Pool Girl: A Forbidden Slow Burn Romance Read online

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. For someone who’s had sex with boatloads of women, control is something I pride myself on. When in front of the camera, as the alpha male actor, banging two or three women in a row, control was not just important, it was required.

  I had to learn how to keep it up until we had the footage the director needed for the final cut.

  I was a man in control…a man of steel.

  That’s why I can’t understand how Gemma can have a seasoned veteran like me feeling like I was twenty-two again. Every time I think about her, my heart feels like it’s jacked up on caffeine.

  Throughout the weekend, I fight the urge to call her. To ask her out for a drink. This can’t be right, I tell myself. You can’t feel this way. It’s wrong. To even consider it is wrong!

  Yet, like a damned fool, I can’t get her off my mind. That brief moment I held her, we shared something. A deep connection. A connection that I really want to explore.

  The moment of truth is when she walks down the aisle of the conference-hall-turned-dancefloor towards the stage. She’s dressed in a figure-hugging strapless mini-dress that puts her boobs and ass on display. She either doesn’t know just how drop dead sexy she is or she’s trying to torture me.

  She waves at me, beaming innocently. I’m momentarily transfixed by her. I realize that my memory of her beauty greatly pales to the genuine article. As she approaches, I see a girl devoid of guile or grime. I see purity and vulnerability.

  Shit, I think. I should not be thinking about having sex with this girl.

  “Hi,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “I’m sorry if I’m late,” she apologizes, joining me on the stage. She is cautious to keep her distance, I notice.

  It’s beginning to look like a club setting. The stage is at the center of the hall. There’s a bar and a VIP section. There’s a door behind the bar that leads into two office spaces and a storeroom. I intend to use one of the office spaces as my personal office, while the other office space will go to the accountant or manager. The stage is bare polished wood, but before the renovations are done, the club décor will be worked on, and a couple of poles for dancing will be added.

  “Oh, you’re not,” I say immediately, to make her feel comfortable. “You’re right on time.” She’s not, but I don’t want to tell her that. I want to tell her she’s late, and she’s a bad girl that must be punished.

  Shit! I shouldn’t be thinking that way, that was the old me…or rather, the young me. But I can’t help myself. She makes me think things I shouldn’t be thinking. She makes me want to do things that I shouldn’t want.

  We stare at each other for a second. The tension is palpable in the air. I can feel that she feels it too. I can see that she feels it. Blood beginning to rush south and I have to clear my throat to keep myself focused on the task at hand. Teach this girl how to dance.

  “So, are you ready for this?” I ask. “This is the point of no return. Once I start the training, our contract goes into effect.”

  Gemma flexes her fingers. “I’m ready.”

  “Good,” I reply. “Now, I’m going to ask you another question. I want you to think carefully before you answer. As of now, you can still back out of this.”

  I wait to see if she’s understood. She nods, so I continue.

  “Some of the dance techniques I’ll be teaching you are overtly sexual,” I start, watching her face for any minute changes in her expression. “This is because a lot of our customers will be men of various ages. This industry attracts women too, but it’s mostly men. In the dancing business, it’s pretty girls like you that they want to come and see dance. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Gemma takes her time to think about it. She’s blushing as she asks, “Will it involve me gratifying them?”

  I know what she means. She wants to know if she’ll be required to have sex with them. Of course not, I’d never force anyone to do anything like that. Sex is, really, one reason why we bought a hotel. So that clients can come and have a more personalized experience with the dancers. But that kind of interaction is strictly up to the dancers, and there’d be no money exchanged for it. And if any client got grabby with one of the dancers without her consent, he’d be out on his ass with a black eye as a souvenir. I think about explaining all this to Gemma, but I don’t. Best not to tell her that now. Stick to the simple facts.

  “No, Gemma,” I say. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re a dancer. That’s it. Nothing more. What you want to do on your own, is your own business. I can’t stop you outside of working hours.”

  She nods. “Then I don’t mind.” She adds a smile to that.

  Interesting, I think.

  “Also, you may be required to strip,” I continue. “Even to nothing. It was in the contract.”

  She gives a soft gasp. I knew I should have read the whole thing. “You mean go naked?”

  I nod. “Do you have a problem with that?” Before she can reply, I say, “I mean, other girls will do it. The guys will expect it. So, it’s not really a big deal.”

  It doesn’t make sense, what I just said. But when you think about the fact that I did this exact job for twenty-two years, you really can’t expect a completely logical argument.

  “Hmmm,” she says.

  “You can still back out,” I remind her. I know she’s not going to. The pay is too great for her to back out. Besides, it’s not like we’re telling her to fuck our clients. We’ll leave that to Hollywood.

  “So long as no one touches me,” she says gingerly.

  “It’s not allowed,” I say firmly. “Every client will be informed that the girls—that you—are not to be touched when you’re performing. In fact, you’ll be on stage, and we’ll have a barrier between the stage and the lounge area.”

  “And I won’t be required to sleep with some random guy…”

  I shake my head vigorously. “That’s prostitution. We’re a dance house, not a brothel. If they just want a quick fuck, they’ll have to go elsewhere.”

  Gemma’s face contorts in shock at the word “fuck.” It’s somehow both cute and sexy, and it feels like the flame between us, which was beginning to smolder, is heating up again.

  “And I don’t strip all the time,” she adds.

  I pause before I answer that one. Because I want her stripping as often as possible. I can’t sell her dancing with all her clothes on as well as I can her dancing without clothes.

  “We can work something out,” I say tentatively. At least half the time, you’ll be stripping, I add mentally.

  “Then let’s do this!” she says with enthusiasm.

  I grin at her. “Now that we’ve worked that out let’s begin. I’ll put some music on, and you show me what you’ve got”

  She nods. “Of course.”

  “Do you know how to twerk?” I ask. Immediately, I begin to fantasize about her twerking. With that perfect ass of hers, it would be a glorious thing to see.

  “A little,” she replies. “I’ve never really done it for anyone, so I don’t know if I’m any good.”

  I nod. “Okay. I may not be able to show you how it should be done by example, but I can teach you some of the techniques they use to twerk. Zinzy can fill you in on the rest. Once I’m done teaching you, you’ll be able to do most anything on the dance floor.”

  She smiles at me, “who’s Zinzy?” she asks. Her teeth sparkle through the forced smile.

  “Zinzy is an old showgirl. Like me, she’s too old to be on stage anymore. She and I go way back. We used to be an item in high school, but now we’re just old ‘showbiz’ family.”

  “Was she the woman in your Range Rover that day?”

  “Yes. I was picking her up from the airport. She was returning from vacation. She opened a dance studio in Las Vegas, and her husband was too busy with the business to do it, or so he said,” I tell her. The girl looks satisfied with that answer.

  As the music plays, she starts to move to the beat.

  “Wait! So
they take separate vacations? That’s weird.”

  “It works for Zinzy.” We both continue to move to the music in silence.

  Without thinking about it, I take off my shirt and move in closer and start dancing with her. I follow her twerk.

  She laughs at me when I do it once.

  I laugh with her. “I know, I know. It’s not as sexy when a man does it. But when a woman does it—especially one with a nice ass like you—it’s extremely sexy.” Mental note: Help her keep it in shape.

  She smirks and arches an eyebrow. “So, you think I have a nice ass?”

  My breath hitches. “Well, you do.” As I say that, I can see she’s holding her breath.

  “Breathe,” I tell her. I move closer to look deeper into her eyes. She lets out a hitched sigh.

  I hold her hips and tell her to go slowly. I’m trying hard to concentrate on her getting her footing right and moving her hips in the right way so that her butt bounces, but it’s clear that she’s getting aroused. Who wouldn’t, dancing this way?

  Gemma laughs, jumps up, and begins to twerk for me. At first it’s not pretty, and I have to stop her, and we try again. But with time, she begins to get it.

  As for me? Well, I’m already fucking hard. But I’m doing my damndest to keep my mind focused on the job at hand.

  “Now you’re getting it,” I praise her, watching as her ass bumps and bounces. I’m hypnotized. There’s no music now. She’s doing this just for me.

  Without thinking, I grab her waist and pull hard, smashing her ass against my erection.

  Pleasure explodes through me, and I groan.

  Gemma’s body goes rigid momentarily, but she recovers quickly, reaching up for my head with both hands. This action gives me a clear view of her cleavage, of her breasts jutting out, and her nipples tearing against the strapless dress. I begin to kiss her neck. This girl is too much. I can’t help myself. Without thinking, I grab for her right breast and softly squeeze her nipple.

  Gemma moans softly, and I take that as encouragement, my film days kick in, and my mind doesn’t think rationally. I pull the top of her dress down ready to suck that hard, at-attention nipple.

  That’s when Gemma screams.

  I am startled, and I stagger back.

  My mind kicks back to reality, and I realize something very important. - she’s an employee.

  Oh, shit. What the fuck did I just do?

  Gemma is covering her breasts with one arm while she pulls up her dress.

  “I’m sorry!” she squeals, tears starting to flood her eyes.

  Before I can say anything, she has turned and fled. And I’m left completely confused.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter Eleven: Gemma

  I’m filled with a multitude of emotions as I race down the narrow corridor. There are still men here and there, fixing one thing or the other. None of them pay me any heed as I sob, just trying to put one foot in front of the other. The door is open ahead of me, the street beyond signaling my freedom.

  My face is stained with tears. I’m still holding onto my dress even though I have firmly secured it back in place. I guess I’m afraid that Cullen’s ungentlemanly behavior has ruined everything!

  Someone steps in front of me. “Is something wrong, honey?”

  I don’t even look at his face. I don’t care what he asks—I don’t care if he’s friend or foe. I’m so confused, so conflicted that I push past him and into the open.

  I pause, taking in the deep, freeing air. I look up at the cloudless sky. I feel the pressure of tears in my chest, furiously burning to be let out.

  I hold it down, clamped tight until I begin to walk away from the hotel. I let myself cry now, but I try to maintain enough composure to make it in a straight line down the sidewalk.

  I still don’t understand what happened. One moment, I was shaking my ass for Cullen. I know I was supposed to be dancing, but I didn’t care about that. It’s strange. All I cared about was Cullen and that he loved what he was seeing.

  Then he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me against him. I wanted him bad. I didn’t care about social conventions. I didn’t care that it was so wrong on so many levels. I didn’t give a fuck.

  At least, until he pulled down my dress. I just sort of flipped. It was reflex. Instinct. A memory dredged up from the young and stupid I’ve dated in the past.

  As Cullen went for my clothes, he became the young and stupid. I forgot that just a moment before, I thought I was going to die if he didn’t throw me on the floor and have his way with me. That I was ready to do all sorts of things to him there on that dance floor. Couldn’t he tell I was aroused?

  Even now, as I make my way away from the hotel, I can’t bring myself to comprehend exactly what happened. Why do I feel so violated? Why do I feel so wronged? Cullen hadn’t done anything I hadn’t wanted. Why did I react that way?

  When the answers fail to come to me, I cry all the more.

  Am I stupid for running away from Cullen or am I crazy for ever believing Cullen was a gentleman?

  My mother told me once, “There aren’t any gentlemen left in the world.”

  Of course, at the time, I was living in a fairytale. The one my mom had created to protect me from the harsh realities of the world…to preserve my innocence.

  Mom could tell that I didn’t believe what she said, so she gripped my arms, forced me to look into her eyes, and then she repeated, this time her voice carrying a warning tone: “There aren’t any gentlemen left in the world. Either take my word for it now, or you’ll learn it to be true by a nasty experience.”

  Her words have never made so much sense as they do now. Maybe Cullen isn’t a gentleman. Perhaps the contract, the signing, the hotel—maybe it was all a ploy to turn me into some sex slave, and maybe sell me off to some far away country.

  But is he really a dangerous man? I quiz myself. It’s not as though he forced himself on you, did he?

  Frowning, I recall the events that led up to him going for my clothes. Even though he grabbed my waist and slammed my bouncing butt hard on his erection, I enjoyed the feeling.

  It sent tendrils of pleasure through my core. I could have stopped it then. There was still that opening. But no, I egged him on. I invited him to touch my body. If he took what I gave him, did that make him a bad man? As the thoughts whirl around my mind, anger begins to burn bright, not at Cullen, but at myself.

  I finally catch a ride— it’s Michael from J&J Pools. I try to hide my tears and don’t say anything. If there’s something I hate hearing more than anything, it’s “I told you so.” Michael may not know of the conversation I had with Mr. Monroe, but he knows that I left for a better job.

  If he finds out that I’m having troubles on my first day, he might tell James Monroe, and then they’ll both say “I told you so.”

  “How’s it going on your first day at the new job?” Michael asks.

  I don’t reply immediately because the urge to burst into tears again is strong. I nod and try to manage a smile when he turns and glances at me.

  “Was it so stressful that you can’t talk?” he prompts.

  “No,” I reply. “I just don’t want to talk.”

  “You don’t mind if I keep talking, do you?”

  “Nope,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road outside. It’s going to be a couple of minutes before we get to my apartment. Maybe I can distract myself listening to his nonsense.

  Michael begins talking about how he’s been given more responsibility. He tells me how nothing’s been the same since I left. For the first few sentences, I listen to him. After that, I am bored by the talk and retreat into my own thoughts.

  I find that my thoughts immediately go to Cullen. I wonder what he must think of me. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Maybe he’s angry with me. Will he accept me back, if I go back to him? Can I even go back to him? If I were him, would I let me come back, after embarrassing him that way?

  I muse on these thoughts,
biting my lip so I don’t yield to the strong desire to cry. As a tear escapes, I turn away from Michael’s observant eyes, so he doesn’t see. I don’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of knowing that I’ve probably failed with Cullen.

  Soon enough, Michael pulls up in front of my apartment building.

  “I don’t know what happened today,” Michael says, “but I know you made the right decision going for the job. Don’t let a simple hiccup on your first day deter you.”

  I refuse to look in his direction because the tears are already flowing again. Still, I’m touched by his kind words.

  “Thank you, Michael,” I say, sniffing softly. “See you some other time.”

  I walk into the apartment building and up the stairs to our apartment. Taylor is waiting for me, excited to hear how my first day went. When she sees that I’m such a mess, she wraps me in a hug.

  In her arms, I let the tears flow.

  Chapter Twelve: Cullen

  I watch Gemma run out of the dance hall in shock. I think I should run after her, try to explain, beg for forgiveness, but I’m rooted to the spot.

  Minutes trickle away. I’m still not sure what just happened. Did I make a mistake? Did I misjudge the signs?

  I walk to the edge of the dance floor and sit, my legs dangling over the stage. I rack my brain, trying to figure her out.

  She seemed to have been enjoying it. She pushed into me. She moaned. She wanted it. I didn’t overplay my hand. I didn’t overstretch. She was virtually twerking on my dick. She was into it.

  I didn’t think about her age or the fact that she’s technically my employee. Maybe she did? We managed to move past our differences. And for a moment, a painfully brief moment, we were just happy to be giving each other our bodies.

  So what the hell just happened? I wonder as rage blazes alive in my mind.

  Right now, I don’t even know what I’m angry at. Mad at myself for not keeping my hands to myself, maybe—fuck the fact that she wanted it. I’m angry about going too far too fast.

  Ain’t nothing wrong with soft sex. Did I have to pull down her clothes?