My Secret Lover Is My Father In Law

Get in

Nessa stepped into the red light like she owned the whole damn floor. Music hit hard, bass thumping through the soles of her heels, and every head in the club turned. She moved slow at first, hips rolling, hands sliding down her own sides, letting them look. That was the job. Make them want it bad enough to open their wallets.

The stage was small, sticky under her feet from spilled drinks and sweat, but she worked it like it was bigger. Turned, dropped low until her knees almost touched the floor, then came back up with a sharp roll of her shoulders that made the little top she wore shift just enough. Cash started flying. Bills landed near her feet, some crisp, some crumpled. She barely glanced at them. Looking hungry made the money slower. She kept her face neutral, eyes half-lidded, body doing all the talking.

VIP section sat up higher, darker, separated by a short railing and a couple of bouncers who only moved when someone got too loud. One man there stayed still while the others leaned forward. Older. Suit that cost more than most of these guys made in a month. Dark hair going silver at the temples. He watched her like he was already deciding something. Nessa felt the weight of it even from the stage. She let her eyes lock on him for half a second, long enough to make it personal, then looked away. Tease them. Never give it free.

Song stretched on. She dropped to her hands and knees, crawled a short line across the stage, then rose again in one smooth motion that made her thighs flex. Another shower of bills. Someone whistled. She ignored it. The quiet man in the suit never moved. Never smiled. Just watched.

Track ended. She scooped the money without rushing, stacked it quick against her palm, and walked off. Backstage smelled like sweat, perfume, and the cheap body spray half the girls drowned themselves in. The other dancers were already talking s**t, counting their own stacks, complaining about slow nights. Nessa ignored them. She had rent due in four days and the regulars were getting stingy. She shoved the bills into her locker, pulled a thin robe over the tiny outfit, and sat on the cracked bench to catch her breath.

Ten minutes later the floor manager found her. Big guy, always chewing gum, always smelling like cigarettes. “VIP request. Private. Paid up front. Big tip already on the books.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“The quiet one in the dark suit. Name on the card says Robert. Asked for you by description. Said the one who doesn’t smile.”

Nessa nodded once. She fixed her hair in the warped mirror, checked the straps on her top, smoothed the shorts that barely covered anything, and headed upstairs. Private rooms were small, dim, one black couch, one low table for the bottle they always ordered and rarely finished. Smell of leather and whatever cologne the last guy left behind. He was already seated when she walked in. Jacket still on. Cuffs perfect. Wedding band clear on his left hand, heavy gold that caught the low light. Eyes on her the second the door shut.

“You requested a dance,” she said, voice even.

“I did.”

No smile. No small talk. She started the music from the little speaker in the corner, same slow track she used for high rollers. Bass heavy, something that let her move without rushing. Stepped between his knees and began. Close enough he could smell her skin, the mix of stage sweat and the light lotion she used. Hips moving to the beat. Hands trailing down her own stomach, over the tiny shorts, back up to the underside of her breasts. She turned, sat back against him for a second, felt the hard line of his thigh under her, then rose again. His hands stayed on the couch. She kept them there with a light press of her fingers.

“No touching yet,” she said softly. “Just watch.”

She worked him slow. Rolling her hips right over the growing bulge in his pants, letting him feel the heat of her through the fabric without giving him control. Every time she pressed down a little harder she felt him twitch. A soft moan slipped out of her own mouth when the friction hit just right.

“Mmm… you feel that?”

He let out a low sound in his throat. “f**k…”

She reached behind herself, guided one of his hands to her waist, then put it back on the couch when he tried to pull her closer. She was the one setting the pace. She turned again, straddled him properly this time, knees on either side of his thighs, and ground down in slow circles.

“f**k,” she breathed, the sound low. “You’re already hard for me.”

His head tipped back against the couch. A deeper moan left him when she pressed down harder. “Christ…”

Her hands went to his belt. She didn’t ask. Just opened it, got the zipper down, and freed him. Thick, heavy in her palm. She stroked him slow while she kept moving her hips, watching his face the whole time.

“Just feel it,” she murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

He groaned, the sound rough. “Yes… just like that.”

She rose up a little, spat into her hand, and wrapped it around him again, tighter this time. The wet sound of her fist working him mixed with the music. Another soft moan left her throat as she felt him throb. He answered with a longer one of his own.

“That’s it… nice and thick. You like how I touch you?”

“f**k yes,” he muttered, voice strained. “Don’t stop.”

She slid off his lap, dropped to her knees between his legs on the low carpet, and took him into her mouth without warning. Slow at first, just the head, tongue circling. Then deeper. She moaned around him when he filled her throat, the vibration making his hips jerk. A loud moan tore out of him.

“s**t… Nessa…”

She pulled back just enough to speak, voice rough. “Stay still. Let me make you feel good.”

She went back down, taking more of him, one hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach, the other braced on his thigh. Every time she hummed or moaned around his c**k he answered with his own sounds, low and uncontrolled.

“f**k… your mouth,” he groaned. “Just like that… yes…”

She kept the rhythm steady, wet, focused completely on him. When she felt him getting close she slowed down on purpose, teasing, then took him deep again. He moaned louder, one hand finally leaving the couch to rest heavy on the back of her head.

“I’m close,” he rasped. “Don’t stop… f**k, don’t stop.”

She stayed with him through it, swallowing, still working him with her tongue while he came with a broken moan that filled the small room. Only then did she pull off, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, and stand up.

He was breathing harder than before, still half undone on the couch. She fixed her top, smoothed her shorts, and picked up the thick fold of bills he had set on the table earlier.

“That covers the dance and everything else,” she said. Voice steady again. “First time meeting. This stays in the room.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Come with me. My driver is outside.”

Nessa shook her head once. “Not tonight. You got what you paid for. That’s all.”

She tucked the money into her top where it would stay safe, walked to the door, and left without looking back. Downstairs she went straight to her locker, changed into street clothes, and stepped out into the night air alone. Legs a little unsteady. Mouth still tasting him. Rent was covered for the next few weeks if she stayed careful.

She made it two blocks before the black car slid up beside her.

The rear window lowered. Same quiet voice from the private room, low and certain.

“Get in, Nessa. We’re not finished.”