Lorai Espinosa, attorney by day and stripper by night.
Keeping her identity hidden proves to be easy until she finds herself stiletto deep with a mystery man in a fancy suit and a murder trial that begins to strip away at her little secret.
...
I knocked. I bit on the inside of my cheek nervously, standing in front of what would be her door. What the fuck am I doing here?! I Suddenly realized how creepy this all seemed.
"Who's there?" That sweet voice rang through my ears, making me lose any and all of my anxiety.
"Uh, it's Harvey," I called out.
She was silent for what seemed like forever. Finally she cracked open the door, I caught a glimpse of her, and as expected she had put on her mask. But what really grabbed my attention was what she was wearing. A pair of tight, grey cotton shorts hugged her tan, thick thighs, and a maroon cropped shirt that made her braless, tits painfully visible."How the hell did you find me?"
"Evelyn," I said quickly.
She sighed and opened the door entirely, "swear to god that bitch can't keep her mouth shut," she mumbled, trailing off in what only could be assumed to be Spanish swear words.
"Listen I can go," I motioned down the hall, "but I...I've had a pretty shitty week, and you said you'd be at the club on the weekends but then I didn't see you... so...."
A small smile pulled at her lips, "you can come in, Harvey."
I nodded a thank you and made my way inside. Her apartment was really nice. It was warm, inviting, and it smelled just like her. "Nice pole," I chuckled as I noticed the stripper pole in the middle of her living room .
"Thanks..." she chuckled, "please make yourself comfortable." She pointed to the couch.
I walked over and sat myself down. "Business must be booming."
"It is," she said simply, bringing over a cup from the kitchen and sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.
"So why weren't you at the club?" I shifted so that I faced her.
She took a deep breath, "like you, I've also had a very shitty week."
I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to say. There was something about her that made me overly cautious, I felt as if I had to measure my words carefully with her.
She made herself more comfortable on the couch, entirely oblivious to my nervousness, "you look...different in casual clothes."
I chuckled, scratching the back of my head, "is that a bad thing?"
She shook her head and smiled warmly, "no, it's not. It makes you look more...approachable."
"More approachable?" I raised a brow.
"Yeah," she sipped on her drink slowly, "definitely more approachable." There was tension. I felt it. I felt it everywhere. My stomach tightened and my eyes lingered on her skin.
"Come here then," my voice lowered as my words struggled up my throat.
She sat there a moment, debating my offer, but then got up and propped herself right in front of me. Standing right in between my legs—she then slowly settled herself into my lap.
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