STROKE – Sample Sunday 2

Hey reading family! We are getting closer to the release of Heavy On The D book 3! Woot! Below, find an unedited sample of STROKE. It picks up right where the first sample left off, so please read that first HERE if you haven’t read the first sample. When you’re done, let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Michael

Brandy put the car in park as I eased the Genesis behind her Infiniti and cut the lights.

Her eyes flipped through the rearview mirror, and she watched me for a second, probably wondering who the hell I was.

I exited and tossed a hand up, waving. Her eyes grew, and her brows creased before she opened the door as I walked forward.

“Michael?”

“Ms. Collier.”

She angled her head to the side, “Really?”

I chuckled. “Brandy.”

“Now that’s more like it. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you from the highway. I tried to flag you down. You have a slow leaking tire, and by the time you get through,” I glanced up at the Den, then turned back to her, “having a good time tonight, you would come outside to a flat, I fear.”

A blush rose up to her cheeks if the way her face reddened was any indication.

“You know, normally I would tell you to mind your business, but since you’re saving me right now, I’ll keep that to myself.”

We laughed, and I nodded. “That’s understandable, and I couldn’t agree more.”

“Good, now let me see what this looks like.”

I reached out for Brandy to help her out of the car, and she grabbed my hand—accepting my help before she had thought not to.

“Oh. That does look pretty low, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it does. Do you have a spare?”

“I better since I haven’t had to change this tire since I’ve had this car.” 

“How long have you had this car?” 

“I’d say about four months give or take a week or so.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, pop your trunk, and I’ll get you together, and I’ll be on my way.”

Her eyes drove over me. It was the first time she’d perused the full length of me—hovering for a minute on the biceps cloaked inside my suit jacket. Brandy took a quick breath, her eyes dropping over the snug fit of my button down to my Ferragamo belt then pausing there again.

A string of heat dropped over me, And I had a certain urge to grab her neck, draw her in and kiss her mouth shamelessly. However, our connection was severed when she stepped out of her trance and moved to the car, hitting the unlock button for the trunk. It popped open, and I, to stepped out of my trance, removed her tire, and went to work on replacing it temporarily.

I was down for ten minutes when I rose to my feet and told her, “You should drive around the parking lot to make sure it’s good.”

“It’s good. I have faith in you.”

“In that case,” I glanced at the building again, “I’ll let you get to it.”

We stared at one another, me wanting to say more, and she, with something on her mind that I wondered about.

“Or,” she said, “I could use some company.” Brandy shrugged her shoulders. “Unless, of course, you have other plans.”

My gaze dropped, the interest in my body driving my pulse to rocket.

“I would love to be your company tonight, Brandy. Do you have anything in mind? What would you like to do?”

“Accompany me. Inside.”

“Inside, The Den?”

“Yes.”

A laugh bellowed from my gut. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in an all-male strip club before.”

“You don’t think?”

I laughed again. “I know. And, I never thought that there would come a time that I would change my mind.”

“Now you have a reason. So, are you game or not, Mr. Lucas?”

I loosened my tie. “I think you would have much more fun by yourself. I can be somewhat of a cock-blocker. 

Laughter shot from her lips, and the melody of her voice sent a tremor over me, heating my core.

“Somehow, I don’t mind that.” She reached for me locking soft, warm fingers around my wrists. “Come on, don’t make me beg.”

***

Brandy and I had just crossed the threshold when we were met by a black woman with intense brown eyes and dreadlocks hanging down her back.

“Good evening. I’m Daniella, and welcome to The Den.” her eyes shuffled between us. “I appreciate you for visiting,” she said to me, “but this club is for women only. Men are allowed if they are willing participants.”

I glanced at Brandy to see a smile spreading across her face, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d set me up.

“What if he decided to be a participant tonight? Would he then be let inside?” She asked.

My brows rose, the surprise registering on my face.

“Yes, he would. But,” she glanced at me, “What is your name?”

“Lucas.”

“Mr. Lucas would need to give up his social security number, go through a twenty-minute crash course and sign a contract.” She glanced at Brandy. “He would also be available only to you.”

Brandy bit her bottom lip, an intriguing hopeful glare in her eyes. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” I asked.

Her eyes changed then, a sultriness I’d never seen before penetrating her irises. 

“Yes.”

We stared at each other for a long minute before I spoke to Daniella.

“Put me in, coach.”

***

Brandy

This was my third weekend at The Den. After hearing my best friends’ accounts from their experience, I’d been intrigued every day for the last couple of months. I can admit it was easier to listen to their highlights and only hope that I, too, could find special moments here at the club. However, it was simpler to imagine than it was to walk through the door.

There is the saying, put your money where your mouth is. Well, I’ve done the first part. To enter The Den, there was a deposit of twenty-five hundred dollars. It didn’t matter if you would only be inside five minutes. To gain access to any part of the club, you had to pay. 

I was okay with that. Especially knowing the owner didn’t play about its discreetness. That price was for the main entry. I was on the main floor, in a lounge with other women, watching male dancers on the platform do their stage grinds and humps, slide to the front, and slap a woman’s face with their dicks. 

Even though I was there, my confidence was at an all-time low. I’d dressed for the occasion—in a skintight sequin thigh-high nude dress that blended with my skin. High heel shoes to match, a masquerade mask, black lipstick on my mouth, my eyes outlined with black eyeliner. 

I may have looked good to the average onlooker, but realistically I was trying to draw confidence from the others. The women who’d I’d come across the last few times I visited. I’d like to think that it was panning out. But that was still up for debate. 

Going through a divorce was something you couldn’t have convinced the younger me would be in my divine cards. I’d have laughed it off and shaken my head, giving it not another thought. 

But here I was, newly divorced, the ink barely dried on the papers, and I needed… something. 

I’d asked myself time and time again if I were looking in the wrong place by coming here. But the only thing I knew for sure was, I needed to feel…wanted… desired…loved, again.

Love could come later. Right now, I needed to feel. But I never expected to run into Michael tonight. Ditto on him accepting the offer to accompany me inside. Double ditto on him agreeing to be a participant.

I chuckled. Though a part of me wanted to become someone else and explore any and everything offered to me, the sensible side of me couldn’t help but wonder what I was doing.

A beat dropped as music covered the area in bass. Then, the lights dimmed, replaced by multicolored LED lights that swept the room—anticipation high on what the next performer would give. 

I was curious myself since I knew that person was Michael. 

Big Sean featuring Jhené Aiko set the mood. Their song, “I know,” an interesting choice since the melody was Big Sean singing about knowing the woman he longed for needed a vacation, rest, and relaxation. 

The truth hit me in my belly, but it also gave me a little courage to push past my hesitations. 

Usually, I sat in the back, cloaked in the dark corners of the room. But tonight, I was front and center. I’d talked Michael into coming inside. I had to show my support. 

Yeah, because it was support you wanted to show.

I smirked and closed my eyes. During my first visit, I’d given Daniella an Alias to call me by—Sapphire. I know. Sounded like a stripper name. And maybe in another life, I was. But I had my reasons, and thankfully, Daniella didn’t care to ask because I didn’t care to explain. After Michael was escorted away, she’d turned to me and asked for his name.

“I… um. Michael. His name is Michael.” My thoughts shuffled. “Lucas.”

“No. no. His name,” Daniella emphasized. 

My mouth dropped open. “Oh!” I thought a moment more. “I could ask him how he would like to be addressed.”

“I don’t think you understand, Sapphire.” Daniella held my attention. “The Den is about escapism for women. In every single way. We run the world here. So, you’ll need to give your servant a name—the choice is not his. He gave up his will to you when he signed the contract.”

A storm of heat flooded me. Oh, the things I could think to get into with Michael. I didn’t know the depths of his soul. Hadn’t had a chance to talk about childhood antics, growing up with parents or not, or if he had baby mama’s who would kill for him. Frankly, I didn’t care about those things. I only cared about myself and what I needed—what I wanted. So I said, “King.”

Daniella tapped at her electronic handheld tablet and nodded while responding, “Sapphire, this is your entry card.” She slipped a chain around my neck. “If at any time tonight you desire more…” Daniella let more linger so that I could receive an understanding of the gravity of that word. “Place the chain around King’s neck, and he’s yours for the night. Nothing is off-limits.”

I scribbled my name across the screen so fast that I didn’t even take a moment to look at the fine print or even gauge if there was fine print. 

My interest was heightened, and at the same time, I was scared as hell.

The club went completely dark for ten full seconds, and when the multicolored LED’s flashed again, Michael—King was on stage, a purple royal robe clinging around his broad shoulders and tied at the center of his throat driving down back. His chest was pushing against a regency shirt, perfectly styled for a Victorian-era look. 

I felt my lips spread as I took in the fullness of his build. He was tall—I mean, at least six foot five inches. I knew a giant when I saw one. On his legs, black pants stretched across his muscular thighs. A mask covered half of his face, concealing one side of his broad nose and lips. But his gaze could be seen entirely dark, prominent, intense.

Our eyes locked. It was as if he saw me before he saw anyone else. He moved then, his hands swiping the robe from his front as he went into a squat, rotating his hips, then he split out of his shirt with the grip of his hands as he rose back to his feet. 

Shouts and catcalls surrounded the room, but Michael’s gaze never left mine, pulled me in, holding my attention hostage—as if it would go anywhere else.

He stepped into his role nicely—perfectly actually, making me want to phase into the true nature of Sapphire. 

Slowly King’s body waved his chiseled molasses chest a conjunction of muscular formation. Hands out, he went down to the floor, pressing his palms against the stage and crawling to me without being on his knees. 

King was an animal. The lion of his jungle, and I wanted to be his lioness. He reached out to me, and every eye turned my way. 

Heat saturated my skin—from the excitement I felt, the fear, the awareness of attention placed on me. I opened my mouth to reject but rose to my feet instead. 

I strolled to King, reached for his hand, and was levitated above the five steps that would take me to the stage by the strength in his draw. 

Damn.

“Ooooooow!”

Ladies watching howled, yelled, and cheered me forward as my body slid against the hard rigidness of his physique. My hands slipped down his chest to his belt, clutched his pants, my eyes driving back up to meet his gaze. 

I was detained there—in the midst of his penetrating stare. Those dark orbs sucked me in, made me want to blend with his soul, and that attraction was the most uncanniness experience I’d ever felt. 

I was spun as King twirled, waved his body against mine, continuing to dance to the beat. A grip on the back of my thighs, a lift into the air, and I was clinging to him, my legs wrapped around his torso, my arms resting on his shoulders, now gripping his neck. 

He dipped, dropped to the stage floor, placing me on my back as he ground between my legs. Heat suffused me, and something hard drug against my now steaming pussy.                

“Oh…” 

My eyes widened, and I glanced down in time to watch him rip out of the pants and toss them off the stage. 

He was butt naked. A beautiful dark chocolate god that felt like an actual sin to witness. 

“Holy smokes,” I whispered, shaken, my nerves scattering as chills assaulted me. Between my legs, he waved his body, ground his hips, and sank his mouth into my dress, pulling at the garment with his teeth at my nipples.

Trembling, I was ignited, thoroughly aroused, and feeling everything King bestowed on me. I wanted to kiss him—wanted to feel his dick deep, so deep he penetrated places that weren’t meant to be broken through. 

More humping from King—on beat and a growl later, and the music began to fade. But I wasn’t through with King yet. 

No.

And to prove it, I quickly removed the necklace around my neck and slipped it over his head, letting it land against his flesh. 

Smoke shot up from the floor around us. A signal of sorts that made the women cheer and shout louder. I had to wonder how many of them knew what the signal meant, but only for a second since the allure and dark arousal in King’s eyes told me that he knew. Then, the floor beneath us moved, and before I knew what was happening, we descended.

On The Horizon

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