hero who makes no secret that the heroine his. It’s got dirty dancing, raunchy scenes, but is safe and has a Happily Ever After that comes with reading a Real Man story.
**Blurb is unedited and not finalized**
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“Well, let me bring Mr. Savage in here to go over your résumé.”
I stared at the woman whose name was Poppy or Pippy or something equally fake sounding. I just nodded, not about to be a smart-ass and ask why I needed to speak with the owner of the club when I was applying to strip for them. Did he need to know where I’d gone to school before I took my clothes off?
Pippy or Poppy, or whatever the hell her name was, got up and left me in the swanky office alone. I had to give the place credit; it was high-class, like men had to fork over a shitload of money just to get into the VIP room.
I started picking at lint on my shirt. Although there probably was nothing there, I felt my nerves grow higher. The seconds moved at an agonizing rate. And then I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
The room became hotter, the air thicker. My skin felt tight, and despite facing the desk and not hearing anyone enter, I knew someone had come into the room.
I turned around in my chair, and there he was, this imposing figure over six feet tall, wearing a dark three-piece suit, and having authority written all over him. His hair was coal colored, short. His eyes were this deep blue, so dark they almost could’ve been black. And I could see tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt and jacket and creeping down his hands.
But it was his expression, his focus on me that had me sitting up straighter.
He walked closer, not saying anything, never taking his gaze off me. He sat behind the desk, finally looking away from me and staring down at the folder with my résumé.
For long moments he did nothing but look at those forms, at my qualifications. I didn’t know what he was trying to figure out, seeing as I was here to take my clothes off.
“I’m Cole Savage, the owner of the club. Tell me, Miss Banks, why would you want to work here?”
Was he serious? Did he want some long, drawn-out explanation of why I wanted to stand in front of a roomful of men, their gazes raking over my partially nude body, right before I twisted around on a silver pole?
Instead of lying and making up some excuse on why I needed the money, I just told him the truth.
“I used to dance.” When all he did was stare at me, I continued. “I did ballet, but I hurt my ankle and wasn’t able to do it anymore. Instead of working a dead-end job, cleaning tables or serving people their food, I figured the fastest way for me to pay off my debts is to strip.”
He didn’t say anything, just leaned back in the leather chair, his arms folded over his broad chest, his gaze intense.
I shifted on my seat, feeling this uncomfortable tightness in my whole body. I didn’t know what it was about this man. Having him only five feet from me, his expression making me feel like he could see right through me, knew my every secret, made me feel unhinged.
He closed the folder, blocking out my résumé, making me feel like this was the end of the story. Maybe he didn’t like what he saw? I wasn’t well-endowed in the chest department, didn’t have curves that went on for miles. I certainly wasn’t made like the women I saw dancing at his club.
I was a ballet dancer down to my very core, even if I was sitting in front of a strip club owner asking him to give me a job to get naked in front of strangers. I was graceful, thin. But I knew I danced beautifully.
If he wanted me to demonstrate what I had to offer, I’d be more than willing to give him a show he’d never forget.
He leaned forward then, his hands clasped on the table. I stared at his fingers, how long and strong they were. The backs of his hands had tattoos, his knuckles sporting the same ink. How much of this man was covered? How much of his golden, hard skin was painted in abstract, seemingly dangerous lines of black?
Strangely enough, I wanted to know that. I wanted to see for myself.
I don’t know what it was about him, but he made me feel like I walked on a tightrope, the ground beneath me an endless void of the unknown.
But I felt like falling off that rope into the abyss wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to me.
She’d left the office only five minutes ago, yet my entire body was still on fire. My cock was still a lead pipe between my thighs, aching, needing to be buried deep in her pussy.