His Private Dancer by Megan Slayer
The Jordan Brothers, book 1
Contemporary BDSM Dark Romance
M/F, BDSM, Anal Sex, Spanking, Toys, Bondage
#contemporary #darkromance #bdsmromance #hot #nsfw #meganslayer
I want what I want, no question — even her.
Dashiell “Dash” Jordan runs the city of Shaker with an iron fist. Whatever he wants, he gets — except the woman he craves, who hasn’t been available. He’s waited long enough, and nothing will stop him, not even her bastard ex-husband or her con artist father. But once Dash sets his sights on her, will she allow herself to be owned, or will she walk away a second time?
Christy Lane never loved anyone the way she did Dash. She knew the danger of being with him, but she didn’t care. Then Dash left her. She tried to put her life back together, but that life included marriage to a perpetual cheater, being thrown out of her father’s church, and working in the only job she can get — stripping. Then Dash reappears. The memories of their life together rush back — the scenes, the passion and craving. She doesn’t want to be a plaything, but he’s offering her the world. Will she allow him to own her or end their second chance before she’s hurt again?
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©Megan Slayer, 2019, All Rights Reserved
Dash turned the paper over without really looking at it, then flattened the page. He noticed the photos of exotic dancers in an advertisement for one of the clubs. The girls weren’t his type of woman, but he appreciated beauty. Maybe this week she’d be one of the featured dancers.
“Well, they want two hundred thousand, but because it’s vacant, we can talk them down,” Clint said. “A hundred-fifty thousand is more reasonable.”
“Why, if you know what to do and can get the price down, aren’t you negotiating? Clint, I’m one of your only clients.” None of the dancers caught his fancy, but he kept looking. He’d found proof Christy was stripping in one of the clubs, but hadn’t come across her yet. “Well? You should be in the business with me. We should be a team.”
“Because I don’t want to live with the danger. I like being legitimate,” Clint said. “But I’m already negotiating. They’re coming down on the price, so stay tuned.”
“Danger isn’t the only thing I live with.” He doubted Clint got death threats or was shot at on a regular basis. He turned the page of the paper. A slew of ads for strip clubs decorated the space. He looked over the images of the dancers for the one he wanted. There she was, right where he’d expected her to be — Chastity Lane at the X-Caliber Club. Time to visit. “Do you know the X-Caliber Club?”
“Dash.” Clint groaned. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? And no, I don’t. I’ve never been to a strip club. Father made sure my handlers didn’t take me to one. Why?”
“I heard nothing past a hundred-fifty thousand. If you can get the deal going, do it,” Dash said. “I’ve gone to a couple clubs, but not the X-Caliber.” He remembered how his father sheltered Dash’s oldest brother. Their father wanted Clint to stay clean and be the face of the family. Good for public relations, but bad because the family had never left the nightclub business. Clint had a head for real estate, but not running the string of entertainment hotspots.
“Who is she?” Clint asked. “I know it’s a chick.”
“Would you believe me if I said I found Christy?”