Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
The volume of the music rose again and every light but the ones on the stage went dark.
He’d expected big hair, big makeup, and outrageous costumes. Something artificial. Not four slim females wearing baggy jeans, loose T-shirts, high heels, and baseball caps pulled low enough to cover their eyes. He definitely hadn’t expected the bright red lipstick or the silky long hair. These were definitely not drag queens.
As soon as the lyrics started, the dancers began their aggressive, syncopated moves. They thrust their hips, popped their chests, and flexed their biceps in stereotypical macho fashion, grabbing their crotches and adjusting their caps to match the suggestive lyrics.
And if that weren’t statement enough, they topped it all off by shooting the middle finger to the audience while stomping their high heels.
The dancers were so hot, especially the tallest one with long blond hair. Yeah, she was really fucking sexy. A night with her would be jerk-off fuel for years to come.
Especially considering those fuck-me heels.
Fitch’s pulse grew heavy with each hard hit of the drums, each reverberating thrum from the bass. He spread his legs and smoothed his jeans over his thighs to create more room for his growing hard-on, because watching the dance was like looking into the eyes of someone sucking your cock.
So fucking good.
When the bridge came, they lowered to the floor to perform a grinding, thrusting move that simulated sex so effectively it was almost like he could feel it. He gripped his knees until his knuckles whitened, and breathed through his mouth.
Just as the first song started to fade, another beat took over. The dancers moved to the back of the stage, where four chairs now stood, and began a slow striptease.
With every piece of clothing they removed, the crowd grew more and more wild and Fitch’s heartbeat grew more erratic. They flung their hats off and flipped their hair while rolling their hips, bringing to mind all kinds of ways he could touch and kiss and lick just so the tall blonde in the front would repeat that sexy little thrust.
Across the table, Meg whistled and her friends cheered just as loud. It was all he could do not to join in too, because the girls onstage were now bent over and sliding the denim over their gorgeous, leather-covered asses.
Holy fucking Christ.
He swallowed and reached for his glass with a shaking hand, forgetting it was already empty. He had no choice but to let his mouth go dry because there was no way he was tearing his eyes away from the stage. Not while they were still up there, and especially not while they were stripping.
Finally, they sat just as the new song began.
Meg must have recognized the song because she cheered again even louder right before she, and everyone else at the table, sang the lyrics at the top of their lungs.
“Booooots and Boys.”
With the first word, the dancers extended their legs to reveal knee-high sex-kitten boots. And on the second—fuck.
He stared, heart thudding so hard in his chest he thought it might fly out, leaving a giant gaping hole.
The dancers stood facing the audience, and the crowd’s decibel level skyrocketed. They were nearly naked, wearing only those damn boots and tight leather shorts. But that wasn’t why he couldn’t breathe.
They were guys.
Guys in heels and makeup.
Like a slap to the face he realized what he was seeing and how slow he’d been to assume they were female dancers. For fuck’s sake, they were in a gay bar. Of course they were guys.
And still he was unable to tear his eyes off the blond in the front. Not a fucking girl. The guy’s chest was flat as a pancake, unless you counted the extremely well-developed pecs—which Fitch didn’t.
Christ! He was still hard.
How could he still be hard?
And why the fuck was his heart beating so goddamn fast? He reached for his empty glass again, eyes still glued to the stage, before remembering it was empty and cursing.
Good lord, the guy’s long legs were suddenly the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen. And God help him, that mouth. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoking-red lipstick or the crazy little smirk, but that mouth. It was killing him.
They danced, matching the music with their provocative energy, their feminine swishes, shaking their hips and flicking their hair. Strutting like models on a catwalk.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. They’d gone from uber-masculine to realistically feminine within five minutes, and he was a massive ball of throbbing nerves cemented to his seat. He’d never, in his twenty-nine years, ever thought another guy was attractive, but his goddamn cock seemed to believe the long-legged blond was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He took a deep breath and smoothed out the denim around his thighs.
No, this was just the effects of his six-week-long dry spell. He hadn’t gotten laid since Sara dumped him. Plus, the energy of the place was crazy sexual. Christ, sex was in the air and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were men fucking in the shadows.