Tied (Tangled, #4)(49)

He forces his face to relax. Then he bobs his head and slumps his shoulders. “No, it’s good. I’m cool. I’m . . . holy shit! Do you see that chick with the lollipop?!”

Hopeless.

I turn away. “Jane, I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks, please.”

Service with a smile. “Coming right up, Mr. Evans.”

Carla takes her leave. “I’ll be close by should you need my assistance. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.” As soon as she steps away, five girls converge on us, each more stunning than the next.

I sip my whiskey as one blue-lingerie-clad stripper meets my eyes. “So this is a bachelor party? And you’re the groom?”

I smile. “That’s me.”

“I love grooms.”

Small talk with strippers is not really the norm. Usually it’s more of a transaction: rubbing and gyrating in exchange for a few singles. But this isn’t your typical strip club. And I’m a friendly guy. “How come?”

“They’re always the wildest ones.”

“Not me. Tonight is more for my buddies. I’m just an innocent bystander.”

She giggles and pinches my cheek. “You don’t look innocent.” She gives my face a mini slap. “You look more like the naughty type.”

I wink. “Guilty as charged.”

A curly-haired girl with wide hips, wearing a purple bikini and standing next to Jack, vies for my attention next. “You wanna see a magic trick?”

“Sure.”

Out of nowhere, she holds up a large cucumber. “I’m going to make this cucumber disappear. Watch closely.” She peels off her bikini bottoms, spreads her legs, and inserts the end of the cucumber into her *. Then she holds her hands up over her head. Her abdominal muscles clench, and magically the cucumber slides up, disappearing into her twat.

Now all of our mouths are hanging open like Warren’s.

Then, the cucumber peeks out and slides down. She grabs it and says sweetly, “Ta-da!”

I clap my hands. “You are a very talented girl.”

Yes—I’m going to hell. But at least I’ll be in good company.

Jack holds up his hands, fingers spread. “I give it a ten for creativity.”

Matthew adds, “You’d be a shoo-in for that X Factor show.”

She just smirks at me. “How about a private dance and I can show you all of my talents?”

I shrug her off. “Maybe later.”



One hour, a few drinks, and about a hundred $1 bills later, Carla rejoins our little group. “I hope you gentlemen are enjoying yourselves?”

While I pass the time watching two girls tongue-kissing each other at the direction of a middle-aged patron, Matthew answers, “We are, thank you. The service and amenities are impeccable.”

“We aim to please. And now it’s time to give the guest of honor a true Paradise welcome.” She takes my arm. “If you’ll come with me, Drew?”

That takes my attention away from the Female Foreplay Show. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

She smiles persuasively. “I’m afraid it’s not optional. Your friends insisted.”

I frown at the guys. “What did you douche bags do?”

Matthew laughs sinisterly. “Nothing you weren’t expecting.”

“It’s your last night of freedom, man. Enjoy it,” Jack adds.

Two more girls come up behind me. They and Carla pull me off my stool and guide me onstage as Steven yells out, “It’ll only hurt for a minute!”

I decide to go with the flow. It was too much to hope that the guys didn’t have some sick, twisted event planned. Best to just get it over with now. A lone chair sits empty in the middle of the stage. As three pairs of feminine hands push me down in it, the lights dim even lower. Spotlights dance around the room, and when “One More Night” by Maroon 5 comes on, the crowd cheers.

Two woman bounce out from backstage. They’re wearing black G-strings and sheer, black button-down tops. After a few ass shakes and high kicks for the crowd, they turn toward me. One drops to her knees and crawls around my legs like a submissive—and appealing—kitten.

Her hands slide up my calves to my knees and she pushes—roughly jerking them apart. Then she ties each ankle to the leg of the chair with a surprisingly sturdy ribbon. The girl in back scratches red fingernails down my chest, stopping just above the danger zone. Then she yanks both my arms back and ties my wrists behind me. It’s not exactly enjoyable. Some guys like to be dominated, but as history has shown, I’m much more of the dominator type.

But my interest is piqued. The crowd goes wild as another woman appears front and center—swinging gracefully around the pole, obviously the star of the show. She’s petite, but thigh-high, leather, black boots with insanely spiked heels make her seem taller. Her hair is tucked under a black leather cap, shocking red gloss covers her lips, and dark sunglasses disguise much of her face. The rest of her body, however, is bared for all to see. A black thong with a scarcely there triangle hangs on her hips. Her tits are adorned with stick-on nipple tassels—and nothing else.

With her back to me, she rips off the cap and throws it to the crowd, revealing a cascade of shiny, brown hair. She takes a few more spins on the pole, then turns toward me and stalks forward.