BetweenTwoBillionairesCompleteStripped Read online

  Once we get in sight of security, Ethel straightens herself and takes the lead. The security guy is huge, at least seven feet tall and muscular enough to scare any fully grown man. He looks intimidating, his dark beady eyes baring down on us without so much as a smile.

  “Name?” he says plainly, staring at Ethel without emotion.

  “We're the strippers,” she replies with confidence.

  “Name?” he repeats. Darn. I knew her stupid plan wouldn't work. We should just leave now.

  Ethel isn't giving up. She pulls her purse over her shoulder and rummages through it for one of the fake cards. Once she's found it, she hands it over to him.

  He flips the card over in his hand, analyzing it. Then he looks Ethel up and down before his eyes move to me. When he sees what I'm wearing, he smirks. I look like an angel standing next to the devil. The sweet to Ethel's sexy.

  “Go on in.” He hands the card back.

  Relief rushes through me as we head into the house, though it's quickly replaced with near debilitating social anxiety at the sheer number of people here. This isn't a party like anything I've ever seen before. Most of the guest list is male, and most of them are wearing business suits. Ethel and I look completely out of place.

  We stand in the grand foyer for several minutes soaking in the scene. If Ethel has ever smiled broader, I can't remember a time. This is exactly what she wanted, and I helped her to get it.

  She turns to me with a grin. “Nice, right?”

  “I guess.” I shrug. Not as nice as staying home.

  “Alright. Well, thanks for helping me get in. This is where we part ways. I'll meet you right here at 2AM or whenever the party is over.”

  My mouth falls open. “Are you seriously planning on staying that long? You know I have to work tomorrow night.”

  “Live a little, Sarah,” she tells me as she backs into the crowd, waving at me as if she just got one over on me.

  When she disappears into the sea of people, I start looking for somewhere to sit where I won't be noticed. Luckily, there's lots of seating. Chairs everywhere, but really no place out of the way. I eventually find a wall to lean against that's kind of away from everyone. It's the best hiding spot I'll find, but still not good enough.

  Waiters keep coming by and asking me if I want food or something to drink. While I am hungry, I'd feel bad taking food that's not meant for me, so I respectfully decline. Again. And again. And again.

  By about the fifth time one of the waiters comes up to, the glasses of champagne they carry on their platters are starting to look really good. I'm a ball of misery and nerves, watching the clock on the wall across from me, willing time to pass faster. It doesn't though. The minutes feel like hours.

  Finally, someone else takes notice of me. Not a waiter, but a gentleman in a tailored suit. He's handsome, but there's a strange glassiness about his eyes that indicates he's had a little too much to drink.

  “I haven't seen you here before,” he comments in a rather flirtatious tone.

  My heart drops to my feet as I begin to fear discovery. Apparently, this guy knows who attends these parties, and he knows I don't belong. Ethel will be pissed if I get us kicked out. I have to say something.

  “I'm here with my sister,” is all I can manage to stutter.

  “I would have recognized a gem like you.” He completely ignores my words, approaching me and resting his forearm against the wall next to my shoulder, making me feel caged in.

  “I need to use the restroom.” I leave my hiding spot to go anywhere else that he isn't. Thankfully, he doesn't give chase. I glance over my shoulder, and he's already moved on.

  In truth, I have no idea where the bathroom is, and I'm too afraid to ask anyone, so I just search for another wall to blend into. If you looked up the word wallflower in the dictionary right now, I think there would be a picture of me beside it. I'm literally trying to blend in with the wall, like paint.

  It's going on eleven o'clock when I hear a ruckus in the middle of, what I assume is, the living room. There's cheering and whistling and clapping. It's too far away for me to see what's going on, and part of me doesn't even care. That changes when I see a man in a business suit headed straight for me. He's all smiles and glassy eyes and pure happiness.

  My heart speeds up as he approaches, and I silently pray that he'll divert at the last minute, but he doesn't. He grabs my arm and pulls me towards the commotion, and though I resist and try to get away, he doesn't let go.

  “Let go of me. What are you doing?” I stumble behind him, feeling like I might vomit out my heart the closer we get to the crowd.

  “The strippers are here,” he announces.

  The crowd breaks so that we can walk through, and I'm swung over next to Ethel, who looks every bit as joyful as those around us. She's playing the part of the stripper, doing a sexy little dance to entice the men. She hardly notices I've joined her. She definitely doesn't notice the horrified look on my face.

  “Come on, girls. Take it all off!” one of the guys yells. The others join in chanting “Take it off! Take it off!”

  My eyes dance around the crowd. We're completely surrounded by horny drunk men. It's my worst nightmare come to life. Ethel is pandering to the crowd, but I'm just standing there, frozen in place.

  Many of the guys stare at me, expecting me to do something. One even reaches out and tugs at the sleeve of my dress. I recoil closer to Ethel. It's then that she acknowledges me. She wraps her hands around my shoulders, pulling me to her and whispering into my ear sternly, “Just follow my lead. You'll be fine.”

  I turn towards her the second she lets me go, watching her. She dances to the music booming through the house, swaying her hips and rolling her head and doing all these sexual moves I could never master in a million years. Then she grabs the bottom of her dress and starts slowly pulling it up over her hips. Her matching red panties come into view, and I know I can't watch anymore. This isn't me. I have to escape.

  I feel hands sliding around my waist, and every warning alarm planted inside my head in Catholic school suddenly goes off at once. I turn and push my way through the crowd. Hell, I barrel through it, not caring who I step on or offend. This is a bad situation, and I need to get out of it as quickly as possible. I know what happens when men get like this, and it's not good.

  It takes me a moment to push through the crowd. Hands grope at me, but I slap them away. What they want, I'm not going to give. I don't care if I have to walk home. I'm not staying in this house a moment longer.

  Finally, I break free of the group of horny men. As soon as there's enough of a clearing, I take off running, accidentally stepping out of one of my heels. By the time I turn around to retrieve it, there are people blocking it from view. It's not worth going back for. Ethel will be pissed that I lost it, but at this point, I'd rather deal with her wrath then the consequences of staying in this house.

  I take my other shoe off and continue sprinting towards the door. People give me queer looks, but I don't care. They belong here. I don't. They don't have to understand that. They can talk about the strange girl running through the house later. It makes no difference to me.

  Once the foyer is in sight, I turn back for a split second to look for Ethel, and my body collides with what feels like a brick wall. I lose my balance, fall back onto my ass, and champagne goes all over Ethel's blue dress and me. My mind can only process it landing on the dress. It's more fuel for the fire I'll feel from her later.

  It takes a few seconds for me to realize that I ran right into one of the waiters carrying the champagne glasses. Naturally, with my luck, most of it fell on me. The guy scowls at me before he kneels to pick up the pieces of broken glass. There's no concern for me whatsoever on his face. In fact, I'm surprised that he doesn't cuss me out for not watching where I was going.

  “Cinderella,” a man calls behind me. I die a little more inside. Why can't they just leave me alone?

  I twist around to see a handsome stranger ho
lding my other shoe. His blue eyes are not glassy at all. In fact, they have surprising clarity behind them. He reaches down to help me off the floor before presenting the shoe to me, holding out his palm and resting it on top while grasping the strap with his other hand so that it sits upright.

  “You lost your slipper,” he says with a charming smirk.

  I move to take it from him, but he quickly withdraws. Great. Another asshole. Just as I thought.

  “Your dress is soaked. Let me get you something to change into.” He motions back into the house with his head.

  “I'm fine. Thanks.” I do my best to seem grateful instead of annoyed. This is like one of those horror movies where the heroine is about to escape and then the house sucks her back in.

  The guy quirks an eyebrow at me. “Do you seriously want to get in your car smelling like that?”

  I never really thought about it, probably because I don't even have the keys to Ethel's car. I didn't think about what I would do once I got outside.

  “I'm not getting in a car,” I tell him, though I know it's a lie. I'm grasping for any excuse to get away.

  “Then how are you planning on getting home?”

  “That's none of your concern,” my voice darkens as I stare at the shoe he's holding.

  “Come on. I've got something you can change into.” He motions back toward the living room and then starts walking away from me.

  I stare at the shoe in his hand as it gets further away. I've messed up the dress, but I can still save the shoes. Maybe I should go after him. Besides, I really don't want to spend the next hour or so soaked to the bone in alcohol.

  The guy is almost out of sight when I finally decide to follow him. This is a mistake. I already know that. But stupid seems to be on the menu tonight.

  I'm surprised when he leads me to the bottom of the staircase. There's a security guard standing sentry there, not allowing the party goers to go up, but he waves the guy through. The alarms inside my head go off again as he ascends the stairs with my shoe in hand. I've watched enough movies to know what happens if you go upstairs with a guy at a party. This is something I definitely don't want.

  My heart drops as I realize I have to let the shoe go. With a heavy sigh, I stand there and sulk for a few moments.

  The guy stops and turns to look at me. “Are you coming?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Come on. I have some clothes for you up here.”

  “I know what happens to girls who go upstairs with strange men.” My words sound immature and a bit pathetic, not to mention laced with depression. I don't care though. This night has been horrible. I can't hide all the negative emotions going through me anymore. I'm sure that as soon as I get outside, I'm going to have a good cry.

  “They get a change of clothing.” He raises an eyebrow at me, acting oblivious.

  “That's not why you want me to go upstairs with you.” I wrap my arms around myself protectively, refusing to look at him.

  “Would it make you feel safer if I promise we won't have sex?” He takes a step back down the stairs.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, if you want this,” he raises the shoe up, “and some dry clothes, then you'll come.”

  I want both, but it's not worth the price. He could just as easily bring the clothes down here and show me where the bathroom is, but he won't do it. That means he has other intentions.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I turn, preparing to leave.

  The guy quickly descends the rest of the stairs, reaching out to grab my hand. My eyes land on our joined hands, and I scowl. “Let me go.” I jerk away from him. He doesn't resist.

  “Hey.” He calls my attention up to his face. His expression is gentle and sincere. “I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want. I promise. I just thought we'd go upstairs because changing takes a while, and both restrooms downstairs have a line to them.”

  When he puts it that way, it does make more sense. The house is packed, and if there are only two restrooms downstairs, then I imagine they would be crowded. There are a lot of people drinking, and that means a lot of people who need to use the restroom.

  I hesitate, exploring his face for any signs of deception. It's always the nice guys who are the worst. And this guy seems way too nice. He retrieved my shoe. He helped me up off the floor. He offered me clothes to change into. And now he's offering me a private place to change. The warning alarms are still going off, but I decide to trust him anyway.

  “Alright,” I reply timidly.

  My heart is racing as I follow him into the unknown. Up here, I'm not safe. I know that. He could do things to me, and it's highly likely that no one would hear me cry for help. Even if they did, would anyone come? It's doubtful.

  He opens a door at the end of the hallway, and we step inside. As I feared, it's a bedroom. My stomach churns unpleasantly as I consider the possibility of being trapped with a man who could easily overpower me. It doesn't help that he closed the door behind us.

  I fidget with the strap on my other shoe as the man breaks away from me and goes to rummage through one of the drawers. It doesn't take long before he has two articles of clothing in hand. He returns to me, holding up a white T-shirt and a red pair of shorts. “They're not your size, but they'll do. The shorts have a tie on them, so you should be able to make them fit.”

  “Thanks.” I reach out to take the clothes from him, but he recoils, the same way he did with my shoe earlier. It's then that I realize he conveniently left it on the dresser.

  A devious smirk crosses his lips as he walks over to a chair in the corner of the room and sits down with both garments in hand. I give him a confused look.

  “Strip,” the word is cold and unmistakable.

  “What?” My stomach rolls. Of course, this guy is a creep. They say that if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. I should have listened to those warning alarms going off earlier and just left.

  “You didn't really think I brought you up here just for a change of clothes, did you?” his tone darkens. “You're a stripper, so strip.”

  My jaw tenses in anger and disgust. What a pig.

  “I don't feel good,” I lie. “Why do you think I was leaving? If I felt like stripping, I would have done it downstairs.” My words are calculated. I have to get myself out of this situation and save Ethel's night at the same time. It's a real pain.

  “You don't seem ill.” He's not convinced.

  “Well, I am.” I hug myself, glaring at him.

  “This is the trade. If you want the clothes and the shoe, you give me a private strip tease.” He makes it sound like a compromise, but it's not. I lose, either way.

  “You know what? Forget it.” I throw my hands up at him before turning around to stomp out of the room.

  He's on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between us, his hand wrapping tightly around my wrist, keeping me from leaving. He pulls me back to him until we're facing each other, our bodies dangerously close. His eyes are filled with lust. If I wasn't so frightened, I might be attracted to him. But he's all predator right now. Just as dangerous as the monsters downstairs.

  I'm terrified. I'm not sure whether to scream or strike him. If I strike him, I'll surely go to jail. I'm not even supposed to be here. But I can't possibly give in to his demand. That's not who I am. I'd rather end up in jail than defiled by some stranger.

  We stand in a stalemate for several moments. I try to pull my arm away from him, but he doesn't let go. His eyes move over my face, falling to my lips.

  “You're scaring me,” I whimper. As if in time with my words, I begin to shake, the adrenaline and fear too much for my body to handle.

  He lets go of me immediately, taking a step back. The lust leaves his expression and is replaced by a look of concern.

  “I'm sorry,” he stutters, casting his eyes to the floor in shame for a few brief seconds. “Turn around,” he tells me, retreating toward the ch
air where he left the clean clothes he found for me.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” his voice is firm.

  This is the moment I should run. I know that. He's planning something horrible for me. That's just the way men like him are. They think they can do whatever they want because they have money. I need to run, but instead, I obey.

  “Are you going to let me go?” I ask.

  “Yes, but not yet.” His footsteps move away from me, and then I hear him returning. The closer he gets, the faster my heart beats. “Take off your dress,” he tells me.

  “No.” My anxiety compounds with his words. Why won't he let me leave? I just want to leave.

  “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to look at you. You don't have to turn around.” There's no sexuality in his tone.

  “I want to leave,” I whisper, feeling my eyes begin to water. I'd been trying to hold back the flood of emotion sloshing inside of me, but it seems it's finally made it to the surface. I'm only a few minutes short of being a blabbering mess.

  “Take off your dress. I'm not letting you leave until you do as I say.”

  “You said you wouldn't do anything I didn't want to do.” I stare at the door, feeling my feet itching to run.

  “You'll do this.” He's so close. So threateningly close.

  I stand there for several moments, feeling my heart drumming against my chest. With the door closed, the music is partially drowned out. All other noise amplifies with the intensity of the situation. His breathing. My breathing.

  If I run, I fear he'll give chase. I fear he'll rape me. I should probably do what he says, but I don't want to.

  It takes everything in me to drop the shoe I've been holding and force my hands to the bottom of my dress. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I think of Ethel disrobing downstairs. All the men were looking at her. But she wanted them to see her like that. I don't want this man to see me in my underwear. What choice do I have though?

  Every inch of skin I expose makes me feel filthier. The material slides over my back, the cool air in the room making me shiver that much more. I've never let a man see me in my underwear before. This stranger is violating me. He's destroying my soul.