Red Silente (noah x Stripper! ofc)
While working at Rose Wood, Gaby has learned not to mix business with personal feelings. That is, until the return of a special client forces her to question a very important rule in the nightlife scene.
Dividers by: @uzmacchiato
AN: I’d like to start with a quick aside about the story’s plot. Originally, this wasn’t how Gaby and Noah were supposed to meet—there was a change of plans. Even so, there will be several nods to the original plot so I don’t miss out on adding certain details that are important for understanding the context of various situations that will unfold.
Red Silente was born out of my love for the movie “Pretty Woman” and my interest in the atmosphere of nightclubs.
I’m interested in making a documentary on this topic as soon as I achieve some stability so I can visit those places.
I researched many of the details I’ve added about being an exotic dancer, including reading about the experiences of girls and guys on sites like Reddit and TikTok, though I also personally asked questions respectfully and will continue to do so as the story progresses to stay informed.
I’m very grateful to the people who asked to be tagged in this fanfic—I really appreciate you all!
CW: +18, drug use, prostitution, references to sexually transmitted diseases, family issues, domestic violence, death of some characters, references to male-to-female transition, sexual relations, slow-burn romance, caregiver syndrome, Postmortem depressio.
The smell of alcohol was nothing new here. Neither was the blaring music or the laughter and excited shouts of men and women; it was all part of the club’s daily routine.
If you were lucky, you could make up to a thousand dollars in a single night just by dancing or agreeing to have a drink with some customers. Private dances were already a bonus for all of us, and for some, their main source of income. Everyone set their own rate. There was kissing and touching involved, and it was easy to see why many assumed we were also selling that part of ourselves.
Or, at least, not for all of us.
Most people only saw the surface of who we were: the high heels, the flashy makeup, the neon lights reflecting off our skin. They never stopped to look beyond that.
This whole place holds many secrets that never come to light—some innocent, others so big they could ruin relationships or marriages.
There were groups of men who paid a stripper to send off a friend before his wedding; the same guy who swore he didn’t want anything, until the alcohol got the better of him and he ended up giving in amid laughter and kisses that were ultimately recorded as proof of a night of fun. There were also the regulars: wealthy men with gray hair and expensive, elegant suits, who arrived alone and left on the arm of a bartender or a stripper, while their wives slept, believing they were at work meetings.
The club had so many eyes.
And yet, it turned a blind eye.
It has its good and bad sides, like all jobs; I could complain about a lot, but it would just be repeating the same thing with different words, yet you earn more than anyone with a normal job could ever hope for. Pole dancing started out of sheer curiosity and then turned into something serious; different situations in my life brought me to this place. I never thought that dancing on the pole would give me more money than I probably could have earned if I had pursued my stalled college career in marine biology. I wasn’t a top student, but I could hold my own with my 8.5 GPA. When I explained why I dropped out of college, some called me ridiculous, others said I did the right thing by prioritizing my mental health, but I know it was for my own good.
I don’t think I’m stupid, but I didn’t see myself as mentally strong back then either.
Now I think I’m doing well.
It was a little embarrassing to talk about my job; many people have the misconception that if you’re a stripper, you’re automatically a sex worker too. Some are, but it’s not a path we all take, and I’d love for people to understand that.
The first time you step onto a stage, your mind races. You think about every possible future, both good and bad. You scan the crowd as if hoping not to see a single familiar face among the people.
And when you’re finally standing in front of dozens of men and women who’ve come to watch a pretty girl dance sensually, you realize something: women are scarce in these clubs, just like almost everywhere else. Up there, you feel your body wanting to freeze; you think, “Why am I doing this?” Then comes that moment of clarity, and you end up moving like a feather in the air, turning the stage into your own personal territory, getting to know the people, figuring out how much money you can get out of them, and how much you can charm a client. When you succeed, you end up treating him like your own gold mine; you can become his favorite girl, and thus begins a strange dynamic of “loyalty,” where it’s a give-and-take in equal measure.
A client can be “faithful” to many girls; there’s no limit, unless his wallet screams that it’s enough for now. There’s a mark, and some call it the “mark of ownership.” The girls take a strap from their bra and wrap it around the client’s wrist; they all wore specific lingerie colors to set themselves apart: pink, lilac, black, etc. Sometimes it’s repeated and sometimes it isn’t; a client can end up with three to five straps on his wrist. It’s rare for conflicts to arise over sharing the same client; the mindset is to get as much money as possible out of all those who end up foolishly getting their hopes up after the first kiss on the cheek or the lips.
Is it cruel to play with their feelings? Yes, but that’s just how it is.
All of us who work at this club are like family; I’ve seen coworkers become mothers, some married, others single mothers, and a few more girls finding refuge here after being kicked out of their homes for reasons so unjust they’d make anyone’s blood boil. Many men also work here, mostly in their 20s, though they’re few and far between. Almost always in the same roles: security, cleaning, behind the bar, or in the DJ booth. The most attractive ones try their luck as dancers, but they rarely get the same attention as a woman. The only ones who seem to drive them wild are the brides-to-be at a bachelorette party and the newly retired women who decided to celebrate their freedom in an unconventional way.
Of course, there are also men who enjoy watching them; obviously, they couldn’t miss out.
Anything could happen; the only rule is that no one forces anyone—you can’t kiss a stripper, or touch her, or get anything more if she doesn’t want to; this applies to both men and women, and as a community, it’s up to us to look out for one another.
Rose Wood is like a coin toss; you’ll be lucky if your stay here is comfortable or a bit difficult, as long as you know who to avoid getting involved with; everything will be easier for you.
That’s the best advice I was given on my first day.
I lost track of time as soon as I arrived. It was around 8:15 p.m. when I walked through the doors, and from then on, time flew by as if I were in a race. The club gradually filled up, nothing out of the ordinary for a Saturday night right after payday. I knew the pay dates for half the club’s girls like the back of my hand. When the customers get drunk, they talk too much. Too bad they never let their card PINs slip out. At least that’s what my coworkers say.
I was standing in front of my vanity mirror, wiping my face with wet wipes and getting ready to go out and dance. I was number eight on the night’s lineup. Usually, some girls only danced to one song—between two and four and a half minutes—but when it came to the audience favorites, that time could stretch to almost twenty minutes, practically the same length as a private show.
It all depended on how much experience the dancer had. Some could barely hold the audience’s attention for a few minutes; others knew exactly how to do it. I belonged to the second group, which is why my routines lasted around fifteen minutes.
I was never one to wear too much makeup. Mainly because I always wore an eye mask or a bunny mask, I kept my lips in pink shades, black and pink eyeshadow, and blue contact lenses. I also almost always wore white outfits for my performances: some bunny ears and a white wig that brought the look to life.
That’s why many people ended up calling me “Velvet Bunny.”
That was also very much a part of the nightclub scene: people would give you a nickname based on your appearance, personality, style, and so on.
I didn’t get used to the nickname at first; it made me very uncomfortable, but it eventually became an extension of myself.
I had my headphones on with background music playing as I finished applying a pink shade of lipstick. A small plate of chocolate chip cookies was set down in front of me; I took out one earbud and looked at the owner of the hand adorned with nails as long as a tiger’s claws and animal print.
I popped one into my mouth without a second thought, ruining my lip combo because of my gluttony, but I knew Ginger was smiling at me. She took the chair next to me and also indulged in breaking her diet by eating one.
"I just brushed my teeth, you know?" I said. She smiled because, of course, she had to show up with my favorite treat just when I was almost ready.
"I know, but Axel told me you’ve been in a bad mood since Thursday, and it’s already Saturday, Problems at home, or is PMS striking again?"
"If it were the latter, I’d be crying right now, or at home hugging my dog."
Ginger let out an “Awwww” and patted me on the head, as if I were a little dog. I flipped her off, but she didn’t even flinch; I ate another cookie to reward her for cheering me up tonight. It was obvious that you were. She wiped the crumbs from the corner of my mouth.
“Mmm, these are really good. Who do I have to thank for these treats?”
“Katie, actually. She told me you didn’t touch a single brownie last Monday when she brought in a big tray.”
I laughed; I’d been waiting for someone to ask me.
“I was this close to stealing half the brownies from the tray, but I caught a strange smell and didn’t eat any; then I found out from Johny that she’d put marijuana in them.”
Ginger rolled her eyes; apparently, this wasn’t unusual for her either. Katie had a BAD habit of spiking her desserts, thinking we all wanted to be high at work. If Victoria found out, there was no doubt that Katie would get the worst scolding of her life.
I noticed how Ginger kept glancing at her phone, smiling, though I figured it was because of some video or a photo of her daughter as her wallpaper.
"I know that look," I said. "Something good happened to you." I smiled at her, popping another cookie into my mouth.
She nodded, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms.
“You’re going to kill me.” She rested her cheek on her hand and stroked my arm. “Victoria told me to think it over, for Angie’s sake.”
"What about her? I thought you’d won custody against your ex."
"I did, but now something else has happened."
I noticed her leg start to move, just as she played with a strand of her hair.
The cookie in my hand fell onto the plate; my first reaction was to look around to see if anyone else had heard, but luckily we were alone in the dressing room.
"Oh, Ginger…" I took both her hands and squeezed them a little; I always do that when something takes me by surprise and I don’t know what to say right away. I was still in shock from the news.
"I know, I know it’s crazy, I messed up, but…" she sighed; her eyes glistened. “Damn it, Davis is the man of my dreams—loving, attentive, he adores Angie, and he didn’t take it badly at all that I was a single mom.”
“Well, that last part is the least he could have expected.” She smiled at him, but deep down, she was a little scared.
Her happy little face told me everything. I knew this famous Davis; about two and a half years ago was his first appearance at the club—tall, pale, tattooed, long dark hair with platinum highlights—and he didn’t hesitate to lock eyes with Ginger from day one. I witnessed how things evolved. Davis showed up every Saturday and Sunday night, always ordering two drinks—his own and Ginger’s favorite—paying for a private room to be with her, and paying well to ensure the time lasted more than an hour. As the months went by, Davis’s wrist was already adorned with the strap of my friend’s bra, and he never took it off. Things progressed outside the club with dates— , breakfast, dancing, or just being together. It was no longer just the loyalty between a dancer and a client; it went further.
That’s also the magic of Rose Wood—sometimes you could fall in love, too.
“I just found out—I’m two weeks pregnant,” she pulled out her phone to show me the photo of her pregnancy test; the little screen on the test read “1 to 2 weeks.” “Davis already knows.”
I stared at that photo longer than I should have, and then I looked at it again.
“And what does he think?” I asked, still holding his hand.
“He almost shouted with excitement. He stroked my belly for a long time. We talked a lot about the coming months. He wants me to move in with him so he can take good care of me and Angie. I’ll open my own clothing store, and his tattoo studio has been doing well for months now. He’s doing great as a designer for different bands, and we’ll look for a school nearby so Angie can go there.”
They already had a whole plan laid out: their finances, Angie’s well-being, the comfort of the baby on the way…
I was afraid they’d get Ginger’s hopes up and toy with her feelings, or that they’d hurt her daughter— because, unfortunately, many wolves disguise themselves as sheep. But with Davis, it turned out to be the exact opposite: the exception to the rule. Those of us closest to Ginger talked to him; he knows Ginger isn’t alone and that the whole club has her back in case anything goes wrong. Fortunately, it didn’t look like that was going to be the case, and I was glad it wasn’t.
I hugged Ginger, and she pulled me a little closer with her arms; the scent of her vanilla perfume made me dizzy, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.
“I’m so happy for you, Gee, really,” I broke the embrace to look her in the face. “It seems good men do exist. Don’t let him get away, lioness.”
We both laughed at the nickname. I touched her still-flat belly; it was incredible—there was life growing inside, and every month that bump would grow bigger and bigger.
“I want you to be my baby’s godmother.”
“Please, Gaby! You’re my best friend here, and we’ve been close for years.”
She took my hands and pulled out her secret weapon—her puppy-dog eyes. I hated it when she did that.
“No, not the sad puppy face!” I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t give in. “You know how much I hate it when you do that—that’s manipulation!”
“I won’t stop this face until I get an answer from you.”
“OKAY!” It was so easy to convince her.
Ginger let out a little squeal of joy and jumped up from her chair to do a victory dance.
“You’ll be the best godmother in the world—I’m 100% sure of it!”
“I’m still hoping for that, or I’ll end up earning that little one’s hatred.”
I’d said yes just so he’d stop pestering me, but, come to think of it, it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. I was going to be the godmother and, of course, that baby’s favorite aunt. I just hoped I’d do a good job when the time came.
I hoped it would be a girl.
As soon as I stepped onto the stage and took off the semi-transparent white robe from my outfit, the audience shouted my stage name. I became one with the mic during the first song; Alter Ego gave me the confidence I needed to overcome the nerves that were still there, lurking. But who was going to recognize me? The tattoo on my neck was covered with makeup so it wouldn’t show.
The bills fell near my heels, and during some spins, the wig would end up sticking to my lips because of the lip gloss, though I’d quickly brush it away. It wasn’t a regular thing, but sometimes I’d climb onto the nearest table to get closer to the audience. The men watched me with desire, and to the luckiest one, I’d blow a kiss or plant one on his cheek.
I took the bills they handed me and tucked them under the strap of my lingerie or into the elastic of my thong. I loved to dance. It wasn’t just about looking sexy; my body seemed to fill with strength with every movement. The platform of my heels gave me stability at all times. I bit my lip provocatively and winked when the light hit my face directly.
For fifteen minutes, I was no longer Gabriela.
I was solely Velvet Bunny: a charming stripper whose show could make you miss the best angle if you looked away for a second.
But not everything could be perfect.
Halfway through my show, while I had my back turned, I felt a hard squeeze on my left buttock; the music didn’t stop, but I did. I turned around to see who the bold one had been, and when I saw a guy in his 40s in a suit, his tie in a sloppy knot and visibly drunk, staring at me with lust, I had not the slightest doubt that it had been him—especially since he was very close to where I was standing.
“Why did you stop, bunny? I want to see how you move that pretty ass in that white thong!”
My head felt a little hot, but I kept my cool.
“Oh, honey, you want to see me shake my ass?” I said, leaning in a little toward him—a few more centimeters and my breasts would have been right in his face.
“Yes!” He handed me three $10 bills. “That’s what I’m paying for!”
I smiled at him, but not sweetly. I took the bills from him and sat back up. I didn’t even gauge my strength when I raised my hand and my palm landed squarely on his cheek. He almost fell out of his chair. The people around him didn’t think much of it because my other partner was dancing and keeping them busy watching her. The guy touched his cheek, which was already turning red, and glared at me with rage.
“Damn bitch!” He looked around everywhere for a security guard. There was one leaning against one of the club’s pillars, arms crossed, and he grabbed his attention. “Aren’t you going to do anything because this slut hit me!?”
The guard shrugged indifferently.
“I saw you touch her without her consent, so deal with the consequences of your actions.” The drunk customer almost protested, but the guard hissed at him to shut up. “Shut up now or I’ll kick you out of here. I don’t need idiots in this place.”
The drunk customer just growled in anger, stood up abruptly from his chair, and walked away. I simply waved him off with a mocking smile—well deserved for such a brazen guy. I turned to the guard, who gave me a thumbs-up; that was his way of telling me, Everything’s fine, keep putting on your show.
Maybe my favorite part of every show was when it finally ended. I would always slowly and sensually slide a long stocking off my leg to say goodbye, I’d toss it randomly, and one of the guys would grab a long broom and sweep up all the money so I could collect my earnings. I’d wave goodbye, blowing kisses, and disappear behind the red stage curtains. I could breathe again, my heart racing and my mind so full of thoughts that I could feel my head throbbing a little from having so much to process.
I kept all my money in my black suitcase, which I left inside a locker in the dressing room. I touched up my lipstick and reapplied my perfume because my night wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and the place kept filling up with every passing hour.
I wandered through the hallways as purple and red lights bathed every corner of the club. Neon signs illuminated the walls covered with photographs of couples kissing, girls in provocative poses, drawings of kittens, and all kinds of feminine decor: lipstick marks, silhouettes of women, and little pink details that made the place feel different from other nightclubs.
I sat for a while near the bar, with no plans for a private show or anything else to do, taking in the familiar atmosphere, smoking a menthol cigarette, and then stubbing it out in the ashtray. A cocktail glass was slid over to me; I tilted my head, and Axel was smiling at me while still holding the drink.
“It’s on me. I think you need it.”
A free drink—just what I needed.
“Thanks, Axel, you’re a sweetheart.” I took a big sip; the strong taste of the vodka had been lost in the grape juice, just the way I liked it.
“What a night, huh? With that guy you had to deal with, that makes about five who’ve been kicked out of the club for being perverts. I was dying to see Jake drag him out.”
I nodded; my mouth was too full of olives from the bar to speak.
"That’s the only thing I hate, you know?” I covered my mouth with my hand while I kept chewing.
“They feel free to touch you or take advantage of you.”
“Yeah,” Axel nodded. “It’s kind of gross, but I’m glad they don’t fire you here for standing up for yourself. Vicky would’ve yelled at you to slap him harder.”
“And I would have, but that was enough for me. What a gross guy.” I finished my drink, but he refilled it and put a rubber band around it. “Thanks.”
Some girls came in to ask for water; others, a beer or a drink. Axel was busy attending to each one, while Kailey stood in a corner of the bar, overseeing the VIP payments and records on her laptop. It was connected to a large screen hanging right above the bar, so it was easier to see who had been requested for a private dance or a “date.”
It functioned like a board displaying the names of the people on duty that night. A star was added for each client served per night. Everything was recorded by scanning a red card with the club’s initials into the reader, which had a usage limit: you could only use it ten times, and once you reached the limit, you had to pay again for a new one. However, that didn’t mean the history of the old card was erased; it remained on file.
All of this was possible because, the first time you requested private services, you were assigned a unique tracking number linked to your phone. No one read the fine print of the contract when paying for the cards, but every paragraph warned that access to your personal information was also being granted. It was a somewhat illegal security measure that served as a warning to anyone who might want to do something improper inside the club.
Each red room had its own scanner and a button that activated a small light outside the rooms: a green light meant the room was free, while a dark light indicated that someone was using it. And that night, there were many green lights that were off.
All the rooms were located along a long hallway with pink walls and doors. To walk through it, you had to go down some stairs and keep walking between the rooms.
“I wish I had all the money these people spend,” Kylie joked
“It’s a pretty busy night tonight. Good for you, because I know you’ll be leaving soon.”
Kylie nodded; there was a small smile on her lips.
“I didn’t work so hard for that scholarship to study math in Japan for nothing—I’ll send you candy and Eevee plushies if that’s what you want.”
“First, Arigatou! Second, you deserve it—I saw you studying under the counter in your spare time.”
“Ugh, so true.” She pinched the bridge of her nose a little. “Don’t even remind me—I still have nightmares about that.”
I stared at the screen; many names were flashing. Girls were heading to pick up their cards— condoms and Viagra—and with their “equipment,” they made their way down the hallway to the private rooms to perform their service. No one knows what happens in the rooms, just the client and the stripper, but if you thought about it, sometimes it gave you chills just imagining the things that went on in there—used condoms or a pile of empty liquor bottles or underwear someone had left behind.
“Velvet…” I didn’t answer. “Velvet,” Kylie’s voice rang out louder, but I kept staring at the screen as if hypnotized. “Gaby!” Her hands clapped together, and that’s how my attention snapped back to her and away from the screen. “Finally! You’re back. It looked like you were catching flies.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I apologized. “What did you say?”
“I said you have a private show,” she pointed at the screen; the bar with my name was glowing and had a star next to it. “And the first one in, a month? I think.”
“True, but remember that I don’t usually do private shows. I’m—”
“A dancer,” Axel finished the sentence for me. “We know.”
“Exactly! And I hate it when you interrupt me,” I downed the last of my drink and stood up from the bench. “Which room is it?”
“Mmhhh,” Kylie glanced at the screen and handed me my card. “Room 13, the one with cow spots on the door and a white sign.”
“Got it.” I took my card and adjusted my bunny ears. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, but good luck, bunny!”
I waved goodbye without paying any attention to the two of them; I only heard Axel’s voice yelling at me that I’d forgotten the pack of condoms on the bar table, followed by his complaint that Kylie had hit him on the head.
I stood in front of the door, my hand on the doorknob but with no intention of opening it just yet. I could hear the moans coming from the nearby rooms and the pounding of my own nervous heart. I laughed to myself because I was acting as if I were new to this.
I slowly opened the door, stepped inside, and then closed it behind me.
The room seemed frozen in time by its decor, buried in red, neon, and whispers that no one could hear. The red light drenched every corner with intense brightness, making the somewhat worn walls and the dark velvet floor look as if they were covered in blood. In the middle of the room, the metal pole rose above the circular platform, worn down by heels, stains from spilled drinks, and a faint scent of floor cleaner.
Thin chains hung from the ceiling around the central lamp, swaying slightly to the deep rumble of music from the main entrance. The old armchairs, slightly sagging from years of use, surrounded the stage. There were poorly placed mirrors, some tilted, others stained, reflecting distorted figures beneath the suffocating red.
Next to the armchair was a small wooden table with a bottle of whiskey and a glass half-filled with ice that was already sweating.
The air was slightly heavy; it smelled of cigarettes, vanilla perfume, and sweet alcohol. Everything had a makeshift yet intentional look—that’s how they managed to last longer. Outside it was already past midnight, but inside time stood still: there were only the lights, the music, and the constant feeling that something was about to happen.
I walked over to one of the warped mirrors to touch up my lip gloss. I’d tucked the lipstick inside my neckline, and since there was no sign of the client, I took my time.
Each room had a bathroom. The door to this one was closed, and through the gap between the floor and the wood, I could see the light on. The client was surely in there. I wasn’t in a hurry for him to come out either; that gave me time to get ready.
The bathroom door opened, then closed again; heavy footsteps headed toward the sofa, and I heard the sound of the armchair cushions sinking. A soft clinking of ice and glass accompanied the movement of the half-full glass of whiskey.
“So nice to see you, honey,” I tucked my lipstick into my cleavage. “So you want a private dance.Well, we’re going to—”
I stood still as I turned around.
My throat went a little dry.
I would recognize those large, tattooed hands, not to mention that neck marked with an image of original sin so clearly visible.
Not to mention his slightly slanted, dark eyes, or his soft, short brown hair.
His gaze fixed on me and no longer on his whiskey; he smiled politely at me, the same way you do when you run into someone after a long time.
His tone of voice hadn’t changed either; it was the same as the last time I saw him.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Noah.”
I moved closer little by little, subtly swaying my hips until I was standing right in front of him. Noah looked up at me; the silhouette of my shadow covered him a little, so I just leaned in slightly.
“You were gone for so long, honey, you left me,” I pouted subtly.
He softened when he saw me looking sad.
“Work kept me too busy to hang out here on the weekends.” He settled into the armchair before finishing his last sip of whiskey and setting the glass down on the coffee table. “Lately, I’ve done nothing but work and travel from one state to another.”
I watched him look at me, scanning me with his dark eyes—any detail? Any change?
“Nothing. Our last private show was a month ago. I want to remember what you look like. A month is a long time to be away from my girl.”
I immediately noticed his wrist; the jacket he was wearing was a little short in the sleeves, and I could see a bit more of his tattoos. Besides his thick silver bracelet, there was the strap of my white bra, matching his expensive jewelry.
“Did you miss me?” Two of his fingers rested under my chin so I’d look at him. “After four months of coming here almost every weekend… you must have felt weird not seeing me.”
“How did you read my mind?” I sat down next to him. “Because that’s exactly what happened over the last month.”
His nose and mine touched only at the tips because we were so close; we always did the same thing before he chose the right music for me to dance for him. We had never kissed, only once at one of his first private shows with me— but that worked to build the tension between us. His big hand rested on my thigh; his fingers played with the elastic of my white stocking and squeezed my skin a little.
“Are you in the mood to dance a little tonight? Bunny.”
That was like flipping a switch in my head. I got up from the couch to grab the TV remote, open Spotify, and find the playlist we’d created together a few months ago. I could tell he was in a good mood, a little flirty, so who knows, maybe I was the right one for that not-at-all romantic reunion that awaited us both.
Boy, let me know if this is careless, I
Could be torn between two roads that I just can't decide
I set the remote on the back of the sofa. I looked over at Noah—he’d taken off his jacket and was now wearing only a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone. I could see part of the tattoo on his chest. He set the remote aside and settled in more comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.
“Why are you taking it off?”
“In case things get a little hot.”
I chuckled at his comment.
“You’re feeling a bit flirty today, honey.” I looked down at his legs for a moment before looking back into his eyes. “Your welcome will be warm.”
My heart skipped a beat when he ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them. It was ironic; I’d danced for many men and women over the last month, and no one had sparked anything in me—not even a tingle. Noah managed it just by speaking in a certain tone and with his eyes. That shouldn’t have affected me, but it made me nervous. I climbed onto the circular platform and did what I do best.
His attentive gaze followed my every move—my legs, my chest—the way he moved his head when I did, like a snake charmer with a cobra. He winked at me the moment my blue eyes met his. I glided along that pole as if it were a ribbon, so effortlessly. I let the music do half the work while my movements followed the rhythm almost automatically. A turn here, a step there; after many years of doing this, I no longer thought—I just let myself flow like water.
“You’re such a fascinating little thing, Velvet.”
I blew a kiss into the air for him; he caught it, his palm going straight to his chest to place my kiss right on the side of his heart.
“This is where your kisses belong…”
I paused for a moment, slowly stepping down from the pedestal and walking toward him until my shadow covered him. I took his chin in my hand and drew closer and closer…
I might regret what I was about to do; I knew my own limits, and kissing wasn’t part of my service, but it wasn’t my lips that finally met his, nor were they the ones that slowly played with his. The tip of his tongue brushed against mine; when we broke the kiss, a faint sheen of pink lip gloss remained on his lips. Nor was I responsible for how he placed his hands on his legs and caressed them, because apparently the tension between us was already very palpable.
The one responsible for all of that was Velvet.
“You’re a little naughty, bunny,” he murmured against my lips.
I let out a little giggle and kissed his cheek again.
“Enjoy the next 15 minutes, Noah…”
Dancing never tired me out, not even in heels, but I felt a strange pressure in my chest from wanting everything to go perfectly for that show. It wasn’t like when you’re in front of a crowd; only one person is watching you. They might be more critical or demanding, or perhaps sweeter if they like you too much—it varied depending on the type of person.
Noah could be anything depending on his mood—sometimes sweet, sometimes possessive, and other times more passionate when I wore lingerie he liked or that he happened to say was his favorite, even if it was the first time he’d seen me in it. But I didn’t know much about him—just about his tattoos, that he liked A24 movies and iced coffee, and little to nothing about his work. I only knew he had to travel in and out of the country; he was a mystery in general.
Among the mental list I made of what he liked, I added one in particular, and for me, that would be the first:
He loved the color white and lace against dark skin.
I’d catch him glancing at me between song changes, so smiling and happy to see me dance, savoring my lip gloss on his lips along with his whiskey—a flavor that wasn’t really my thing, but you could tell he loved it because he kept asking for another kiss to feel my lips, already a little warm from all my physical activity.
Who was I to deny him that?
I felt an intense tingling sensation when I felt the heat radiating from his body and the scent of his cologne: Kayali Musk 12; he always smelled clean and a little musky.
I loved it and hated not being able to deny it…
His time was up; as soon as the green light above the door lit up, it meant it was time to go. Noah paused the music, and since he had his back to me—I’d been halfway through my routine—he pressed his chest against my back and brought his lips close to my ear.
“Tonight was perfect; you always look beautiful…” His hand rested on my waist, without pressing or seeking more. “I’ll come tomorrow; I want to make up for our lost time.”
“Why don’t you stay a little longer?” I asked. “We can stay a little longer.”
“I’d love to, honey, but I have to go home. I have to get up at six in the morning, and from what I can see…” he checked his watch, “it’s already exactly one in the morning.” He turned his attention back to me, this time holding my waist with both hands. “But don’t worry, I left you a little gift so you won’t miss me so much.”
A few little kisses covered my cheek. I tilted my head slightly because it was tickling me. He let out a teasing chuckle and pulled away from me. He grabbed his jacket from the couch, and before leaving, he took my hand and kissed the back of it.
“See you tomorrow, Velvet.”
He let go of my hand and walked out the door, just as suddenly as he’d arrived.
I stood there smiling like an idiot with my hand still outstretched, clinging to the railing until I sat down on the base and stared at my own hands and feet.
I bit my lip to hold back my laughter, but it was useless.
“Oh, please… what’s so special about him? He’s not the only handsome customer out there,” I said to myself and to the stale air in the room that I was breathing.
He wasn't the only one—he wasn't the only one who was "faithful" to a single stripper, nor the only one who flirted with his girl. There were hundreds like him in the club, some more annoying than others, but I couldn't put Noah in that category.
I got up from my makeshift seat and looked at his abandoned glass on the small table; it wasn’t the only thing left there along with the bottle of whiskey—there was a small blue bag with a white bow. It felt very light when I picked it up; inside was a little black box. I opened it and found a pair of gold earrings with—emeralds? They looked too delicate to be costume jewelry.
“Why would he spend so much on this?”
That wasn’t the only thing inside the bag; there was a note. I took it out, and the handwriting was quick and neat, with hardly any spelling mistakes.
'While I was out, I passed by a jewelry store and saw them. I bought them because I thought the green would look perfect against your skin. I hope you can wear them the next time I see you'.
I couldn’t swallow when I saw that.
He spent his money at Velvet, on something unrelated to the club.
“God… I need a cigarette.”
𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: @r3prise @ami-gami @ripleyism @concretejunglefm @cyxoi-chert @platespagghetti @dream-machine-love @babeomens @mid-omens @jayunbroken @branika182 @hannahvanvelzor @mushrumink @icybansheesoul @dkxxm @badlandsomens
