Get Your Sexy On Read online

  Get Your Sexy On

  Get Your Sexy On

  Kimberly Kaye Terry

  APHRODISIA

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.co m

  Get Your Sexy On

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Epilogue

  1

  The Sweet Kitty Gentlemen·s Club

  Downtown Washington, DC

  Ś in, it·s showtime. Time to get your sexy on, girl.µ

  After curling the mascara wand one last time over her naturally thick lashes, Sienna glanced away

  from the mirror.

  She smiled at the woman who gave her the reminder and pushed the wand back inside the mascara

  tube and twisted it closed.

  ´Yeah, Kitty, I know,µ she murmured, throwing the woman a small affectionate smile. Í·ll be ready in

  a sec. Gotta give ·em the best that I got, to get what I want,µ

  she quipped.

  Deloris, aka Delatta Kitty, ran her hands down the sides of her thong-covered rounded hips.

  ´Definitely, baby girl. And maybe after your last set, you and I can have a drink and you can show me the

  best that you got,µ the older woman murmured in her whisky-toned voice, and gave Sienna a small wink.

  Í don·t know if you can handle the best I·ve got. I may be too much for you.µ She rose from her chair

  and glanced at her reflection in the chipped oval mirror.

  ´Promises, promises. Why don·t you let me be the judge of what I can handle, baby girl?µ

  ´Yeah, right. I value my health too much, even if I were so inclined, Ms. D,µ she said, looking back in

  the mirror, checking her

  makeup. Ćarmen lets it be known that if anyone, man or woman, ever tries to

  step to you, they will have to deal with her.µ

  Deloris had been with her lover, Carmen Delgado, one of the other dancers, for more than a decade.

  Barely out of their teens, the two women had met at another club, dancing two in a cage. No matter how

  much Deloris flirted with other women, Sienna knew she would never cheat on Carmen. She loved Carmen

  as much as the woman loved her.

  ´Yeah, my woman can get a bit hot around the collar

  sometimes. But still, if you·re ever lonely«µ

  Deloris let the sentence dangle and Sienna released a groaning laugh. ´Girl, you·re going to get me in

  trouble. If your woman even thinks I·m trying to step to you, my ass is grass!µ

  Deloris returned the laugh and strolled away from Sienna, her full hips swaying.

  Sienna shook her head and grinned as Deloris put more than a little bit of attitude in her walk as she

  strolled away. Sienna released a small chuckle before she turned her attention to the mirror for one final,

  critical assessment, pursing her crimson red lips.

  She opened the tube of lip gloss on the vanity and ran the cotton tip over her full upper and lower rims.

  Sinful lips. She had sinful lips.

  That·s what she·d been told on more than one occasion. Her foster father had told her that her lips

  were full of sin, just like she was. He had licked his thin lips; a nasty, lustful smile had crossed his pinched

  features while he watched her dress for school.

  Sienna thought of the other crude things he·d said when no one else was around to hear.

  When no one had been around to stop him.

  She shoved the memories out of her mind of what he·d forced her to do with her sinful lips. She focused her thoughts on her future, away from her painful past.

  ´Just one more night of this, and I·m done. Lord, just let me make it through one more night,µ she whispered out loud, closed her eyes, and sent the prayer heavenward.

  She opened her eyes and

  smiled, determinedly, at her reflection. Using both hands, she fluffed the

  long, dark blond, curly wig around her face, making sure that none of her own dark, silky curls escaped.

  Sienna turned from the mirror, leaving the dressing area as she heard the DJ start to mix in her signature song with the R&B

  tune bumping from the

  speakers.

  As she walked, her sway

  became more pronounced, her body relaxed, her small breasts pushed out,

  her shoulders thrown back.

  Sienna tossed her hair away from her face, licked her full lips, and smiled.

  She was almost ready.

  The closer she came to the long, black velvet curtain cloaking the stage, the more she shed her

  inhibitions.

  The less she cared.

  It was showtime, like Deloris said.

  Time to get her sexy on.

  The slow, hot heat from the rhythm invaded her limbs and she reached back and fluffed out the

  colorful feathers attached to her thong.

  Her fingertips then ran lightly over her breasts, skimming her protruding nipples, making sure her

  sequined pasties were secure.

  With a toss of her head and a smile, the transformation was complete. She was no longer Sienna

  Featherstone, part-time

  substitute grade-school teacher, full-time college student.

  She was Sinful Feathers,

  headlining act at the Sweet Kitty Gentlemen·s Club.

  And for one final night, one final time, it was time to get her sexy on.

  2

  G arrett McAllister sat back in the high-backed wooden bar chair and raised the shot glass of whisky to

  his lips and took a healthy swallow. With a grimace, he placed the glass back on the small dented table in

  front of him, and turned bored eyes toward the gyrating woman on the main stage.

  Her moves were the same as all the others before her.

  She shimmied and danced,

  kicking her long legs out in front of her, gyrating for all she was worth.

  She worked her double-D cups, grabbing her breasts and

  squeezing them, dancing and twirling around the

  small stage for the throng of men standing in rapt attention.

  When one of the men looked particularly animated, the dancer dropped down on all fours, slid on her

  back, throwing her legs in the air, and shimmied her ass in front of him.

  At his vantage point, Mac could see the saliva practically oozing from the sides of the man·s lips as the

&n
bsp; dancer slid one long, manicured finger inside her thong panties.

  She pushed the scrap of lace aside to give

  the man an extra peek at what else she had for sale.

  It was no secret that some of the strippers at the Sweet Kitty offered more than a stage or lap dance

  to the men who frequented the club.

  There were several rooms

  upstairs where, with the right price, a man³or a woman³

  could buy a ´bed

  dance.µ According to club rules, all bed dances, although

  conducted on an actual bed, with the customer

  lying down and the dancer on top of him or her, were

  conducted fully clothed.

  But what happened when the doors were closed in the

  bedrooms was a different matter altogether,

  Mac thought cynically.

  The music ended, and with it, the dancer·s set. The woman abruptly stopped dancing, midshimmy,

  and gathered the tossed bills before swiftly walking off the stage.

  At the curtain separating the stage from the back room, she paused and glanced over her shoulder

  toward the customer she·d given a private viewing. She pointed to the back of the club with one of her

  long, talonlike fingernails, where a winding staircase, leading to the upper rooms, was located.

  With nonchalance, Mac

  observed the exchange. He noted the man·s head hastily bobbed up and down

  in affirmation and the woman left the stage area with a satisfied grin.

  His gaze raked over the

  clientele at the Sweet Kitty. The clientele ranged from men in beat-up jeans,

  T-shirts, and yellow work boots, to businessmen wearing Brooks Brothers suits and Rolex

  watches.

  ´Mac, ain·t nothing going on here tonight besides tits-and-ass shakin·. I don·t think our guy is going to

  show,µ Kyle Hanley said,

  drawing his attention from the scene on the stage. His

  partner·s gaze was on the women dancing on small round up-raised stages, scattered throughout the dimly lit club.

  ´Patience, man. It·s his club, he·s bound to show. Besides, you have somewhere else you·d rather be?µ

  ´Hell yes. The luscious Tawny and her sister, Tanya, and I have plans. I thought we·d be done with

  this case, and if ol· boy ain·t showing, I can sure in hell find a better way to spend my time.µ

  Kyle·s restless

  eyes scanned the room.

  Mac released a grunt for a laugh. ´He may still show. Don·t want to take the chance on missing him.

  I·m sure you lovebirds can do whatever the hell you have planned, later.µ

  Mac turned back to the stage, ignored his friend·s glare, and did a quick scan of the room, hoping to

  find Damian in the crowd.

  Although he preferred one woman at a time, had only participated in one

  ménage à trois, which left him strangely unsatisfied, Mac had no problem with his friend·s proclivity for

  multiple partners.

  To each his own.

  He didn·t understand

  male/female relationships, much less a relationship involving two women³so

  what the hell did he know anyway? Although he·d been surprised when Kyle had

  disclosed his sexual

  preference³a need he·d said³

  for two women at once, that he couldn·t find satisfaction with one woman,

  it hadn·t altered his view of his friend.

  Mac and Kyle had been friends as well as battle buddies throughout their career, from their first

  enlistment in their Special Forces unit in Heidelberg, Germany, to their last duty station in Afghanistan.

  Dating back over fifteen years, he was closer to Kyle than he was to anyone else in the world, besides his

  sister. Mac couldn·t think of a better man, one he·d trust more to have his back, than Kyle.

  Their latest case had been an easy one. They·d been hired to locate Larissa St. John, the missing

  daughter of a wealthy couple in New England. Larissa had left home the previous year, leaving behind a

  note that said she was tired of school and wanted to live her life the way she wanted.

  Although she had been over the age of consent, twenty-one years old, her parents had hired Mac to

  go and find their daughter.

  Mac and Kyle had tracked the wayward deb to DC and found her shaking her moneymaker like a

  seasoned pro. When they

  identified themselves to her, and explained that her family had sent them to

  bring her back home, she·d broken down in tears.

  The life she envisioned ón her ownµ hadn·t turned out to be the life of glamour she thought she·d have.

  They·d finished the case in less than two weeks, after having placed her on the plane to go home. The

  men would have returned to their home base in Hampton, Virginia³had Mac not

  discovered something far

  more interesting than a runaway quasi adult thumbing her nose at conventionality, trying to prove she was

  grown by stripping.

  He·d discovered the Sweet Kitty was a front for a money-laundering operation, among other criminal

  activities, all tied up with a Dominican named Carlos

  Medeiros. Mac had first come across Medeiros·s name

  during a previous investigation, another runaway case. Medeiros ran a tight operation, and Mac hadn·t been

  able to tie him into the

  disappearance of two young college-aged women, although the intel he·d gathered

  pointed to Medeiros being involved.

  Medeiros surrounded himself with a bevy of guards, 24/7, and Mac hadn·t been able to get close

  enough to him to gather the evidence he needed to take to the police. When he and Kyle found the young

  women in a Vegas brothel, they·d been so desperate to go home, they hadn·t given him any substantial

  information about their

  involvement in the brothel.

  Either that, or they were too afraid to speak. Mac had

  been left frustrated, knowing there wasn·t a damn thing he could do. His gut, however, told him Medeiros

  had been involved.

  The owner of the brothel had been just as tight-lipped about how she·d ´foundµ the girls.

  Damian Marks, the owner of the Sweet Kitty, was nothing but a local hood. Trying to play with the big

  boys, Damian thought he·d hit gold when he·d hooked up with Medeiros. Mac had a feeling Marks had

  bitten off more than he could chew, dealing with Medeiros.

  ´Man, check her out. Shit, she·s fine.µ Kyle had interrupted Mac·s thoughts. Kyle nodded his head toward the stage, and Mac·s glance fell on the new dancer.

  Damn, it was her. His dick thumped against his zipper and Mac readjusted himself, his eyes glued on

  the woman on the stage.

  The second reason Mac wasn·t ready to leave DC yet was because of her. Sinful Feathers.

  Damn, she was beautiful. And she stuck out like the peacock her feathered costume

  suggested³she

  was all bright color in a gray lackluster world.

  He adjusted his seat, to see her better. He and Kyle were seated at one of the tables to the right of

  the stage. They·d picked a table giving them an optimal view of the entire club, but still protecting their

  backs, so no one could sneak up on them. Both men had trained for covert operations, where that was an

  essential part of any mission.

  Still, they were angled and positioned close enough so Mac could catalog her beauty, along with the

  graceful way she moved. His eyes narrowed against the spiraling smoke from the

  cigarette he·d left

  burning, unnoticed, in the glass ashtray.

  She wr
apped both of her slim hands around the thick pole in the center of the stage with practiced

  dexterity. With fluid ease, she flipped her curvaceous, yet agile, body upside down and slipped one long,

  muscled cocoa-brown leg

  around the lower end of the pole. She wrapped the other leg higher up the pole.

  Her torso dangled downward, one hand casually holding on to the pole keeping her balanced, the

  other arm thrown behind her.

  The ends of her long hair swept the stage floor as she arched her body away

  from the pole in time with the heavy beat of the music.

  Mac blindly reached for his half-forgotten drink as he watched the beautiful dancer work the pole.

  With a grimace, he took a swallow, his eyes never leaving the semi-nude dancer on the stage.

  3

  U nlike the other dancers, this one never looked at any of the men who whistled and called out to her.

  She wasn·t dancing for the ogling men, but for herself.

  Mac was intrigued by her

  casual, absentminded sexiness.

  As though she didn·t give a damn what the

  ogling, horny bastards at the club thought as they watched her sinewy body wrap around the pole, dancing

  as though she were alone in the room.

  Throughout the two-week

  investigation, Mac had

  witnessed several degrees of skill from the strippers

  at the Sweet Kitty. From the burgeoning, awkward attempts by the neophytes, much like the stuck-up

  heiress he·d rescued, to the jaded, yet proficient, skills of those who·d danced for years.

  None he had seen were like this woman. None of them had

  played with his mind, had given him hot

  dreams at night, cold showers in the morning, like she had.

  Everything about her was

  different, from her slow, hypnotic moves, to the sensual, rhythmic music

  she moved her body to, or the way she never glanced at

  anyone in the audience while she danced.