Nanny for the Neighbors: Chapter 33

CYRUS

I can practically feel Beth’s breath on my balls as I stand in front of her, her lips inches away from my fabric-covered crotch.

Slowly, watching her face, I guide her hand over the bulge in my boxers.

Fuck. That feels good. Too good. I’m about to pull her away when she tightens her fingers slightly, gripping my hard-on.

Holy shit.

My hips buck, and I yank away from her.

“WHIP IT OUT! WHIP IT OUT!” Filters into my ears, and I remember the audience. I turn back to them and grin, slipping my hands under the waistband of my boxers, teasing them down a few inches. A girl on the front row screams so hard her voice gives out.

When I turn back to the chair, Beth’s looking up at me, her pupils blown wide, her chest heaving under her tight dress, her lips a little, bitten rosebud. I reach out and brace my arms on the back of her chair, thrusting my hips. For this part of the song, I’m meant to grind into her face, but I can’t make myself do it. Partly because it just feels wrong, and partly because I’ve never had to dance with a stiffy before. Even the thought of Beth’s soft lips accidentally brushing me through my briefs is too much to handle. I’d probably come in my pants like a fucking teenager.

Instead, I bury my hand in her burning red curls and tug her mouth roughly to mine. She melts under me, her chest shuddering in a gasp. Around me, I hear screams from the crowd. Shouts. Cat calls. I don’t give a fuck. Beth’s lips are hot and sweet, and they taste like cherries. I feel like I’m getting drunk off her as coloured lights spiral over us and music thrums through our bodies.

Eventually, the song crescendos. As the final beat rings out through the club, I kick the chair back onto one leg and spin us around to face the audience, giving them one last grin before the lights go down. The crowd goes wild. I feel banknotes and confetti fluttering down over us as we’re showered in cash.

I ignore it all. Bodies brush past me as the guys jump off the stage, heading to the wings to change costumes. Someone claps a hand on my back. I barely feel it. All I can think about is Beth sighing and pulsing against me, clinging to my shoulders like a little limpet.

“You liked that?” I rasp. I barely even recognise my own voice.

She moans right in my ear, and I have to close my eyes, gritting my teeth to control the wild sweep of arousal that rushes through me. I’m painfully hard. I press my lips to her throat, and her whole body trembles against mine.

Screw it.

Wrapping my arms around her, I lift Beth right off the chair and carry her offstage, heading for the bar. I’m not in the next number, so I have a few minutes to spare. “The act lasts another half an hour,” I shout over the music. “Wait for me?”

She nods as I settle her into an empty barstool. Antonio, one of the bartends, looks up from the till and frowns.

“I’m about to get off shift,” he tells me. His eyes fall on Beth. “Shit. You okay? Need some water? I didn’t think I made your fishbowl that strong.”

“Um—” she starts.

“She’s fine,” I cut in. “Just too turned on to walk.”

“Speak for yourself,” she points out, looking pointedly at the bulge in my tight black boxers. I run my hands down her arms and kiss her neck, loving her soft little gasp. Antonio raises an eyebrow at her, looking amused.

“So, I suppose I don’t have to worry about taking your friend home and leaving you stranded, huh?”

She groans. “Benny’s right. You are nice.”

He laughs.

I don’t know what they’re talking about, and I don’t care. “Get her whatever she wants,” I tell him. “Put it on my tab.” I glance back at the stage. A big bamboo cage has been brought out, and Harry and Lei are both wrestling inside, dressed in ragged loincloths. I really need to get changed for the next number. “Gotta go,” I mumble, popping a kiss on Beth’s cheek and jogging back towards the wings.

The rest of the show goes by in a blur of lights and sweat and money. I’ve done this routine so many times it’s practically drilled into my skull, which is useful, because my head won’t stop swimming. All I can think about is Beth’s soft thighs clamped around my hips. Beth’s little fingers stroking down my chest. Beth’s red lips, a whisker away from my junk.

It’s the hardest show I’ve ever done.

When it’s finally all over, I head back to the dressing room with the other guys. I’ve barely just got in when Seth corners me. On stage, his shiny jacket, fake tan and box-dye black hair look flashy; here, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, he looks like a washed-out game show host.

“What was that?” he demands.

“What?” I ask, yanking on my jeans.

“You kissed a guest,” he says, disapproval clear in his voice. “Who is she? Your girlfriend?”

“Nope.” I grab a bottle of water and crack the lid, drinking half of it down in one long gulp.

“But you know her?” He insists.

“She lives in my building.” I grab my shirt and shrug it on, leaving it unbuttoned, then try to dodge past him out of the room. I don’t wanna leave Beth out there all alone at the bar.

Seth steps in front of me, blocking my path, and I grit my teeth. “We’re supposed to be selling a fantasy, Cyrus,” he berates.

“Yeah. Sorry.” I try to step past him. “Excuse me—”

“It kind of ruins the image if women come here, and you completely ignore them for some girl you’re crushing on,” he continues, not moving.

“I don’t think so,” Harry says cheerfully from his stool. He nicks some wipes off my station and starts cleaning glitter off his abs. “If anything, it’ll get them more wound up if they think we’re picking women out of the crowd to snog.”

“He missed half of the dance moves,” Seth points out, crossing his arms.

I shrug. “Felt weird to do them on her. Sorry, man. I messed up. Won’t do it again.” I nod to the dressing room door. “Can I please go? I have somewhere to be.”

He sniffs. “I’m taking your tips for tonight.”

“Sure. Whatever.” I was so distracted, I probably don’t deserve them anyway. Dumping the rest of my shit in my locker, I grab my phone and head out.

The club is slowly emptying when I step back into the main room. The dance floor is still pretty full, but a lot of the girls have either moved onto the next club, or are headed home to bang the brains out of their boyfriends. I spot Beth hanging by the bar, nursing a Coke. She sticks out in the crowd of sweaty, loud clubgoers like she’s being picked out by a floodlight; her white skin glows against her bright red dress, and her fiery curls are all lit up around her face like a lion’s mane. For a second, I just stand still, taking in the sight of her. She’s easily the most beautiful girl in the room.

I still can’t believe that she’s okay with my job. I’ve literally never met a girl who was. It’s why I’ve learnt to stay away from romance. Women like the idea of fucking a stripper—but only once. They sure as Hell don’t want to get serious with one.

And Beth doesn’t seem to care at all.

As I watch, a guy ordering a drink next to her steps closer, saying something to her. Beth smiles, nodding then turning away. The creep apparently doesn’t get the message, dropping down into the stool on her left. Their legs brush as he leans in to talk some more. Beth shakes her head and edges off the side of her stool.

My teeth grit. I push through the crowd towards them both, pulling up right beside Beth and winding my arm around her waist. She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed pink, then leans closer, her soft hair brushing my chest. My heart jumps a beat.

I turn to the guy, who’s looking at me like a piece of dog shit he’s just stepped in.

“She’s not interested,” I say flatly. “Learn to read the body language, man.”

His eyebrows raise. “I’m sorry, what?”

I point at Beth. “See how she’s practically falling out of her stool to get away from you? She wants you to piss off.” I pause. “So piss off.”

The guy sputters, looking me up and down. For a second, I think he’s about to get rowdy — but luckily, he decides it’s not worth it, sliding off the stool and slinking away. I watch his back disappear into the crowd.

I hate guys like that. Guys who can tell a girl isn’t into them, but keep trying anyway. It’s gross. Why the Hell would you want to convince someone to shag you?

Beth looks up at me. “Hey,” she says quietly. “You didn’t have to do that. He wasn’t really bothering me. He was just flirting.”

“Yeah, well, that bothers me.” I frown, looking around. “Where’s Tony?” I left her with him so he could keep an eye on her.

She points towards a dark corner of the room. I squint. Antonio is getting pinned against the wall by her tattooed friend, and they’re going at it like teenagers. “I wingwoman-ed him,” she says, sounding smug.

“Huh. Okay, then.” The DJ starts playing some souped-up, sexy Ariana Grande song, pumping up the bass so loud it’s vibrating through my teeth. Beth leans closer, dragging her hand down my arm.

“Why is your skin so soft?” She murmurs, squeezing my bicep.

“I oil myself up every night.”

She considers that. “Maybe I should try it.”

Fuck. That’s a pretty picture. Beth all oiled up, her soft white limbs slippery and glistening. “Maybe you should,” I breathe, sliding my hand over the curve of her ass. “It can be hard to reach all the nooks and crannies. I can help you with that.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, then buries her face in my chest.

I run a hand through her hair, letting the silky strands fall through my fingers. “Want to go home, baby?”

She bites her lip, then shakes her head. Pressed against her like this, I can feel her squeezing her thighs together under her dress.

I close my eyes, trying to keep it together. I should call us a taxi. We should drive home, and go back to the flat, and shag in a bed like adults. Beth deserves that much.

But then she shifts closer, twisting her hands in my shirt. “Please,” she whispers.

Screw it.

“Come with me,” I say, and take her hand, helping her off the stool and leading her through the crowd.

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