Bought A Stripper Husband

Chapter 10 : Evalyne's Nightlight

The door opened.

Up close, without the stage and the spotlight to mediate him, he looked even younger.

Nightlight was taller than he’d appeared under the lights but she still could reach him tiptoed to pin him down for a kiss. Up close, she could see the details: the faint split in his left eyebrow that might have been a scar, the ring in his right ear, the tattoos winding up his rib. One was a line drawing of a moon. Another was a swirl of what looked like stylized ice.

He wore a loose black unbuttoned wet-sprayed shirt now, the glitter still clinging to his collarbones, the same black leather pants from the stage.

"Ladies," he said, voice pitched lower than it had been onstage. Performance, but softened for the small space. "You called for some moonlight?"

Anna squealed. Evalyne wanted the floor to open up.

"Sure did," Anna said, regaining her composure at record speed. She patted the loveseat between them. "VIP treatment, right here."

Nightlight laughed, the sound rougher up close. "I can do that."

He slid onto the seat between them as though he'd been born perching on people's furniture. Close, but not crowding. His thigh brushed Evalyne's for a heartbeat; heat bled through the fabric of her dress.

He turned his head to her first, which shocked her enough to keep her still.

"You all right?" he asked, tone gentle. "First time here?"

"She's a Moonlight virgin," Anna said proudly. "We're here for... educational purposes."

His mouth curved. "Best kind of purpose, if you ask me."

Evalyne managed, somehow, not to flinch.

"I am... fine," she said, which was technically true if one graded on a generous curve.

"Good," he said. "If at any point this gets too much, you tell me, okay? Tap my shoulder, say stop, throw your drink in my face. Whatever works."

Anna fanned herself. "Consent culture. I love it here."

He chuckled. "We try."

He leaned away from Evalyne first, giving her breathing room, and draped an arm along the back of the loveseat behind Anna. The music in the main room shifted to something with a throbbing, steady beat. He let it pull him into motion, rolling his shoulders, hips starting to track the rhythm.

"So," he said, looking between them. "Who's the birthday girl?"

"Neither," Anna said. "Divorce panic."

Evalyne choked. "Anna."

"What?" Anna said. "Accurate. She's thirty-two, rich, divorced, told all her mean friends she has a boyfriend, now has to find one. We're doing research."

Nightlight blinked, thrown for a moment. Then he recovered, grin sliding back into place.

"Ambitious," he said. "I respect that."

Evalyne set her jaw. "You were not supposed to tell him that."

"You're the one who keeps telling me you hate small talk," Anna said. "You want depth or you want fluff?"

"Somewhere between public humiliation and therapy," Evalyne muttered.

He laughed, and it wasn't the canned laugh she'd heard from other men in similar positions. It sounded real, startled from him.

"Okay," he said. "No humiliation. No therapy. Just a little fun."

He shifted, swinging one leg over so he was half facing Anna. "You first, then," he said. "Since you're clearly the loud."

Anna clapped like she'd been chosen on a game show. "Finally, someone sees me."

He swung one leg over Anna's thighs, settling into her lap. She squealed and clapped her hands, then immediately put them on his waist, fingers curling into the waistband of his jeans.

"Careful," he teased, rolling his hips. "I'm fragile."

"You're a liar," Anna shot back, laughing.

Evalyne watched, heart hammering.

He was different with Anna than he had been on stage. Still exaggerated, still playful, but scaled to the intimacy of the loveseat. He braced a hand on the back of the couch, bringing his face close to Anna's, murmuring something that made her throw her head back and laugh. He leaned back, giving her a lazy grind that made the glitter on his chest catch the light.

Anna squeezed his abs with both hands. "Holy s**t," she said. "These are real."

"Gotta give the people what they pay for," he said.

"Can I...?" She lifted her hand, hovering.

He smirked. "Go ahead."

She smacked his ass.

He huffed out a laugh, more surprised than pained. "Rude."

"You love it," she said.

Evalyne's ears burned. This was, objectively, the sort of behavior she found unbearable at fundraisers. Touchy, shrieking, careless.

"All right?" he asked.

"More than all right," Anna said, eyes bright. She raked her palm over the lines of his stomach with theatrical appreciation. "God bless America."

He laughed, moved away a fraction to let her smack him lightly on the ass again. The sound was lost under the music, but the delighted look on Anna's face wasn't.

Evalyne pressed her lips together, trying very hard not to stare at the place where her sister's hand had been. Or at the way the muscles in his back moved under the thin cotton. Or at all.

Nightlight shifted again, rotating so his attention slid toward Evalyne. The change in focus felt like stepping out of shade into a spotlight.

"And you," he said. "The field study."

She swallowed. "It is not—"

"Shh," Anna hissed. "Take the experience."

Nightlight's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "May I?" he asked, voice pitched low so it barely threaded under the bass.

She realized he was asking if he could move closer. If he could touch her.

It was such a small thing. A courtesy. In her world, men took contact for granted: handshakes that went on too long, guiding palms at the small of her back she didn't need, forced cheek kisses.

No one had asked in so many words in a long time.

"Yes," she said, before she could overthink it. "Lightly."

He smiled like she'd told a joke. "Lightly, I can do."

He didn't drop onto her lap like he had with Anna. He started with inches: a knee brushing hers, a palm resting on the back of the loveseat near her shoulder. He let the beat guide his hips in a lazy rhythm, close enough that the heat of him lapped at her without quite touching.

"How are we doing?" he murmured.

"Fine," she lied.

"Gonna need you to upgrade that at least to okay," he said. "My ego's fragile."

Despite herself, a huff of laughter escaped her.

"There it is," he said warmly. "Knew you had one."

Anna's hand shot out and poked Evalyne in the thigh. "Practice. Talk to him. Pretend he's the love of your life."

Nightlight's brows jumped. "High expectations."

"I am not going to pretend—" Evalyne started.

"Oh my God," Anna groaned. "Then don't pretend. Just... talk. Ask him his sign or his favorite s*x position. Anything that isn't about Q4 projections."

Evalyne scowled. "You make it sound so simple."

Nightlight tilted his head. "It kind of is, in here," he said. "Out there, sure, there's all the stuff you gotta worry about. Here, it's just music and bad lighting and fifteen minutes at a time. Low stakes."

Low stakes, she thought, as if anything in her life could be that.

"You are very chatty for someone whose job I assumed was mostly... grinding," she said.

He smirked. "Grinding's just choreography. This part's the art."

Before she could answer, Anna did what Anna always did when patience failed her.

She intervened physically.

"Okay, enough foreplay," Anna declared. She planted both palms on Evalyne's shoulder and gave a sudden shove.

Evalyne, who had not been expecting tactile betrayal on top of everything else, lurched sideways with a soft, undignified sound.

Nightlight moved fast. His hand shot out, catching her elbow, steadying her before she could pitch face-first into his lap.

"There we go," Anna crowed, delighted. "Touch him!"

"Anna," Evalyne hissed, mortified. Her palm had landed against his chest in the scramble; she could feel the heat of his skin through the damp cotton, the thud of his heart.

He chuckled, low and not unkind, and shifted to balance her more securely. For a moment, his body was fitted to hers at three points—shoulder, forearm, knee—and her pulse roared in her ears.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"I am going to kill her," Evalyne said.

"Get in line," he replied. "Her type keeps us in business."

Anna waved hospitably. "You're welcome."

The room swam. Evalyne was acutely aware of everything: the music, the crowd, the weight of eyes on the stage, the faint stickiness of the table, the way his thumb stroked once, gently, against the inside of her elbow before withdrawing.

There was too much of everything.

Without thinking it through, Evalyne reached up, grabbed a handful of his unbuttoned shirt, and yanked.

He blinked, startled, as she levered herself up.

"Whoa," he said, laughing a little. "Easy, tiger—"

She was already sliding out from under him, fingers still twisted in the fabric, pulling him off balance as she stood.

"Evie?" Anna said, half delighted, half alarmed.

Evalyne heard herself say, "Come with me," to Nightlight, and stepped away from the loveseat.

He followed, because what else was he going to do with his shirt in her fist.

"Okay," he said, falling into step. "We're going, I guess."

Anna's laughter followed them. "Get it, girl! Get him in the s*x room!"

"That is not what we are doing," Evalyne hissed over her shoulder.

She had no idea what they were doing.