Title: Strip Me Bare
Author: Marissa Carmel
Genre: New Adult
Release Date: October 10, 2013
Cover Art: Amber Rendon - Novel Idea Designs
Blitz Host: Lady Amber's Tours
Blurb-
“I
may have had more lovers than you, and I may take my clothes off for
countless women, but you are the only one who can strip me bare.”
Do
you ever stop loving someone just because they’re gone? Five years ago
Ryan Pierce disappeared from Alana Remington’s life without leaving so
much as a post-it note behind. He was the one she gave her heart to, her
soul to and her virginity to. So imagine her surprise when she finds him dancing at one of NYC’s hottest male reviews as Jack the Stripper.
Ryan
never stopped loving Alana, and now that she serendipitously dropped
back into his life, he’s vowed never to lose her again. But being together has its costs, and challenges Alana isn’t sure she can handle.
She
finally has Ryan back; but how in the world is she supposed to share
the love of her life with half of the women in New York City?
Marissa
Carmel has loved writing ever since a young age. She has a duel degree
in History and Political Science, but took as many creative writing
classes in college as she could. She spent most of her twenties bartending, which is where she met her husband and a multitude of interesting people. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging out with her family, experimenting in her kitchen or doing yoga on the living room floor.
Playlist- (Still in progress)
Mirrors- Justin Timberlake
Sorry- Buckcherry
Muse- Madness
Run- Leona Lewis
I Know You Want Me- Pitbull
Troublemaker- Olly Murs feat. Flo Rida
What You Wanted- OneRepublic
Gimme More- Britney
(I Just) Died in You Arms Tonight (Club Remix)- Cutting Crew
Counting Stars- OneRepublic
Links-
GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5211765.Marissa_Carmel
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Marissa-Carmel/e/B005OKFXXU/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1361243544&sr=8-2
Twitter: https://twitter.com/marissacarmel
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/marissa.carmel.5
Author pg: https://www.facebook.com/authormarissacarmel?ref=hl
Web/Blog: http://marissacarmel.com/
Pinterest- http://pinterest.com/marissacarmel/
Chapter One:
You Don’t Know Jack
Pink plastic penises.
That’s
what’s bouncing around like two alien antennas on top of my cousin
Emily’s head. Two, pink, rubbery penises attached to a cheap headband.
I
don’t know how people celebrate bachelorette parties in other parts of
the world, but in the North East they dress the bride-to-be in sashes
and tiaras, force them to wear pink penis paraphernalia and sacrifice
them to male exotic dancers. Emily doesn’t seem to mind though. She’s
sipping champagne happily in the back of an Escalade stretch limo as we
drive through New York City.
“Alana,”
says Jill, Emily’s maid of honor whose personality is just as fiery as
her red hair, “we were taking bets as to whether you were going to come
or not.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask curiously.
“I
don’t know?” she holds her hands up like she’s balancing a pair of
scales. “Cutting a year long trip to Europe short or staying and hanging
out with all those hotties on the French Riviera?”
“Sun and Speedos get old after a while,” I joke.
“Well maybe some American Speedos will revive your interest?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is the straight-laced Alana Remington too prim and proper for a male strip show?” Jill digs.
“She’s only prim and proper on the outside,” Emily jumps in, defending me.
Thanks Em, but I can take care of myself.
“Why
would you say that? I’m here aren’t I?” I interject. “I’m just not
partial to tiny male underwear. And I think the politically correct term
is Male Revue.”
“Whatever,” Jill laughs at me. “This is the perfect night to let your hair down and get a little action between your legs.”
“Jill!” Emily chastises. “They don’t sleep with you.”
“I’m sure if you paid them enough they would.”
“You’re so crude,” Emily says.
“I’m
just real. And I’m pretty sure all they’d have to do is take one look
at Alana’s blonde hair, brown eyes and long legs and they’d pay to sleep
with her.”
“Well
just don’t let my father find out if that happens,” I say dryly. “I
don’t think he’d respond well to me pimping myself out.”
“I
have a feeling you don’t need monetary transactions for sex,” Jill
pours herself a glass of champagne as we haul down 5th Avenue.
I glance at Emily and she gives me a sympathetic look.
“Where
did you tell him we were going tonight anyway?” Emily giggles, her
bright blue eyes sparkling, her long dark hair pouring over her
shoulders. She’s five foot two and one hundred pounds soaking wet, but
she has the persona of a supermodel; beautiful, confident, sexy, fun.
“I
told him we were having an early dinner, then seeing a Broadway show. I
almost choked on my granola when he asked me which one. Most of the
time, he barely recognizes I’m alive, but of course the one time I’m not
prepared with a cover story, he catches me,” I shift around in the
cream leather seat, trying pull down the clingy hem of my gold pleated
tube dress without much success; if I’m not careful I’m going to end up
giving everyone a pre-show.
“So a male strip club would have been a no-go with him, huh?” Jill asks sarcastically.
“Like I need to answer that.”
I’ve
known Jill most of my life and she’s fully aware of my family
situation; my father, the strict, detached man who has stern
expectations of his daughter, which includes an impeccable social image.
Me, going to a male strip club? No-go is a drastic understatement, and
she knows it.
“My
uncle has very firm views about how his daughter should act,” Emily
says annoyed. “What she should wear, who she should date, how she should breathe.
And he’s colder than damn ice. I swear I don’t know how our fathers
share the same DNA.” Both our fathers are prestigious figures in the law
community. Mine is a superior court judge in New Jersey while Emily’s
is a big shot lawyer in New York City. They both have a reputation to
uphold, but my uncle John is very personable and laid back and he and
Emily have a great relationship. My father is the exact opposite;
stringent, disconnected, career driven. I don’t even think he has
emotions. And we have no relationship.
“So no little lost strippers following you home then?”
“Jill,” I roll my eyes.
“Not unless they have a seven figure paycheck and republicans as parents,” Emily adds wryly.
Everyone
in the limo looks at me and I’m not exactly sure what they’re thinking;
it’s probably a toss-up. They either feel incredibly sorry for me or
think I’m some tight ass who’s going to ruin the fun. If they take one
look at my dress they should know it’s not the latter.
As
we drive through Times Square, the lights on the billboards are
flashing and droves of people are walking. The city is always so alive,
bustling, moving, churning. I love it here. And I’ll love it even more
when I live here. I start law school in three months, and I can’t wait.
It’s
nearly eight o’clock when the limo pulls up to Culture, the only all
male ladies club in the world. At least, that’s what the website boasts.
Already, the line is around the corner with eager women waiting to get
in. All six of us step out of the limo into the New York air. Along with
Emily, Jill and I, there’s Beth and Liz the groom’s two sisters and one
of Emily’s roommates from college, Jen. The smell of hot dogs and
pretzels drift in the breeze from the street vendors as we make our way
up the sidewalk. There’s a secondary entrance that has a street sign
with several shirtless men that reads ‘Male Revue’, and when I look
closer I catch some fine print scribbled on the bottom that says ‘lip
smackin’ dick’.
Oh man, maybe I am too straight laced for this.
Emily nudges me as we wait in line for the doors to open. “Sorry about Jill,” she whispers.
“Why
are you apologizing? She’s right,” I cross my arms. “I do need some
action between my legs, I just have to build up enough nerve to actually
let someone in.”
“That’s not the only place you need to let someone in.”
I bristle, “Em, I don’t want to dwell on my past. At least not tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” she concedes, the penises bobbling on her head.
“Are you going to wear those things all night?” I ask incredulously.
“No, I’m just going to wait until Jill is drunk enough not to notice I took them off.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be wearing them for too long then.”
Emily nods zealously in agreement. I think she likes the shock value of her headband a little too much.
It’s early May, so the temperature in the city is comfortable. No one needs jackets or scarfs or pants, and I think even underwear is optional. As the line behind us grows rapidly the bouncer finally gives the okay to go inside. I’m bouncing in my shoes trying to muster enough nerve to actually walk through the door. I’m a little out of my element here. We file in one behind the other, all walking carefully down the dark stairwell in our designer heels, making our way into the club’s private room..
The
room is dark but not cold; there are black leather couches and coffee
tables spread out in front of a small stage that’s maybe a foot off the
ground. Very intimate, very close and very
personal. We all sit down on an L-shaped sofa to the right of the
stage, and a few moments later someone is popping open a bottle of
champagne and handing out plastic cups with pink bubbly liquid in it.
I’m suddenly all nerves as the realization of what’s about to happen
kicks in. I gulp the champagne; I don’t think I am going to like this
one bit. I glance around anxiously at all the excited women in the room.
A few have sashes or tiaras that say bachelorette or birthday girl.
Emily fits right in with her headband. She seems relaxed; I think I’d be
hyperventilating knowing some guy is going be grinding all over me in a
few minutes.
I take another sip of champagne.
I
watch the bartenders as they mix drinks behind the bar, hear the muted
conversations of the girls around me and feel the temperature rise as
the room fills to capacity.
What the hell am I doing?
Just before I get up to go get some air, a smooth male voice washes
over the crowd. “Ladies, ladies, ladies,” the MC announces. Shit.
He’s short, with caramel colored skin and big green eyes; very handsome
and very charismatic. He introduces himself as Hugo, walking back and
forth across the stage like he owns it. He tells a few dirty jokes to warm up the crowd, some of the women firing back fueling his raunchy lip service. “Okay
my fine females, this is what’s going to happen,” he says with a
tantalizing edge to his tone. “There will a group performance and then
private dances, and then one on one time, where,” he smiles wickedly,
“you get to mingle with all the fellas.”
I really think I need a cigarette.
Hugo
tosses the mic to someone on the side of the stage then disappears
behind a door to the left that’s barely noticeable. It’s been painted
black to blend in with the wall. The DJ pumps a hard core club mix of
Rihanna’s Rude Boy, while smoke blows over us from different
corners of the room, it’s cold and smells bitter. Then that little back
door swings open and four men with no shirts, ripped bodies, and black
tuxedo pants file out, bumping to the music. The room goes absolutely
berserk. Women start screaming, bouncing up and down and waiving dollar
bills over their heads as the four guys bump and grind and hump around
the stage in a sexed up routine. They’re hot, there’s no denying it, but
I can’t help but wonder how anyone can do this? Don’t they feel like a
slab of raw meat?
When
the Chippendales’ demonstration is done, the dancers disappear into the
camouflaged door, leaving the crowd hot and bothered and apparently
ready for more. The lady sitting in front of us is actually panting. Really?
I
glance at Emily as Hugo reappears. It looks like she’s really getting
into this, which I’m silently thankful for. Emily’s not a prude by any
means, but I think even this could definitely push her limits. It’s
certainly pushing mine, and I’m just watching.
Hugo
calls the first bachelorette onto the stage. Lila, I think her name is.
She’s a cute young girl, almost innocent looking. She’s wearing a tiara
and a pink sash that says bachelorette. Her fake blond hair is loose
with curls and she has on a white button up shirt and jeans. Not very
club couture, but whatever. Her entire party is called up on stage with
her, and Hugo instructs them to decorate her body with dollar bills. The
group sticks money where ever they can, in her pants pockets, between
the buttons of her shirt, in her collar and under her sash; she looks a
walking ATM by the time they’re done. Then Lila sits down on a folding
chair on stage. The DJ hits the music again, a fast version of Sean
Paul’s Temperature pumps through the speakers as a guy dressed in
a cop’s uniform explodes onto the stage, all high energy and sexual,
popping his body as he jumps right in front of the Lila. He looks legit
in his navy blue uniform, aviator sunglasses and officers cap. Sergeant
Striptease wastes no time working it; he gets right in Lila’s face,
bumping his junk to the rhythm of the music.
I can’t believe I’m watching this, I think as I down more champagne.
He
rips his shirt off displaying his defined chest and six pack abs, then
he straddles Lila with his face towards the crowd, taking her hands he
runs them down his front, over his pecs, stomach and hips. His skin
glistens under the stage lights.
I’m
not really sure what’s more shocking, the stage show or the reaction
it’s getting. Women are bouncing exuberantly on the leather seats,
shrieking and clapping almost like a bomb went off.
Sergeant
Striptease then stands Lila up and rubs himself all over her; moving up
and down against her body, grabbing the dollar bills out of her shirt
with his teeth. Lila laughs nervously as she holds on to him by his very
nice shoulders. Very, nice shoulders. Then he does
something that takes everyone, especially Lila, by surprise. He grabs
her waist and flips her upside down, her crotch ending up right in his
face. He slashes his tongue between her legs, causing most of the women
in the room to scream.
Like, bloodcurdling screams.
I’m not even capable of an auditory response; my vocal cords have shorted out and my jaw has dropped to the floor.
Raunch-y.
Then
he puts her down and whispers in her ear, she nods back at him with a
smile; her eyes wide and alight. He sits her back down in the chair and
proceeds to take off the rest of his clothes, which is actually just a
quick tug of his pants. All he has on underneath is a black g-string
with, holy shit, tassels covering his penis. Where do you even
find a get up like that? He does one more bump and grind on Lila,
practically naked, and then the show is over.
Emily looks over at me. Her eyebrows lifted high like she can’t believe what she just witnessed.
“Yeah girl, that’s all you,” I yell to her over the music and she laughs.
I wonder how much laughing she’s going to do when it’s her on that stage?
Hugo
reappears, announcing the next girl, Holly, and she looks absolutely
petrified. She too, has blonde hair, but I think it’s natural; no dark
roots. She’s wearing a white eyelet dress and fresh faced makeup. She
looks almost virginal and I feel sorry for her already.
Holly
sits in the folding chair, wound tighter than a spring and littered
with dollar bills all over her body. I couldn’t do it. I could never sit
up there and have some guy I don’t know hump all over me. It would just
feel wrong. For me. I admire the other women in the room who are
rearing to go. Maybe I am a prude?
The
lights dim as Holly sits alone on the stage, but no one comes out the
camouflaged door. There’s low haunting music playing and smoke curling
up from the floor. Then I notice Holly’s face. She’s gone pale. Everyone
turns around to see what she’s looking at. And there, sauntering toward
the stage is a guy dressed in black leather pants and a mask covering
his whole head, a whip in his hand.
Holy BDSM.
“Ladies,
the Dominator,” Hugo announces and Holly absolutely shits. I can’t say I
blame her. All I want to do is run up there and rescue her.
The
Dominator gets onto the stage and starts doing a seductive dance over
Holly, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back as he straddles her
with his mask on.
My
mind goes numb as I watch; it feels like an out of body experience it’s
so far out of my sexual scope of understanding. The Dominator then
pulls Holly to her feet, bends her over and starts smacking her ass,
hard. Then he mercilessly pumps her from behind and I have to look away.
I think I’m scarred for life.
After
that he sits her back down in the chair. It looks like she’s just
smoked up, she’s so starry eyed. Then he rips off his mask and starts
again with the intense humping; his crotch right in her face. Good lord.
He’s
not bad looking with his bald head, big light eyes and a really nice
smile. Like, really nice. Almost endearing, which is weird.
Then
he does something that actually impresses me. Somehow, he gets his feet
over her head, planting them against the back wall of the stage, his
ass facing the crowd and humps her from upside down. For a guy who’s
tall, bulky and muscled, he’s limber, I’ll give him that. Then he kicks
himself down and pulls Holly to her feet. He picks out all the dollar
bills with his teeth, and then plants a huge kiss on her cheek. She was a
damn good sport. I would have bolted the moment I saw him walking my
way. Given you could actually pay me enough to get up on that stage in
the first place.
Now it’s Emily’s turn.
“Okay
ladies,” the charming Hugo announces. “You’re in for a real treat,” he
says as Jill, Beth, Liz, Jen and I dress Emily in dollar bills. She’s by
far sexiest and most trendily dressed girl in the room. She has on a
tight black body suit that’s short sleeved and high collared. A flared
mini skirt and a pair of black stockings that give the illusion of thigh
highs; hooch couture is what I call it. With her tiny little frame she
rocks the outfit perfectly. We were able to get twice as many dollar
bills on Emily compared to the other girls. Even her black bootie high
heels have Washington’s sticking out of them. She looks like a scarecrow
stuffed with green straw.
“Next up is one of our premier dancers. So get ready, set, wet for Jack the Stripper!” he says as he hops off the stage.
The beginning beats of Ginuwine’s Pony
blasts through the speakers as a shirtless guy with a cowboy hat and
eye mask grooves his way out of the black door. Now him I could be into.
He’s tall and lean, totally toned, with sun kissed skin and a hot
looking mouth. Emily got lucky with this one, thank God. I watch as he
dances to the stage in a pair of loose fitting blue jeans with rips in
the thighs and knees, the elastic of his underwear peeking above the
waist of his pants. As soon as Emily sees him, a big smile spreads
across her face and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s into him. And
seriously, who wouldn’t be?
The melody changes to a house rendition of As Long As You Love Me
and Jack the Stripper moves seductively to the beat of the music,
grinding sensually on Emily; his fluid body undulating all over her.
I’ll admit, I’ve never equated Justin Bieber to stripper music, but this
guy makes it work, and damn can he move. My mouth is getting dry just
watching this. The entire room is responding to him; pleasured screams
and erotic moans are echoing from every which way as he works Emily on
stage. No wonder Hugo called him premier; it’s as if he knows exactly
what a woman wants and exactly how to give it to her. He’s already
broken down the entire room with just his confidence and sexuality.
That’s impressive.
In
the middle of his dance, with his hat and eye mask still on, he lifts
Emily’s chair, with her still in it, and flips her up and around,
inducing screams and shouts from the audience. With a big smile he
places her back down, and then starts to undo his pants, teasing her and
us with glimpses of his ass. Before he drops his jeans he rips off his
hat and flings it into the crowd revealing thick, brown hair that’s
short on the sides and longer on top; his bangs spilling over his
forehead hipster style. Hot. Then he kneels in front of Emily,
only his side profile visible. He whispers something into her ear, she
glances at him oddly then slides two fingers under his eye mask; she
rips it off and turns white. I can’t really see his face from my angle,
but whoever he is, he spooked her. They both seem to freeze for a
fraction of a second; his back muscles tensing. What the hell is going
on? Then she nods her head yes, as if encouraging him on. He stands up,
faces the crowed and proceeds to take off his pants. That’s when my
heart drops dead in my chest. I glance at Emily and she’s staring
straight at me, a manifold of emotions churning on her face because we
both just witnessed my past strip to life.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I love your comments.