Chapter 22: The Club Audition
Cherry Valentine pushed through the heavy smoked-glass door and let the velvet darkness swallow her whole. The bass from the distant stage thumped through the soles of her heels, a heartbeat she could feel in her teeth. She had left her press badge in her bag, tucked beneath a crumpled notebook, and wore a sequined microdress that barely qualified as clothing. Glitter flaked from her bare shoulders every time she moved, leaving a trail of stardust across the burgundy carpet like breadcrumbs.
The Velvet Room looked different from the VIP booth where she had spent Marco's bachelor party. That night had been all crimson velvet banquettes and champagne flutes, a private celebration of male bonding she had happily infiltrated. Tonight the club was alive with a different energy, the main floor a sprawl of round tables and leather chairs arranged in a horseshoe around the central stage. Amber spotlights cut through the haze of perfume and expensive cologne, catching the chrome pole at center stage and making it gleam like a promise.
Cherry let her eyes adjust, savoring the thrum of the room as she soaked in the details for the article already forming in her head: Men in suits loosening their ties. A bachelorette party in the corner, the bride-to-be already glassy-eyed and giggling. Stage lights catching the curve of a dancer's hip as she worked the pole with practiced grace. This was a different beat than drum circles and locker rooms, and Cherry felt the familiar electric hum of anticipation building in her chest.
A hand closed around her elbow before she had taken three steps onto the floor. She turned to find a thin man with slicked-back hair and a face that looked like it had been carved from old leather. He wore a black shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a thatch of graying chest hair, and a chain so thick it could have anchored a boat.
"Can I help you, sweetheart?" His voice was a practiced purr, the kind that had been smoothed by years of dealing with drunk men and territorial dancers. His eyes traveled down her body with the slow, assessing precision of a man who had seen a thousand women undress. They lingered on her tits, on the way the sequined dress clung to the curve of her hips, and his mouth curled into something that was almost a smile. "You looking for a job, or you just lost?"
Cherry met his gaze without flinching. She had walked into boardrooms full of hostile executives and locker rooms full of naked athletes. A strip club manager did not intimidate her. "I'm looking for the manager, actually. I heard he's a pretty tough guy to impress."
His smile widened, showing a flash of gold tooth in the dim light. "You found him. Vinnie." He released her elbow but didn't step away, his presence a deliberate invasion of her space. "And you are?"
"Cherry." She let the name hang in the air between them, watching the way his eyes narrowed slightly, cataloging her, processing. "I want to work here. Stage, private dances, whatever you need. I'm a quick study and I don't complain."
Vinnie laughed, a short sharp bark that was swallowed by the bass thumping through the room. "Is that right. You don't complain. Honey, I've heard that from every girl who ever walked through that door, and most of them are gone by the end of the week. This isn't a hobby. This is a business. You want to dance on my stage, you got to prove you've got what it takes."
Cherry raised an eyebrow. She had expected this. Had been counting on it, actually. The challenge lit a fire in her belly that had nothing to do with the article she was supposed to be writing. "I don't have a problem with proving myself."
Vinnie's eyes glittered with amusement. He gestured toward the stage with a tilt of his head. "See that pole? You got one song. The DJ's a friend of mine, so I'll tell him to give you something slow and mean. You impress me, we talk about a schedule. You don't, you finish your drink at the bar and you leave quiet. Deal?"
Cherry felt the heat of the challenge curl through her. She had never been one to back down, and this was just another stage, just another performance. She had already done far more daring things in front of cameras for Brad and Neon Palace Studios. A pole was almost tame by comparison.
"Deal," she said, and she saw something like respect flicker in Vinnie's eyes.
He led her through the crowd, his hand a light pressure on the small of her back as he navigated between tables. The men at the closest tables tracked her progress with hungry, hopeful eyes, and Cherry felt the familiar thrill of being watched. She let her hips sway a little more than necessary, let the sequins catch the light and throw sparks across the floor.
The stage was elevated about three feet off the ground, its edge ringed with the kind of brass rail you'd find in an old-timey saloon. A dancer in a fire-red thong was finishing her routine, sliding down the pole with practiced ease as the crowd applauded. She had a body like a gym-toned weapon and the kind of bored professional expression that made Cherry want to shake her.
Vinnie stepped up to the DJ booth and murmured something to the man inside. The DJ, a skinny dude with dreadlocks and a neck tattoo, glanced at Cherry and gave Vinnie a thumbs up. The current song faded out, and a new one began, low and sultry, a pulse of bass overlaid with a woman's voice singing about sin and surrender.
The dancer on stage grabbed her clothes and hopped off the platform, brushing past Cherry with a look that was equal parts curiosity and disdain. Cherry ignored her. She was already moving, her heels clicking on the steps as she ascended into the amber light.
The stage was warm, the overhead spots hot against her bare shoulders. The chrome pole stood center stage like a challenge, its surface gleaming with the residue of polished hands. Cherry could feel every eye in the room on her, a collective weight of male attention so dense it was almost a physical pressure against her skin.
She started slow. Walked a wide circle around the pole, letting the sequined dress catch the light, her hips rolling with each step. The music thrummed through the floor and up through her heels, vibrating in her bones. She found Vinnie in the crowd, standing at the back with his arms crossed, and she gave him a slow, deliberate smile before turning her back on him.
The first move was instinct. She reached up, closed her hands around the warm metal, and swung her legs up until her body was horizontal to the floor, suspended on pure grip strength and momentum. The sequins of her dress fell away from her thighs, and she heard a collective intake of breath from the audience, a sound like wind through trees.
Cherry laughed, the sound swallowed by the music. This was delicious. She spun around the pole, letting centrifugal force carry her, her knees hooked around the metal as she slid down, her body arched backward so her hair brushed the stage floor. The glitter on her shoulders caught the light and scattered across the polished surface like a spray of tiny diamonds.
She moved from trick to trick without thinking, her body remembering moves she had learned in a dozen bedrooms and a hundred parties. Her hands slid down the pole as she inverted, her thighs gripping the metal as she hung upside down in heel. The sequined dress rode up her hips, exposing the black lace of her thong to the crowd, and the whistles began, sharp and hungry.
Cherry rode the pole like she had been born on it. She swung her legs down, planted her heels, and dropped into a slow, rolling crouch before the men nearest the stage. She looked them in the eye, one at a time, this one a red-faced businessman with a wedding ring, that one a kid who couldn't have been old enough to drink. The power in their gazes was a current, and she was the channel.
She stood and reached behind her neck to unclip the strap of her dress. The sequined fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her torso bare. Her breasts hung free, the pink of her nipples tightening as the cool air hit them. The crowd surged forward, dollar bills appearing in hands like magic.
Cherry turned back to the pole, pressed her breasts against the warm chrome, and pivoted. The metal slid against her nipples, a shiver of sensation that ran straight down her spine. She arched her back, letting them see everything, giving them the full curve of her ass as she bent forward and grabbed the pole low.
The dancer who had been on before her stood at the edge of the stage, watching with an expression Cherry couldn't quite read. Surprise, maybe. Respect. Cherry winked at her and then climbed the pole again, her thighs flexing as she scaled the chrome. She flipped, caught herself by one knee and one hand, and hung suspended for a long, electric moment while the crowd held its breath.
The song shifted into its final chorus, the drumbeat building. Cherry rode it down the pole, sliding until her heels hit the stage. She dropped to her knees, threw her head back, and raked her fingers through her hair, letting the last note of the music pulse through her like a heartbeat.
The crowd erupted.
Vinnie was already moving toward her as she stood, pressing her palms to her thighs in a little mock curtsy. He had a strange smile on his face, part approval, part something more dangerous. "Alright," he said, loud enough to be heard over the noise. "You got the gig. Get dressed, we'll talk schedule in my office."
Cherry retrieved her dress from the stage floor and slipped it back over her shoulders, making a production of pulling it down over her tits. She was breathing hard, flushed with the performance, the burn of exertion mixed with the wild buzz of being watched. She followed Vinnie off the stage and through a beaded curtain into the back.
The corridor behind the stage was narrow and smelled of perfume and sweat and stale beer. A row of dressing room doors lined the wall, one of them open, revealing a cluttered vanity with a ring light and a stack of sequined bras. Cherry could hear the bass of the main room thumping through the wall.
Vinnie stopped at the last door and unlocked it with a key from his pocket. His office was small, a desk cluttered with paperwork, a leather chair, and a couch that looked like it had seen better decades. A single lamp cast a pool of amber light across the desk.
He closed the door behind them and leaned against it, crossing his arms. His eyes traveled over her body with an appraisal that was no longer just professional. "You got a story, Cherry. I can tell. Most girls come in here nervous, hiding their tits behind their arms, jumping like rabbits at the first sound of a dollar. You walked onto my stage like you owned it. Where did you get that confidence?"
Cherry smiled, letting her dress hang off one shoulder. "I'm a journalist," she said, the confession easy on her lips. "I'm doing an undercover piece on the nightlife industry. I needed access, and I figured the best way to get it was to be part of the show."
Vinnie's eyebrows rose. For a moment he looked like he might be angry, his face darkening, but then he barked a laugh. "Fuck me. A reporter. I should have known." He shook his head, a rueful grin spreading across his face. "I've been running this club for fifteen years. I got magazines calling me for quotes, news stations trying to get interviews, but I never had a journalist flash her tits on my stage just to get the story."
Cherry stepped closer, the sequined hem of her dress brushing against his knees. "I go where the story takes me, Vinnie. And right now, the story is telling me that you're the most interesting man in this building."
He laughed again, but this time the laugh had an edge to it. His hand came up, caught her chin, tilted her face toward the light. "You're trouble, Cherry. The kind of trouble that gets a man in hot water. But I got a feeling you're worth it."
His thumb brushed across her lower lip, a rough caress that made her stomach flip. The air between them thickened, charged with the same electricity she had felt on stage, but sharper now. More personal.
Oh, Cherry thought, her heart quickening with anticipation. She recognized this moment. It was the same preamble she had experienced a hundred times before, in locker rooms and boardrooms and back alleys. The shift in the air, the change in a man's eyes when he stopped seeing her as a journalist and started seeing her as prey. Or, more accurately, when he realized he was the prey.
"Worth it?" She tilted her head, letting her dress slip further down her shoulder. "I guess you'll have to find out."
Vinnie's gold tooth flashed in the dim light. "I intend to."
His free hand closed around her hip, pulling her against him. He was taller than he had looked across the room, lean and wiry, but there was surprising strength in his grip. Cherry let him pull her close, let him feel the shape of her body through the thin sequined fabric. She was already warm, flushed from the performance, and the contact sent a spark through her that she hadn't expected.
One part of her mind was still working, still cataloging details for the article: the way the light from the desk lamp caught the gold chain around his neck, the faint smell of peppermint and whiskey on his breath, the sound of the bass from the main room thumping through the floor. But the rest of her was pure sensation, lit up and hungry.
Vinnie lowered his mouth to hers, and Cherry met him halfway. His kiss was hard, demanding, tasting of mint and old coffee. His hands moved down her back, gripping her ass through the sequined dress, and she moaned into his mouth. She pressed her hips against him, felt the unmistakable outline of his cock pressing against her thigh.
It seemed that Cherry Valentine had, once again, gotten exactly what she had come for.
Her fingers found the button of Vinnie's trousers before she had consciously decided to move. The kiss had done something to her, loosened some latch in her chest, and the hunger that always simmered beneath her skin surged forward. She broke the kiss just long enough to drop to her knees, the sequined dress bunching around her thighs as she went down.
Vinnie's breath caught. "Fuck, girl. You don't waste time."
Cherry looked up at him from the floor, her tongue tracing her lower lip. "You said I have to prove I've got what it takes." She popped the button on his trousers and dragged the zipper down, the metal teeth parting with a sound that cut through the muffled bass from the main room. She reached into his boxers and wrapped her hand around his cock, which was already half hard, twitching against her palm. "I'm just getting started."
He was thick and long, the kind of cock that demanded attention. Cherry pulled it free of his boxers, letting it spring up against his belly. The lamplight caught the wetness at the tip, and she leaned in, letting her breath wash over the head before she took him in her mouth.
Vinnie groaned, his hand coming down to tangle in her strawberry-blonde hair. "Jesus. Where the fuck did Vinnie find you?"
Cherry answered by taking him deeper. She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded there, then relaxed her throat and swallowed him down to the base. His hips jerked, and he let out a guttural curse. She worked him with practiced rhythm, her hand gripping the shaft where her mouth couldn't reach, sliding up and down in counterpoint to the bobbing of her head.
"You like that?" She pulled off just long enough to ask, her lips slick and swollen, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to the head of his cock. "You like having a journalist on her knees for you?"
Vinnie's grip tightened in her hair. "I like having a mouth this talented on my cock. Don't stop."
She didn't stop. She took him deep again, letting her nose brush the thatch of gray hair at his base, and held him there, her throat working around him as she swallowed. His fingers curled in her hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. His hips began to move, shallow thrusts that grew deeper as she moaned around him.
The vibration of her moan did something to him. He pulled her off with a wet pop, his cock glistening with her spit, and hauled her to her feet. "Stand up. Turn around."
Cherry turned, bracing her hands on the cluttered desk. The leather chair scraped against the floor as Vinnie kicked it aside. His hands came down on her hips, his fingers digging into the sequined dress, and he dragged it up over her ass. The fabric caught on her thighs, and he yanked harder, the sound of tearing sequins sharp in the quiet office.
"Fuck the dress," he growled, and Cherry laughed, the sound breathless.
"Easy, I need that for the article."
"I'll buy you a new one."
His hand found her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. She was still in the black lace thong she had worn under the dress, and he hooked a finger under the waistband, pulling it down over the curve of her ass. It snapped against her thighs, and she heard him suck in a breath at the sight of her bare pussy, already slick with anticipation.
"Look at that," he said, his voice rough. "Already wet for me, aren't you, sweetheart?"
Cherry pushed her hips back, grinding against the denim of his open trousers. "What do you think? Between the stage and you kissing me, I've been ready since I set foot in your club."
Vinnie didn't need more invitation than that. He positioned himself behind her, and she felt the head of his cock pressing against her slick folds, teasing, dragging through her wetness before he pushed inside.
The stretch was delicious. He filled her in one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and Cherry cried out, her fingers scrabbling across the papers on his desk. He gripped her hips and pulled back, almost all the way out, then slammed forward again, the impact driving the breath from her lungs.
"That's it," Vinnie grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."
Cherry took it. She braced herself on the desk as he pounded into her from behind, his rhythm fast and merciless. The cluttered papers scattered beneath her palms, pens rolling off the edge, a framed photo toppled face-down. The desk slammed against the wall with each of his thrusts, a rhythmic bang that echoed through the small office.
"Oh fuck," she gasped, her voice ragged. "Yes. Right there."
His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her ass as he drove deeper, angling his hips to hit that spot inside her that made her see stars. She was already close, the performance on stage, the kiss, the heat of being claimed on his desk, all of it combining into a wave of sensation that coiled tight and low in her belly.
"Not yet," Vinnie said, reading her body's signals. He pulled out abruptly, leaving her empty and aching. She whimpered at the loss, turning her head to look over her shoulder at him, and saw him stripping off his black shirt, revealing the graying hair across his chest, the lean muscle that belied his age.
"Turn around," he said. "I want to see your face."
Cherry turned, hopping up onto the edge of the desk. The papers crinkled beneath her bare thighs, and she spread her legs wide, showing him everything. Her pussy was pink and slick, glistening in the lamplight. She reached down and spread herself open with two fingers, an invitation she knew he couldn't refuse.
Vinnie stepped between her legs and drove into her again, this time face to face. Cherry wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, and pulled him closer. Their bodies pressed together, the sweat cooling on his skin, the sequins of her dress scratching against his chest.
He kissed her again, harder this time, his tongue invading her mouth in time with his cock. Cherry moaned into him, her fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. He was relentless, driving into her with a purpose that bordered on desperate, and she was right there with him, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust.
"I'm close," she gasped against his lips. "Vinnie, don't stop, I'm so fucking close."
"Come on, then," he growled. "Come on my cock, sweetheart. Show me how good I make you feel."
His thumb found her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and that was all it took. Cherry's body arched, her back bowing off the desk as the orgasm crashed over her in wave after wave. She cried out, his name or just a wordless scream, she couldn't tell. Her pussy clenched around him, milking his cock as she rode out the pleasure.
Vinnie followed her over the edge, his hips slamming into hers one last time before he buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan. Hot spurts of cum flooded her, and Cherry felt each pulse, each twitch of his cock inside her, a delicious fullness that made her toes curl.
They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing hard. The bass from the main room thumped through the floor, muffled and distant. Cherry's heart was still hammering, her body humming with satisfaction.
Vinnie pulled out slowly, his cock slippery with their combined slickness, and Cherry felt the warm trickle of his cum running down her thigh. She heard him laugh, low and deep, as he tucked himself back into his trousers.
"Well," he said, adjusting his belt. "I think we can safely say you got the job."
Cherry sat up on the desk, letting her dress fall back into place, though it was useless now, torn at the seam and streaked with sweat. She grinned at him, her eyes bright. "I told you I don't complain."
Vinnie shook his head, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapping one out. "You're something else, you know that? A journalist who strips, fucks her boss on his desk, and then probably writes about it. What the hell kind of article is this going to be?"
Cherry slid off the desk, her legs shaky, and smoothed the torn dress as best she could. "The fullest kind," she said. "I'm going to write about the real strip club industry. The girls, the club, the power dynamics. Everything." She looked at him, her smile widening. "And you're going to be my primary source."
Vinnie lit his cigarette, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. He watched her with a mixture of amusement and grudging respect. "A primary source, huh. You mean I'm going to be the one who has to answer all your questions after I've got my cock deep in you?"
"Something like that," Cherry said. She walked toward the door, then paused, turning back. "Oh, and Vinnie? When do I start my shift?"