A STRIPPER FOR TWO BROTHERS

THE BIG BAD WOLVES

THE BIG BAD WOLVES

The smell of the dressing room snapped her back—the cheap perfume, the thump of bass vibrating through the walls, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. She exhaled, trying to brace herself for what was coming.

“Debut night is always a b***h. Tequila first, kill that sadness in your eyes before it eats you alive.” Lena hissed, handing Paris the shot glass.

“Now get the fine ass of yours, to the stage.” She smiled.

Lena was one of the many people that kept Paris sane in the club. She always stood up for her when the older girls tried to bully her for getting more attention. She was the only person who could calm her down.

Paris stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart pounding. The lace bit into her skin, each strap digging into her thighs.

She hated herself. She didn’t even realize what she had become now.

Broke, haunted, and desperate enough to strip for strangers.

She snatched the shot glass from Lena, the salt-lime. The tequila scorched down her throat, causing heat in her tummy, chasing the chills.

She felt a traitorous spark between her legs as a result of the Tequila. “Thanks,” she smiled at Lena, placing the empty shot glass down.

Lena eyed her, exhaling smoke.

“The wolves are in the VIP. Stay away from them. Always avoid eye contact with them.“ she warned.

Paris nodded, taking one huge breath before stepping out. 

The curtains parted. The light bled into her skin, the stage swallowing her whole; the spotlight was hot, the bassline low, going in sync with the ache between her legs and the thumping of her heart.

The crowd was filled like a sea of suits and shadows, hungry eyes stripping her bare.

She gripped the pole like her life depended on it, the cold steel sending goosebumps through her body.

Paris finally relaxed, letting the rhythm take over.

Her hips rolled slowly, filthy, sweat running down her spine, tracing the dip of her ass. Her creamy thighs stole the show as she flexed, her hair sticking to her oiled up body.

She dropped low, her ass high, her fingers tracing her inner thighs close enough to tease them. A moan slipped free, half-act, half-truth. The men adjusted their seats, their c***s straining against their zippers.

She rose slowly, a smile plastered on her face, while arching her back with one hand cupping her breast.

Her n*****s begged to be released from the lace.

“This is power.” A voice inside her spoke as she saw the impact she had on the men.

“They’re bad people.” she heard Daniel’s voice at the back of her head.

She knew Daniel would hate this, but she had to do something to be able to feed at least.


In the VVIP Booth—two men sat there like they owned the place.

The younger one leaned forward, his elbow on his knees, his eyes fixed on her. His fingers tapped on the armrest slowly as he narrowed his eyes, watching her like he was searching for something.

The older one sat back, his shoulders filling the space, his scarred knuckles firm around his glass of liquor. His stare was calculated—not rushed, not curious, but slowly owning every inch of her without moving.

Then her eyes locked on his. He didn't smile, just a slight tilt of his head, before mouthing a word that made Paris’s eyes widen.

She forced her gaze away, pretending to not be affected by what he had just said. She turned away, rounding up her last set so she could leave quickly.

She crawled towards the railing—the club’s spot for the fastest tips. She arched her ass high, controlling every movement.

The younger one reached out first, sliding three thick bundles of dollars under her garter, his fingertips grazing her inner thigh. She clenched her thigh, rubbing her throbbing core.

The older one didn't reach out, he just held eye contact with Paris, causing heat to pool between her legs.

Shortly after, her performance was over. The bouncer led her back to the backroom, where she could change.

“You were born for that stage.” Lena screamed the moment she walked in.

She smiled, taking the shot glass from Lena to calm her head. It wasn't up to two minutes when the bouncer walked in, handing her a card.

Someone had paid to meet her at the private room. She turned to Lena, furrowing her brows in confusion.

Lena took the card from her and her face became pale. The name on the card made her stomach twist.

Russo.

“Fuck.” she whispered

“What?” Paris asked, confused at her expression.

“Nothing.” she faked smile, but her hand shook slightly as she handed the card back to Paris. Her eyes flickered back to the hallway, as she expected them to appear any second.

Paris tilted her head in fear, confused as to why Lena was reacting that way.

Before she could speak, another bouncer came to take her to the private room.

She walked with him, still turning back to look at Lena.

Paris took in a huge breath before stepping in. The room smelled like leather and m*******a.

The bouncer left, closing the door behind him.

A tall figure walked out of the dark. His shirt hugged every part of his body, his sleeves were rolled up, showing his intricate tattoos and faint scars.

He sat at the edge of the couch, his knees spread open, with a smile on his lips.

Paris crossed her arms under her breasts, clearly irritated by his smug smile.

“Listen Mr, I dance outside only. I don't f**k for money. So if that's what you paid for, I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

He stood up, walking closer to her, closing the distance. She could perceive his woody cologne and the faint smell of smoke on him. “I know Cucciola“

Her brows lifted. “Don’t freaking call me that.”

“You’re whatever the f**k I call you, Cucciola.”

She exhaled, dropping her arms. ” Why am I here?”

“I didn't pay to f**k you.” He smiled, slowly tracing the strap of her bra. “ I paid for your time, and now you're giving it to me.

His fingers traced a circle on her breast. Her breath hitched, yet she didn't step back.

“You think touching me makes you special?” she hissed, her voice low. “I’ve had multiple hands try that tonight, and none of them got what they wanted.”

His thumb brushed her n*****s intentionally. “I’m not asking for what they wanted Cucciola.”

“Then what are you asking for?”

“Christ.” He growled, his eyes fixed on her hardening n*****s. He moved closer, closing the distance between them.

Paris swallowed hard, her eyes trailing his tattoos on his arms.

“You move like you're c**k starved.”

He snatched her wrist, pulling her closer till his hands were wrapped around her waist, sending heat through her body.

His palm cupped her jaw, his gaze dropping to her lips, his thumb smearing her lip gloss, opening her mouth slowly.

“For someone with such a sharp mouth, you give up easily.” he smirked, claiming her mouth. Hard.

His tongue invaded her mouth, fighting for dominance.

She could feel his erection pressing on her tummy, thick and hard, promising ruin.

Her whole body fired up in ways she hated. Daniel’s voice echoed at the back of her head, Making her pull out.

His hands slid down her hips, grabbing her ass hard, enough to bruise her, pulling her in again.

His breath fanned on her lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He held her gaze, watching her eyes like he could see through her.

That single gesture made her p***y clench, begging for his touch.

“Fight all you want. But you want this as bad as your body does.” He laughed.

He spun her, pressing her back against the wall, his thigh between hers

Paris's thong became soaked almost immediately.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, just a small moan.

“Russo.” He smiled. “Call me Russo.”

His hands moved seductively all over her, causing her to whimper.

He traced the edge of her thigh, his hands moving higher.

Daniel’s voice screamed at the back of her head, but the tequila and adrenaline muffled it, leaving only need.

He placed one hand between her thighs, moving her lace to the side.

“You’re soaked.” He snarled.

Paris stared at him, unable to speak—her eyes now filled with lust.

He used one finger, slowly circling her c**t, deliberate and torturous before finally plunging it deep inside her to the spot that made her see stars.

She gave in to his touch. Anything to distract her from the chaos going on in her mind.

She shook under him, biting her lips, swallowing back the moan. He added another finger, pumping relentlessly, grinding her c**t hard.

Her knees failed her, her back slipping off the wall as her thighs trembled as he finger-f****d her.

The wet sound filled the room, her hungry p***y grinding on his fingers.

“Come for me, Cucciola.” He groaned, his second hand pinning her hands above her head.

He placed his mouth on her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

The pressure came, the guilt, the fear, mixed with pleasure, ecstasy all rushing together until she came under his grip, her walls clenching around his fingers.

“f**k yes!” she shamelessly moaned, regretting it instantly.

His finger was soaked with the juices dripping from her thigh as she came.

Her entire body shook, her vision blurred

He stared at her for consent, and she nodded. She didn’t care about anything else. She only wanted that to get him out of her system so bad.

“Say the word and I’ll have you coming on my d**k in five minutes.” He whispered into her ear, his voice now raspy.

“f**k me,” she replied.

Damn the consequences.

He rubbed the tip of his d**k already dripping with pre c*m on her wetness.

He then rubbed her p***y, using the dripping juices to rub his c**k as a lubricant.

He pushed in, his thickness stretching her. “Yes—damn!”

His hands gripped her, lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he pounded deep into her.

“Mmh!” she cried.

She felt like she spotted someone creaking the door open. She looked again to be sure and there he was. Someone had actually opened the door.

The second brother—Cruz. His eyes locked on them, his jaw clenched.

He had followed his brother there, watching all of his brother’s fingers inside her and every gasp she couldn’t hold back.

Axel didn't regard Cruz’s presence, instead he rubbed her c**t, increasing the pace. His hands landed on her ass, causing her to moan.

He pulled out, plunging it back in again, making her hips jerk in ecstasy.

“Look at your hungry p***y, begging for this cock.” He said, his free hand pressing her chin.

Her eyes rolled back as he fondled with her hard n*****s while thrusting into her.

“You feel so damn good.” He moaned in her ears, biting the tip.

“I’m going to cum.” she cried.

He pounded faster, not giving her space to catch up.

He continued, rubbing her c**t. She rolled her eyes back, her nails clawing his back from pleasure.

He claimed her lips, kissing her deeply. Their tongues fought for dominance but he won. He nibbled on her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

“Come for me Cucciola.” he whimpered, his sweat dripping on her.

One large thrust and he exploded deep inside her, her legs shaking as she slipped down from his waist in exhaustion. He pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean while holding eye contact with her.

She gulped, thinking how crazy this man was, and what she had done was more crazy.

“You taste like sin.” He smirked.

He pulled her back up, taking her to his toilet, but her eyes never left his brother.

He finally cleaned her up, taking off his shirt, wrapping it around her.

“Can I drop you off?” He asked.

She shook her head. The guilt was already enough. This man was a s*x on legs. If she rode in that car with him, who knows what would happen?

She couldn't even help but feel disgusted in herself. It wasn't up to a year her fiancé died, and here she was, f*****g a man she didn't know.

Cruz stepped into the room fully, his fist curled so tight, his jaw locked like he was seconds from attacking.

Axel turned, smiling at him.

“If it isn’t Cruz the golden boy.”

The air tensed. She didn't know them, but she could taste the jealousy between them