Down & Dirty: Dawg Read Online Jeanne St. James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Biker, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
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“Maybe that big stage’s makin’ you nervous. How ‘bout makin’ this dance a little more personal.”

Her brows furrowed. “How?”

“Gotta show me somethin’. Some kinda skill. Right now, you ain’t showin’ me nothin’ I wanna see.”

For the most part anyway. Nothing a strip club manager would want to see. Dawg, the man? Fuck yeah. That was different.

He pushed to his feet and came around to the steps, holding out his hand. She stayed where she was on the stage, her skirt pooled at her feet, her blouse hanging crooked. She stared at his hand as if it was going to bite her.

“All my girls gotta do private dances... you know, lap dances. Get up close an’ personal with my customers. Makes both of us some extra scratch. Better than the tips you’ll make on stage. The stage is just used to entice these fuckers into the VIP rooms. Got me? It’s the tease. Gotta get ‘em droolin’ for you, get ‘em rock hard. Make ‘em think they got a shot with you. They pay big money for that personal time. That’s where you make most of your scratch. You act like they’re special to you, not just any regular Joe, an’ they’ll become regulars. The regulars are the best. They’ll even ask you out. You always say no, got me? No datin’ the customers. No fuckin’ ‘em, either.”

“Am I hired?” she asked, surprise clearly in her voice.

No shit. He was just as surprised that he was wasting time on this woman who had no fucking clue what she was getting herself into.

“Nope. Ain’t hirin’ you yet. Gotta convince me to. Just like you gotta convince the customers to throw those dollar bills on that stage. Right now, you’ve only convinced me that you’re lost.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you don’t belong here. This ain’t for you.”

She nodded. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I am. I’m lost.”

Well, damn. He hadn’t expected for her to agree.

Dawg dragged a hand through his hair that needed a damn cut and shook his head. “Woman, you’re crazy for bein’ here. This ain’t you. Anyone can see it.”

“No. I’m not crazy. I’m... I’m desperate. I need this... this job.”

“Strippin’ ain’t a job, it’s a career.” One that could be lucrative for the right woman. Only she wasn’t the right woman.

“What do I need to do to get this job?”

The desperation in her voice, in her eyes, killed him, twisted his gut.

“Like I said. Money’s in the lap dance. Gotta sell yourself. Right now, you ain’t sellin’ nothin’ ‘cept that you’re an uptight teacher up there. C’mon down.” He held out his hand again. She grabbed her skirt and approached the end of the stage, but avoided his assistance. She took two steps down until her gaze was level with his.

“I need this,” she whispered.

He wanted to close his eyes and savor that honeyed voice of hers. But he didn’t. He had to remind himself that this was business. “Why?”

“I-I have to make a lot of money and make it fast.” The desperation was thick in her voice. And that bugged him.

“Why?”

Instead of answering him, she shook her head.

“Girls ain’t got no secrets from me.”

“So you think.”

Damn. She was probably right. But when they were down on their luck, and they needed help, he was always there for them. He took care of his girls, made sure they didn’t want for anything, and in turn, they took care of him. They came to work with a good attitude, and that spilled out on stage.

Happy strippers made the club money, ones with problems didn’t. It was difficult to shake off a bad attitude when you were in the spotlight swinging around a pole only wearing a thong. There was nothing to hide up there.

He knew it. The clientele knew it. So he kept his girls happy.

“I’m going to ask again. What do I need to do to get this job?”

Chapter Two

Dawg sat in a wood chair at the center of one of the private VIP rooms. Though the room had a couch—that he had cleaned on a regular basis—he preferred the chair. Why? Because the dancer had three-sixty access to him.

In a VIP room, the dancer could touch her customer. She could take it as far as she wanted to go, except for accepting payment for sex. Again, he wasn’t putting up with that bullshit, because if the club got shut down, the MC would lose a huge portion of their income. And he had to do his part in keeping the DAMC coffers full.

He had taken Emma to the Red room, rightly named since everything in it was the color of blood and his was certainly pumping right now. His pulse was also thumping in his neck and his dick throbbing.

Emma stood in front of him, her fingers unfastening the rest of the buttons on her blouse, her hips swaying to another Ginuwine song that he had turned on when they first entered the room.


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