Page 89 of Inseparable
Get a grip, I caution myself. Plenty of girls have tattoos on their wrists.
She writhes on top of him, simulating sex, and my buddies all groan. Usually, this kind of thing is seedy, cheesy, and the last thing to get me hard, but this girl is different. Although I haven’t seen her face, I can tell by her body and the way she carries herself that she’s confident in her looks. And she knows how to move in a sexy non-cringing way. Rick looks in pain when she wraps her legs around the back of the chair, bringing her body tantalizingly close to his. I chuckle at the expression on his face. The man is panting like a dog in heat.
Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she starts leaning back, using her legs to anchor her to the chair and arching her body in a way that thrusts her tits up. Every man in the room has his gaze locked on her sexy body, myself included. Her tits are almost falling out of the black lacy bra, but my eyes are fixated on the expanse of smooth, creamy skin on display. A small, silver locket rests in the dip of her collarbone as she tilts her head back farther. Her hair fans out around her on the floor, and her features are lit up under the glare of the overhead spotlight, offering a perfect view of her stunning face.
I sway on my feet, almost losing my balance. Gripping the edge of the table to steady myself, I can scarcely breathe. My heart is beating ferociously in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Danny looking at me funny, but I ignore him. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s oblivious, continuing to put on the show of all shows for my buddies. I skim slowly over her features, needing to be one hundred percent sure before I make a move. I immediately locate the dimple in her left cheek and the tiny scar over her right eyebrow. The one she got the day she was racing me and Ayden to our treehouse hideout in the woods and she tripped over a log, splitting her head open on the jagged corner. Natalie had applied paper stitches the minute we brought her home, but it still left a faint scar. Only noticeable if you were looking for it.
The table rattles as my legs almost go out from under me. “What the hell?” Danny arches a brow. “Shit, man, are you okay? You’re not looking so hot.”
Sweat beads on my brow, and I’m having trouble breathing. I can’t even summon any embarrassment when my tear ducts start working overtime. “Dev?”
He stands in front of me, and I shove him aside, terrified if I take my eyes off her for even a second she’ll disappear. He opens his mouth to protest, but I grip his arm. “Ange,” I croak.
“What?”
Grabbing his shoulders, I twist him back around and point at the stripper. “It’s Ange, Danny.She’sAnge. I’ve finally found her.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Angelina
I ease myself up off the floor, my abs contracting with the movement. Situating myself back in the client’s lap, I do my best to ignore the hard length prodding my ass. This guy is, maybe, three or four years older than me, and pretty hot, but he’s got a bad dose of grabby-hands and grabby-ass disease. Still, I can’t complain. The guy I performed for last night was well over fifty with a beer gut spilling over the band of his pants and a bad combover. He almost shot his load the instant I straddled him. Ugh. I shiver at the memory. When the set was finished, he propositioned me, and when I politely declined, he withdrew his sizeable tip.
Asshole.
At least Diana pays well, and she runs a professional company. Strictly stripping, no extras, and that suits me fine. I’m many things, but I’m not into offering sex for money.
I give it away for free enough of the time.
Most times, I end up fucking some dude from the bachelor party by the end of the night. Not the groom—I still havesomestandards, and I have enough reasons to hate myself as it is. Not that it deters most of them from trying. It sickens me, and I pity the poor girls they’re marrying, but still I can’t turn the work down. If it wasn’t for these couple of gigs every week, I’d never be able to survive on my miserable waitressing income. I still mentally kick myself in the ass every time I think of how quickly I blew through my sizeable trust fund.
I shriek as the client nips at my bra with his teeth, attempting to pull it off. Before I can slap the douche and crawl out of his lap, I’m lifted and hauled against a warm, hard chest. “Quit that fucking shit, Rick,” a deep voice from my past says, sending shivers ricocheting all over me. Tears immediately prick my eyes, and I’m suddenly transported back in time. My knees buckle, and a mewl escapes my mouth. I’d know his husky voice anywhere. And there isn’t any part of my body that doesn’t want to respond to him right now. I’m struggling to fight the almost overpowering need to turn around and fling myself into his arms. Dev has always had that effect on me. Alarm bells are wailing in my ears, and I can’t concentrate over the rush of blood to my head. My legs turn to Jell-O, and I’d fall if he wasn’t holding me up.
Shit. Shit. Shit. This can’t be happening.
I scramble for a way out of this, my mind desperately craving an escape plan. For years, I’ve pined for these arms. Cried myself to sleep with a suffocating pain in my heart because I missed him so much. I need to get out of here, and pronto, because I’m scared I’m not strong enough to resist temptation.
Sensing my panic, in that innate way Devin always had around me, he strengthens his arm around my waist. I look down, still avoiding eye contact, my gaze latching on the tattoo on his wrist.
My God. It’s really him.
He’s found me.
“Don’t run,” he whispers in my ear. “You can’t run from me again.” My internal panic meter cranks to the max
The client frowns. “What’s it to you?”
“I know her, and the show’s over.”
“The hell it is,” I exclaim, attempting to wriggle out of his arms. “I don’t get paid if I don’t finish the gig.”
“You’ll be paid,” Dev coolly replies, and the muscles in his arms bulge as he maintains a firm hold of my waist.
I keep my eyes pinned straight ahead, too afraid to look at him. His arm is broad and tanned with defined muscles and thick black hair, and if it’s any indication, Devin’s all man now. If I couldn’t resist him before, I sure as hell won’t be able to now. But I can’t let this happen. I haven’t suffered through the last few years to cave now. “Let me go.”
In a super quick move, he spins me around, sliding a white T-shirt down over my head. Then he pulls me into an organ-crushing hug. Like he can scarcely believe it’s me either. I inhale sharply, the mix of musk and pine filling my nostrils with nostalgia. He still smells the same, and he still feels like home, and that thought drives the first knife deep in my heart.
Might as well just kill me now.
