Playboy » L.S

Chapter 2

I'm too distracted by the incredibly beautiful man in front of me to comprehend what Damien is saying to me. This is weird, actually, since Damien always seems to have my attention completely drawn to him and only him.

The horribly delighting thoughts my mind is spurting out, involving sinful acts that no mother should ever hear, are so loud in my head that I can barely hear Bad by Wale, the SoMo rendition, playing in the background.

Damien's words may be drown out right now, but this striking man up on stage has my full attention. The way he purposely swings his hips out to emphasize his body is giving me an odd uncomfortable feeling down below.

Fucking hell.

The man's eyes search the crowd, as if he's taking in what he has to work with. When his beautiful emerald eyes land on me, my breath hitches in my throat.

A smirk settles on his lips, his hand trailing up the golden pole, never breaking eye contact with me.

"Louis?" Damien's hand waving in front of my face snaps me back to reality.

"W-what?" I stutter, blinking a few times before turning my attention to Damien the best I can.

"Pfft!" He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "And you said you weren't into strippers."

"And you said they weren't strippers," I shoot back and he laughs lightly.

"Right, they aren't. They're-" He begins to explain again, but I cut him off.

"Playboys," I finish for him. He nods. "What exactly is a playboy, Dame?"

"The technical definition is a wealthy man who spends his time enjoying himself, especially one who behaves irresponsibly or is sexually promiscuous," he says as if he's read this off a million times.

"Which I guess is kind of right, since our playboys are indeed enjoying themselves," he grins as he glances back up at the walking sex-model on stage. "But our boys are strictly professional. They aren't sloppy like strippers and they don't fuck around like prostitutes."

"Basically, they're more for show," I add and he nods. "Like a doll?"

"Sort of, but here, I allow personal dances, one on ones, if you will. Only if the playboy wants, though," Damien explains. "Not just any dirty old fuck can touch my playboys."

"The playboys choose?" I ask.

"The playboys choose," Damien repeats, and I nod, turning my attention back on the curly haired male.

To my surprise, his eyes are already trained on me. I squirm under his gaze, feeling a bit uncomfortable yet I find it satisfying that out of this crowd, he's focused on me.

His pink tongue pokes out, running along his upper lip in a teasingly slow way. His hand wraps around the golden pole and he swings himself around it a few times for show.

The small crowd surrounding the stage whistles and claps, tossing one dollar bills onto the beautiful stage. I don't take out any money, because I feel like this man is much more than some stripper. He's worth more than a dollar.

All too soon, the song comes to an end. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth and even though the cheesy wink he gave was meant for the whole crowd, his eyes were locked with mine, sending a thrill up my spine.

"What's his name?" I find myself asking, my eyes burning into the muscular back as it walks off stage.

"We can't give out actual names," Damien shrugs. "The clients just call our dancers 'Playboy'. If you call them that, they'll respond."

"Why can't you?" I don't know why I'm so interested all of a sudden ever since that dancer came on stage.

"To protect them. There's a lot of psycho perverts out there," Damien shakes his head and shudders.

I open my mouth to respond, but a tap on my shoulder directs my attention away from Damien.

"Excuse me, sir, sorry to interupt-" A young male in a skimpy waiter's outfit apologizes, mostly directing it to Damien since he's their boss. "but one of our playboys has offered a personal dance."

"I'm a little busy," Damien sighs.

"Oh no, sir, not for you," the boy's cheeks are red with embarrassment. "The request was for him."

Wait, does he mean me? Sure enough, the boy points his finger in my direction.

"Who offered to me?" I can't help but ask. I silently hope and pray it was that sex god I just witnessed. He intrigues me beyond belief and I feel as if I'm physically drawn to him.

"That's the surprise of personal dances, Lou," Damien laughs lightly and pats me on the back. "Go find out."

"I really don't want a dance," I shake my head. There's always that possibility that it's some scrawny pale boy or some built jock. Neither of which I'm interested in.

"Oh come on, Lou!" Damien practically shoves me up and out of my chair. "Go see! Have a little fun, this is a party after all!"

"No, Dame-" I start to object but he cuts me off.

"I insist, now go!" He waves me off with his hands. I groan and roll my eyes, making sure Damien notices. He laughs and stands from his seat, winking at me before stalking off into the crowd.

"Um, so where do I go?" I ask the boy in the waiter's costume.

"Follow me," He instructs and I do as he says. We push our way through the crowd until we're at a black door in the corner. The word "vouloir" is above the door in cursive neon blue writing.

"What does that mean?" I gesture to the sign above the door. I know it isn't English and I'm disappointed in myself for only knowing one language.

"It's French for 'want'," he tells me before he pushes open the door.

The room is completely lit up by a black light, only neon glow lights and glow paint bringing color to the walls and chairs. The room seems to be split in different sections, each section a pretty small size.

"Here we are," He stops at the last door on the left, placing his hand on the knob. "Enjoy yourself."

I'm beyond nervous, multiple scenarios about who requested me playing in my head. I have a bad feeling that it's going to be some juice head guy that just wants to grab my ass. If it is, I will be out of here so fucking fast. Damien will sure get an earfull.

The boy turns the knob and pushes open the door. All of my worries are immediately thrown out the window, replaced with anticipation, shock, and most of all: want.

The dark Adonis standing next to a single chair in the room taps his finger on the top of the chair, that sexy lazy smirk spread across his plump lips.