StripHer Read online

  Strip Her

  Titania Ladley

  Book one in the eXcitation series.

  Although Miami cop Frank Lyons has no desire to get into another relationship with his smokin’-hot but spoiled ex-wife, he remains addicted to sex with Jazmine. Lucky for him she’s now a stripper—the sexiest and most sought-after in the city.

  Jazmine has promised Frank the gift of being the first to break her in anally in the club’s private party room. But when her fiancé bursts in and interrupts the action at the most inopportune moment, Frank is treated to an unlikely replacement, one he’d never expect, never choose over Jazmine.

  Yet the anonymous, stunning substitute proves to be a woman who blows more than Frank’s mind. When he strips her down, he discovers just how hot she really is.

  An Exotika® contemporary erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

  Strip Her

  Titania Ladley

  Chapter One

  I couldn’t wait to get my hands on my ex-wife again. My cock already tingled as the doorman checked my membership card and ID and took my cash admission into the Miami Beach Puss ’N Tush strip club where Jazmine worked. The burly bouncer nodded a welcome and pulled open the door for me.

  Being a cop who often busted prostitutes and druggies, I could spot illicit activity as I stepped over the threshold, no problem. But who couldn’t? It was obvious as hell. I was off duty anyway, so I looked at it from a layman’s point of view every time I entered this underground members-only club. This was my free time off the clock, my time to be the perp for once.

  My only time with her.

  Once every two weeks was all she would allow, so I was going to make the most of it, turn off my cop radar and remember I was out of uniform. Though as usual, I did carry my badge with me in the event some unforeseen violence or overly criminal incident broke out. Definitely a possibility here.

  I eased out a pent-up breath, relieved to be surrounded by the neon-tinged cave, chest-thumping rock music and faint aroma of beer overpowered by the strong scent of stripper perfume.

  Walking toward the bar, I inspected the place around the dance floor. Ah, outstanding start to the night. Seemed a tall black man had some white woman’s skirt draped over her plump ass and pumped her from behind while she splayed across a table in the corner. Her humongous breasts spilled out of her too-small top and jiggled on the flat surface. She struggled to snort a line of coke, but based on the look of bliss on her face, what went on behind her appeared to be more stimulating.

  If I were on duty, the drug would be confiscated and the users arrested. Ignore it, man. My shoulder rose, twitched. I forced my gaze from the table area to the active dance floor to distract my cop instincts. A gorgeous blonde chick bent over, sucking off a man a couple of people deep in the crowd. The man’s face was contorted in ecstasy as he strained to kiss another woman over his shoulder.

  Now that’s how it should be done.

  Two to one.

  My appreciative gaze took in the buxom redhead leaning against the bar. It wasn’t the last of the club’s antics by any means, but this one had her shirt lifted while allowing a geeky-looking man and woman to feel her up and suck her big, taut nipples.

  Really nice breasts there, I had to admit. They reminded me of ripe honeydew melons, plump and no doubt as sweet as apple pie on a hot July day.

  I narrowed my eyes and scrutinized the room through the whorls of smoke. Hm. There was more female clientele than usual. Must be couple’s night, where men brought their dates or wives to spice up their relationships. In some cases, they brought both—their wife and girlfriend. Or a woman would invite her boyfriend to show up and help her ambush her bisexual husband with some cunt and cock at once.

  Outrageous place. Fun as hell. But I only came here for one reason.

  Jazmine.

  My scrutiny riveted to her just as I slid onto a barstool. She gyrated around a gold pole on stage number two. As usual, hers was the busiest of all four stripper platforms. Patrons of both sexes squeezed into the chairs spoked around the peninsula stage while more stood in a crowd behind the seats. The other strippers eyed her with envy. Every single face I could see watched Jazmine instead, entranced and practically drooling all over themselves, eager to slip a dollar or two into her G-string.

  I understood their gawking. Jazmine was a stunner. She must have made good use of the spray-on-tanning salon because her skin always glowed as if she’d been dipped naked in liquid gold. She rarely saw the sun, sleeping until nightfall every day, so it had to be fake. Still, her body could only be described as perfect—huge natural breasts with pierced nipples, a narrow waist, a navel that twinkled with a diamond I’d given her and the prettiest pussy I’d ever seen in my whole fucking life. She kept it shaved bare so the little clit protruded past the twin lips just the right tempting amount.

  Her smoldering stare latched on to mine. She winked, pursed her lips and blew me a kiss that said, “As soon as I’m done here, I’m yours for the night.” Then she felt up one tit and slid a finger through her slit while her curvy body swayed and swiveled to the music.

  “Mmmm.” I rubbed my throbbing bulge beneath the overhang of the bar and enjoyed the show. She now danced for me. Just me. Screw the rest of them.

  But of course it didn’t last long. As soon as someone waved some green at her, she didn’t miss snatching up a single dollar.

  That was my ex in a nutshell. Jazmine was all about Jazmine and getting her hands on as much of the almighty dollar as possible.

  Which made it easy to keep the emotions to nil. Now, after the divorce, anyway.

  “Hi there. Get you a drink?” the brunette bartender asked.

  My attention snapped from Jazmine to the one person who could provide me the second most important thing I needed.

  A drink or two. Or five.

  I took in the tempting breasts, watching the right one jiggle as she tossed a napkin on the bar in front of me. According to the tag perched over that jiggly breast, her name was Cindy. As hot as any of the strippers—except Jazmine. But I only had eyes for Jaz. No way my penis would agree to any other woman tonight.

  “Jack and Coke please, and a shot of top-shelf tequila.”

  “Sure, handsome.” Something in Cindy’s husky tone and soft smile made me do a double take. Our gazes met, lingered. I got a nagging sense of familiarity. Did I know her? Nah. Probably saw her in here before. Or maybe it was the atmosphere—all the women painted their faces the same with the heavy eyeliner and slathering of lipstick. Nevertheless, a spark of heat flashed in her big brown eyes and sent a punch of unexpected desire to my groin.

  Huh. What the fuck? This place always crawled with overt invitations. I got it every time I came here. But never had my body responded to one particular woman besides my ex, stripper or otherwise. Sure, the overall ambiance had made me erect plenty of times, yet this indescribable…thing that had just passed between Cindy and me defied every reason I’d ever come here. It went beyond biology and hormones, permeating into my chest, making me squirm in my seat while our gazes remained glued together.

  It nearly mortified me to think it had been her voice, eyes and smile that had affected me, not her tits. Too much, anyway.

  Stress. Yes, that was it. Had to be the stress of my job. It’d been extremely exhausting lately, and more and more difficult to keep my objectivity from getting its ass kicked by my personal convictions.

  Or maybe it was the sweltering Miami heat getting to me.

  With a bit of difficulty, I dragged my gaze back to the stage. I shook my head, dislodging the odd thoughts, and recalled my mission. Tonight. Tonight I’d at long last penetrate Jazmine’s tight little rear-end cherry. She’d finally promised me I could break her in anally instead of her new fiancé, a
nd I was going to see that she paid up.

  I’d had anal with a few chicks in college, but it had been way too long ago, and the memories were vague due to my state of inebriation every time I had gotten lucky in that taboo way.

  A man slipped a bill into Jazmine’s G-string. She bent over with her ass pointed my way. Even from here I could see the slickness of her slit and the pucker of her virgin asshole.

  Oh yes. That would be the particular cherry I’d come here for.

  “On second thought, make it a double,” I amended to Cindy, needing to calm my hard-on before I exploded in my damn boxers.

  Cindy’s smile faded. She glanced between Jaz and me, nodded and then busied herself behind the bar. “Yes sir. Double coming right up.”

  I could’ve sworn a wall just went up between me and my bartender. I forced down a peculiar wave of disappointment mixed with relief and let my thoughts drift back to Jaz instead.

  My visits here always went this way, same routine with a new promise for each outing. It was as if Jaz had a list, crossing off each naughty pledge at each rendezvous, keeping me coming back for more even though you’d never catch me with her again otherwise.

  Truth is, she’s spoiled as shit.

  A self-centered, rotten, cheating nymphomaniac. The serial cheating I hadn’t given a crap about. Too much. Toward the end, anyway. It had been her tantrums and burying me in debt with her shopping obsession that had made me realize I couldn’t stay married to her.

  But not long after the divorce, I’d discovered I couldn’t give up the sex. I folded my hands on the bar top and watched her jugs bounce while she lay on her back and mimicked fucking in missionary. Then she cradled her breasts and lifted one to her mouth. That pierced tongue I remembered so well swirling around my dick snaked out and licked a knotted nipple.

  Jesus.

  That right there was why I couldn’t give up the addiction. My mouth watered. Mmm, such a hot little thing.

  Her new lawyer fiancé was never home to satisfy her insatiable appetite—crazy bastard. So she’d lured me here that first night several months ago. Started with just a simple text, and now here I sat yet again, waiting like a teen for the hottest babe in school to give in and blow me in the boy’s bathroom.

  I rubbed at my forehead. Actually, I must have been the crazy one.

  “Here ya go, sir.” Cindy set the drink and shot in front of me, took my credit card to start a tab.

  I sighed. Cool. We were all business again. “Thanks.” I threw back the shot, shuddering at the burn as it slid down my throat, then chased it with a long swig of the cocktail. The week’s stress washed out of my system and evaporated. Anticipation and the first surge of a good buzz took its place.

  Cindy swiped the card, pecked on the cash register computer screen. All the bartenders should’ve known my house request—add several hundred to my tab for the two thirty-minute blocks of a private “dance” with Jazmine in one of the back party rooms. Since I sat on the corner, I could monitor, make sure Cindy set up my tab correctly. The “Private Amenities” bubble popped up and she clicked the correct items. Good girl. I wouldn’t have to explain. Someone had prepared the new bartender for the “Frank and Jaz” procedure.

  Easy all around. No strings, no drama, no problem.

  Outside these walls, I liked things with procedure. Police procedure, especially. It made the job sort of cut and dried. But not tonight.

  Tonight would be lawless and free. My focus would stay completely on Jazmine and her perfect body with its perfect pussy and puckered hole I fully intended to bury myself in by dawn.

  Cindy coughed and cleared her throat, disturbing my thoughts. I pulled them away from my ex and focused in on Cindy again. She looked me up and down. “Sure, sugar, no problem.” She snatched the empty shot glass, pinched at her nametag. “Um, by the way… If you need a little…extra after her, I’m game. My shift’s almost over. Cash under the table,” she added, leaning closer to whisper the provocative invitation.

  My cock jerked against my zipper. Fucking thing had a mind of its own. And I was horrified to realize it seemed to be the case even more so with this Cindy gal than anyone else in this sinful heaven. “One of these nights, I just might take you up on that and get you ‘under the table’.”

  I’d said it back to her in a whisper, and to my dismay, a nervous laugh burst from my mouth.

  She set her elbows on the bar and leaned toward me, engulfing me in her sweet perfume. I got a close-up view of her tits bulging from the V in her blouse and hard nipples protruding against the thin fabric of the white button-down garment. Dark, long hair framed her face, and her makeup-caked brown eyes twinkled. She licked her lips and purred, “How about tonight? When you’re done with her, I’ll lick ’er off of you. Every last drop.”

  Damn.

  I downed the rest of my drink, slid the glass across the bar to her and rubbed at my hard-on. “Really? Does that include if I do her anal?”

  I groaned at my own words, words I’d never speak to a woman outside these walls. Yet it was expected here. And having the freedom to speak my mind turned me the hell on. This place had a wicked soul all its own.

  But her wide-eyed expression made me feel as if I’d just asked an angel that blatant question instead of a hot bartender clearly set on some action. Even as sudden discomfort flushed up the back of my neck, it piqued my interest and got me off in some other weird way I’d never experienced here. She looked so damn luscious in that one snapshot moment with her pretty face blushing and her mouth hanging open.

  What would those full, red lips feel like sliding up and down my cock?

  The question stunned me. I tried to look away, but the ache in my groin grew heavier as I waited for her response.

  Mmm, even more intriguing than the blowjob thought, and since I’d gotten her attention with the taboo subject, was…did she have a tight little rectum, and did she get into ass sex?

  Because I couldn’t help myself, I stripped her naked in my mind. I could just imagine a bare rump with the hidden, puckered treasure hiding between her tight cheeks, her breasts bouncing while I pounded into her from behind.

  My mouth watered and a re-stirring of animal need flooded my crotch.

  Odd. My cock usually didn’t respond so incessantly to women here.

  Well, except Jazmine.

  And I’d certainly never fantasized about anal with anyone other than my ex, who’d refused to let me sink myself in her butt our entire three-year marriage.

  Now that had frustrated the holy hell out of me, especially when she’d let me get my shaft head right there at the snug hole and stop me a split second before I drove it in.

  “I-I… Uh…” Cindy backed away, glanced down the bar at an approaching group of three couples. “Excuse me. I…I better get that.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. Figures. A tease, and here I’d almost taken her bait. Best this way, anyway. I didn’t need to complicate my visits to this club. So I got myself under control and called out to her, “Well when you’re done there, I’ll take another round.”

  “You don’t need another drink—or her—Frankie Lyons,” Jazmine rasped in my ear. “You need me. You know I’ll intoxicate you way more than her.”

  My eyes narrowed, deliberately avoiding a side look at Cindy. Had I really not noticed Jaz wrapping up her routine and leaving the stage? Strange.

  A shiver raced up my spine at the heat of Jaz’s breath warming my neck. I swiveled around in the barstool to face her and drew her between my legs. A sigh and groan escaped my throat when her breasts squished against my chest. She smelled great as usual, and felt amazing in my arms.

  Soft skin, killer curves, flat belly.

  Her body melted into mine and memories of our vigorous lovemaking filled my head. Oh yeah. Ours had been an active sex life.

  I stared over Jaz’s shoulder, not really seeing, as a black beauty on stage rubbed her pussy in a man’s face. Instead, I saw Jaz and me making animalistic
love in our bedroom, in the hot tub with two other couples watching, on the kitchen counter while her stepbrother ate breakfast at the bar and jacked off, at an amusement park on a slow ride in a cave, in front of the living room window for our neighbors to see, in my cop car in a darkened far corner of the station parking lot, on my cop car in our driveway…

  Actually, our sex life had been too active, if there was such a thing. It had been just about all our marriage had consisted of, even when it was regular sex. Sleepy sex in the morning, lunchtime sixty-nine and a good-night fuck before drifting off to sleep. Yes, that’s what it had always been—fucking, not really lovemaking. Even now as I held my smokin’-hot ex-wife in my arms, I could admit something had been missing, wrong.

  Well, besides her needing to gain some control over her excess spending and spoiled behavior.

  But I hadn’t been able to admit until now that our love hadn’t been complete. For some odd reason, it had to hit me right now.

  With Cindy just a few feet up the bar waiting on some customers.

  Why in hell was I even thinking about Cindy anyway—shit, about my marriage? I’d never pondered it within these four walls before. So why tonight? Why ruin the prize Jaz had planned for me? We were both satisfied with the divorce and our current arrangement, so screw it.

  I gave myself a mental shake and stared into her azure eyes. Wow. They were so different from Cindy’s dazzling brown ones.

  Damn it, where had that come from? I shoved the perplexing thought aside.

  “Hi there.” I splayed my palms over Jazmine’s bare tush and squeezed. Ah, such a tight butt with an even tighter anus.

  “Hi. You ready to break me in, baby?” she asked, giving me a smacking kiss that tasted of mint gum and berry lip gloss.

  I reached for her hand and closed it over my bulge, ignoring the fact that half of it had grown because of Cindy. “What do you think?”

  She giggled, took my hand and pulled me from the seat. “Then whatcha waitin’ for? It’s the end of my shift and our nook in the back is set up and ready for us.” Her eyelids fanned down in a seductive, lazy manner while she crooked her finger over her shoulder. “C’mon, hunk. My pussy’s creaming so much, it’s even soaking my asshole.”