Poles apart, p.2
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       Poles Apart, p.2
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           Kirsty Moseley

  hundreds of guys, and it had never bothered me. It was just business, a job, something I had to do for money. But for some reason, when I did it for Carson, my whole body vibrated with excitement. It wasn’t a job for me because I liked it way too much.

  I nodded and stood, looking down at his handsome face as my heart started to thump wildly in my chest. He smiled and sat back on the black-velvet seat, spreading his arms along the top of the little sofa. He tipped his head back slightly, just watching me with his full lips parted fractionally.

  I did my usual routine, doing everything he liked, grinding against him, making his breathing accelerate. I traced my hands up my body as I danced in front of him, swaying my hips seductively to the beat of the song, looking at him through my eyelashes. He was clearly enjoying it. His eyes were raking down my body, his hands in tight fists, his hips moving in time with mine, grinding back against me. I could feel how much he was enjoying it – maybe even as much as I was.

  When the song finished I smiled and stopped, but he shook his head. “No, I have three weeks to make up for. Don’t stop. Keep ’em coming,” he instructed, his voice so husky and thick with lust I could barely breathe.

  Smiling, I went in for another song, this time actually straddling him and gripping the front of his shirt as I pressed my forehead to his. My hair fell around our faces like a thick, silky curtain. His head tipped back and his lips brushed mine softly. The familiar feeling of lust sparked inside me at the gentle touch of his mouth on mine.

  I wasn’t allowed to kiss him; it was against the rules for the main room. There were backrooms for that, for girls who wanted to take it that bit further with a client. I’d been in those rooms out the back numerous times over the last three years, at least once a week – well, when he was in town, that is. Only one man got behind my defences. Only one man was allowed to touch me. Only one man was allowed to make me feel like I was in Heaven.

  Carson Matthews.

  His lips found mine again, this time kissing me almost desperately. I kissed him back for a split-second before pulling away. I needed my job and this was against the rules; I couldn’t afford to get the sack. Wordlessly, I motioned my head toward the backrooms, keeping my eyes locked on his. With his breathing ragged, he nodded in agreement. His expression was pure want, pure need, and it made my mouth water.

  Pushing myself off him, I took his hand, tugging him to his feet before leading him through the crowd to the back of the club and the private rooms which awaited us. As soon as the door was closed, his arms wrapped tightly around me, pushing me against the wall as his lips pressed against mine. The kiss was so sweet, so passionate, so tender it made me want to cry.

  His lips travelled down my neck, making me gasp and tip my head back. I hadn’t had sex in three weeks and my goodness, the feelings had been building up inside me. Until that moment, I hadn’t realised how much I needed this to happen.

  “I missed you, Em,” he whispered against my skin.

  I tightened my hand in his light-brown hair. “I missed you, too, Carson.”

  “How have you been? You need anything?” he asked, gently nibbling on my collarbone.

  I gulped, not really knowing how to answer that question. I never wanted anything from him; I never expected anything from him. He had already given me the best thing he could have ever given me… but he didn’t know anything about that.

  “I’m good,” I lied, gasping as his hands slowly roamed my body. He made a muffled reply as he kissed up my neck again, his fingers winding into my hair. “I saw you on TV,” I breathed.

  Oh, God, why am I talking right now? Why can’t I just be quiet and enjoy it?

  He pulled back a little and smiled his cute, dimpled smile. “You did?”

  I nodded and pulled him closer to me again, not wanting any space between us. His hands slipped down to my bum, lifting me gently. Instinctively, my legs wrapped around his waist, clamping myself to him as tightly as I could, locking my ankles behind his back.

  “You won your race in Spain. I saw you on the podium, spraying champagne,” I mumbled, unsure as to why I was still talking to him when all I wanted to do was throw him on the chair and ravage him to within an inch of his life.

  He nodded and brushed my hair off my flushed face, his thumb tracing over my burning cheek. “Yeah. Did you watch the race?”

  I gulped and shook my head. In total honesty, I couldn’t watch it. I hated to see him race; just the thought of him going 200mph and leaning so close to the ground made my blood turn to ice in my veins. I’d tried to watch once, but I was literally screaming at the TV and in the end, I had to turn it off before it gave me a heart attack.

  “I don’t like it,” I admitted.

  He laughed and kissed the tip of my nose, still pressing me against the wall tightly. “You’re so funny sometimes, Em. You could at least take an interest in what I do.” He pouted, faking hurt.

  “Hey, I take an interest! I just don’t like the thought of you driving so freaking fast. And the corners… damn it, Carson, you almost touch the ground you lean over so far. It’s awful. I can’t watch it, baby, I can’t.”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “So, it’s not that you’re bored by it, just that you’re worried about me?” he teased, his hands kneading my thighs as his nose rubbed against mine in a little Eskimo kiss.

  “I’m definitely not bored by the leather jumpsuit you wear.” I giggled sheepishly.

  “Pervert,” he chuckled.

  “Says the guy who’s pinning a lap dancer against the wall,” I shot back, smirking at him. He grinned wickedly and pushed us away from the wall, getting on his knees and laying me on my back on the coffee table instead, pushing the dirty magazines onto the floor. Grabbing my wrists, he held them down either side of my head, pressing his toned body to mine, making my stomach quiver with excitement.

  “Not anymore. Now I’m pinning a lap dancer to the table.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully before bending and touching his lips against mine softly again. His hands slid from their restraining positions on my wrists to my hands instead. He interlaced our fingers, just kissing me passionately. He was always like this: tender, adoring, gentle. It didn’t feel like sex, it felt like he was making love to me. It had always felt the same, like we were connected: one person, one soul, one entity.

  BY THE TIME WE WERE DONE, I was totally breathless and ready for sleep. I closed my eyes and held his sweaty body close to mine, trailing my fingers over the tattoo on his upper back. The guardian angel with its wings spread across his shoulder blades. I loved the design and always prayed it kept him a little safer having that permanently etched onto his skin.

  He was breathing deeply, his face pressed into the crook of my neck, every inch of his body pressed against mine as we lay in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor. He pulled back slightly, kissing my neck just once before sitting up, tugging the condom off and throwing it in the plastic bin. He looked back at me, just staring at my face as if I were the most interesting thing in the world. Reaching out, I traced my finger over the tattoo he had running up the side of his chest in fancy script.

  I smiled at the words; they were so appropriate for Carson. “Are you gonna get more tattoos?” I asked curiously, tracing each one with my finger before moving to the next. He wasn’t covered in them, but he had a few. I touched my favourite one of his, the one on the base of his stomach, well below his navel; you could only see it when he was naked. It was a black and white butterfly, but the outline of the wings was made of beautifully scripted lettering. The intricacy of it awed me every time I saw it. ‘You give me wings and make me fly’ made up the outline of each wing. He also had a poem in Latin written down the inside of his right forearm. His body was breathtaking and incredible, and the art on him just seemed to add to his beauty.

  He shrugged, his eyes not leaving my face. “Maybe, if I think of something I want to get. Why, are they a turn-off or something?” he asked, settling down against my side again, wrapping h
is arm around me and scooting closer so there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

  I hid my smile and nodded. “Yeah, they’re getting to be a little off-putting,” I lied.

  He laughed. “Then no, I won’t get anymore. Just for you, Em.” Letting out a deep sigh, he kissed my forehead before pushing himself off the floor. He reached down a hand to me and I slipped mine in his, letting him help me to my feet. His eyes wandered my body and suddenly his forehead crinkled with a frown. “Did you lose weight?”

  I gulped. Crap, what am I supposed to say to that? I had lost a little in the last couple weeks. The club had been slow; I couldn’t afford to eat properly for the last few weeks what with my rent going up and now Rory’s trip. I didn’t think anyone would notice four or five pounds, but obviously I was wrong.

  I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  His frown deepened as he gripped my hips, turning me to the side as he looked me over, making me cringe under his intense scrutiny. “You did,” he confirmed. “You know, you shouldn’t lose too much. There’s barely anything to you as it is.”

  I smiled at his concern. “Okay, baby, whatever you say.”

  Rolling his eyes, he pulled away from me, gathering up my almost non-existent uniform and passing it to me. I smiled gratefully and shrugged it on, watching as he did the same, pulling on his designer clothes, which probably cost enough to pay my rent for a month.

  Once dressed, he grabbed my shoes and inspected them, wincing. “Don’t these hurt you? They don’t look very comfortable.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes, taking them from his hands and sitting on the table to put them on. “They’re okay. It’s only a couple of nights a week,” I answered, trying not to show him that, yes, they did in fact feel like they were lined with razorblades as I pushed my feet in.

  “How many days do you work now?”

  I shrugged; I worked as many shifts as I needed to. I didn’t want to do more than just the weekends, but sometimes, if I was having a tough month, then I worked more than that. This week I had worked every night. “Just weekends still,” I lied.

  “How’s uni going?” he asked, crouching down at my feet so he could look at my face as I buckled my shoes.

  “All right, I guess. I’ve got a lot of work at the moment. It’s coming up to end of term, so I get a couple of weeks off which will be good.”

  He nodded, smiling. “Cool.”

  When I was done with my shoes, he pulled me to my feet, grabbing his wallet and counting out a load of notes. I looked away; this was the bit I hated. The payment. When it was happening, I fooled myself into thinking Carson was actually making love to me. I didn’t want payment for it; I wanted him to want me, for me, not just for my body. I would happily give my body to him for free, but if he wanted to give me money then I wasn’t in a position to turn it down. The money I got from Carson went on something else – the most important thing in the world.

  He held out a handful of cash, and I didn’t bother to count it; he knew the prices. He’d had two lap dances and a backroom – for a normal girl they would be charging £200 for that, £50 for each lap dance and then £100 for backroom action. I slid the money into my pocket without looking at him. This was the part which made me feel dirty and a little used. This was the part which broke my heart every time.

  He stepped closer to me, wrapping his arms around my waist, bending his head so I would meet his eyes. “I won’t see you next week; I’m going away again tomorrow. But I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?” he said softly. I nodded, not knowing what else to say. “I’m racing again next Saturday; maybe you could watch me on TV. I’ll wave to you in my leather jumpsuit if you want,” he teased, grinning.

  I giggled despite the pain I was feeling inside. “I might flick the TV on as it finishes, just to see you in the outfit.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Okay, here’s what I’m gonna do. When I win my race they’re gonna interview me after. You tell me a word or phrase and I’ll work it into the interview, just so you know I’m thinking about you.”

  We’d done this once before and I had made it too easy for him last time – he was so in for it now. “How about you have to say two things?” I bartered.

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re getting so demanding, Emma!” he scolded playfully. “What are the two things? It had better not be something like ‘I sleep with little boys’…” He trailed off, clearly worried.

  “No, I’ll make it easier than that. Although, the ‘sleeping with little boys’ one is pretty awesome,” I joked, pretending to consider it. He dug me in the ribs with one finger, making me giggle and pull away from him. “Okay, okay, fine. You have to say Zip-a-dee-do-da, and fried chicken.” I shrugged. That was the best I could come up with at short notice. I was pretty sure I would come up with way better things than that while I was crying in bed tonight.

  He laughed and nodded. “Done and done.” Dipping his head he kissed me softly, pulling me closer to him with one hand gripping the back of my neck, his fingers tangling into my hair as the kiss deepened. He pulled away when I was a little breathless and our eyes locked. Everything seemed to disappear when he looked at me like this; all I could see was him.

  “I’d better get going; it’s almost closing time,” he murmured.

  I nodded, feeling my heart sink because my night with him was over. He turned, opening the door before taking my hand and pulling me close to his back as we walked back to his friends. The club was starting to empty, and I was definitely more than ready to go home now.

  Bradley, one of Carson’s friends, smirked at us as we reached them. “Wow, you two took your sweet time. Making up for three weeks’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration, Carson?”

  Carson frowned, throwing him a death glare before slapping him on the back of the head. “Shut it, dipshit!”

  Pent-up sexual frustration? What was that about? How could he be frustrated? I’d seen him in the newspapers lying on a yacht with a Playboy Bunny and two other girls who were wearing bikinis so small there was barely enough material for you to be able to name the colour of them. There was no way Carson Matthews had been frustrated about anything! I hated to see those pictures of him like that: coming out of a club with a girl draped all over him, him fooling around with girls on a beach, the stupid ‘MotoGP cheer squad’ strutting their little outfits in front of him while he smiles. Those pictures broke my heart a little, but he wasn’t mine to be jealous of. I had no right to feel like this about him. To him, I was just a lap dancer at a club who he liked to screw when he was in town. However, I’d never let myself think about him like that. He would always be my first love.

  “No fighting, boys. You take it outside, or I’ll be forced to kick all your arses,” I joked, collecting their empty glasses and bottles.

  “Em, I’m gonna take off. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks and I’ll make sure to sit in your section next time. Tables one to six, right?” Carson called as I headed to the bar with the empties.

  “Yep. See you then, Mr Matthews,” I confirmed.

  He winked at me and then turned to leave with his friends. Sighing, I watched his back until he was out of sight. Just 2 weeks. 14 days. 336 hours, and then I’ll see him again. It felt like an eternity.

  When the last client left, I pulled on jeans and a hoodie over the top of my uniform, slipped on a pair of worn-out trainers, and then headed out of the club. It was almost two-thirty in the morning now; I had just a fifteen-minute walk to make and then I could crawl into bed and sleep.

  As I walked toward the block of flats I called home, I gripped my pepper spray in my hand, keeping it hidden in my pocket. I was always careful. This wasn’t the nicest part of London, after all. It was stupid for me to be walking the streets at this time of night, but I didn’t have the money for a taxi, so I had no choice.

  Thankfully, the journey was uneventful. By the time I made it up the seven flights of stairs and stopped outside my front door, I was exhaus
ted.

  I sighed and headed inside, making sure to secure the three locks we had on our door. When we were safely locked in, I sighed and immediately headed to the fridge to see if there was anything in there for me to eat. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my stomach hurt. I knew I hadn’t bought anything, but I was hoping something would magically appear in there to make my hunger pains subside.

  Just like I thought, though, the fridge was almost empty. There was a little milk, which would be enough for two bowls of cereal in the morning, a little cheese and about four eggs, which would do for lunch. I spotted half a loaf of bread on the side, and I swore under my breath when I noticed Rory had left the bag open so it would have gone a little stale. I shoved my hand in, squeezing it to see if it could be saved. It was a little firmer than I would have liked, but it was still edible. Sighing, I wrapped it back up before quietly heading into Rory’s room. He was sprawled out on his bed, fully clothed, one arm hanging off onto the floor, snoring, TV still on. I smiled and threw the quilt over him to keep him warm and turned his TV off. Rory was a good kid, a little troubled what with our parents’ strict and mostly-harsh upbringing, but he was still a good kid. As little brothers went, he was the best.

  I snuck out, closing the door silently, heading to my room next. After slipping out of my clothes and pulling on a worn old nightshirt, I shoved my hand into the pocket of my work shorts and pulled out the wad of cash from Carson. It was thick; he’d overpaid.

  I counted it out onto the bedside cabinet. £400. I smiled and closed my eyes, a tear falling down my cheek as relief washed over my body. That would pay for Rory’s trip and would leave some left over, too. Now I could stop worrying so much.

  After taking out forty pounds, I shoved the rest down the back of my chest of drawers, pushing it into the little envelope I’d taped there for cash. I pushed the forty back into my jeans pocket. I could eat tomorrow now, too, thanks to Carson.

  I smiled and headed over to the little cot at the foot of my bed. Leaning my arms on the rails, I looked over the side to see my little girl sleeping peacefully, exactly where I left her before going to work tonight. I smiled when I saw her perfect, angelic face. She was so beautiful, just like her daddy. Her mess of curly, light-brown hair was all strewn out on the pillow; she was hugging her teddy bear tightly in her sleep. Her features were so perfect, just like Carson’s. She had his cute little nose and the same shape to her pretty face. If she opened her eyes it would be like looking
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