Tempting To Touch Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)

This isn’t the woman I wanted to be.
With my dad gone and my mom sick, it’s up to me to take care of my little brother.
Jobs that lead to nowhere have become the norm.
It’s always just been me, and I don’t have anyone else.
That is until Eddie Snow comes back into my life. He was once my dad’s friend, but my dad is long gone, locked behind bars.
Eddie now owns the strip club that I work at as a waitress, and I want him more than anything.
Of course, he’s almost twenty years older than me.
It’s all just in my head.
Eddie could be with any woman in the world, so why would he want me?
I’m honestly nothing much to look at. Sure, I have a pretty face, but my comfort is food because of all the stress I’ve been under. It has left me a bit curvy with some extra pounds I don’t appreciate.
When my life is put in danger, though, Eddie proves that he’s not going anywhere.
Eddie just might be my savior and my sin all in one.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



I ignore the whistling and the cat calls. I’ve gotten really good at that.

I concentrate on the cold bottle in my hand and the tray of empty plates in the other. They teeter with the uncertainty of my balancing act. The dark amber color of the liquor sloshes in the thick glass, heady and potent.

Just behind me, the glittering dancers writhe and twist against the shiny, metal poles that rise out of the long stage.

My focus has become otherworldly as I make my way, dragging me out of my mind and making it so that I can forget I’m in the dark club and that I’m in the midst of a world that I would never have thought I would be in.

In no part of my mind had I ever imagined I would be working in a strip club.

The pay is pretty good, even though the hours are hell on me.

I’m happy that I’ve had a shorter night. I’m compiling my grocery list of things I need in my head as I wonder if Stevie has fallen asleep yet or if he’s still awake.

After the song for the girls’ finishes, I try to hurry to the kitchen. The dancers are already grabbing their money off the stage, and I lean across one of my tables as I pass by, remembering to scoop up a few of the bills scattered across the dark wood. I stuff the money into the tattered pocket of my purple, well-used apron.

The men are still at the table, and when their eyes turn to me, they look hungry.

This is the part of this job I hate the most. The men have no respect or remorse at all.

I remember how some of the bouncers sometimes keep a good chunk of the scattered money after it’s collected, at least from the dancers. I've seen girls walk out with a grand in their pocket. Their bills paid for the week.

For me, my tips are usually my own. I guess that’s a plus as a waitress here.

If I’m being completely honest, it’s incredible to watch other women take an entire check from patrons with little to no effort on their end.

Three drunk men are waving money at me from a table in the center of the room.

I push down the urge to yell at the guy who smacks my ass as I approach, easily slipping the fifty out of the man’s other hand while he seems distracted.

I hurriedly make my way out of the main room with its dimly lit booths and tables, blinking against the glare of the flashing neon lights from the high stage.

I drop my tray of dirty plates in the kitchen, and the cook nods solemnly at me.

It isn’t until I’m safely inside the dressing room with a hoard of lingerie-clad women that I really let myself breathe. This is the only place where I feel safe.

I lean against the table, letting it take my weight as I stare at myself in the mirror.

My hair is long, and the sandy blonde color looks like gold in the soft light. Big, sad-looking green eyes stare back at me, and my reflection blinks thick, dark lashes at me. The soft angles of my pale face threaten to give away my real age.

I shake myself, pushing the thoughts from my mind. No one can know about it.

I still had glitter scattered over my entire body from the explosion of the sparkle bomb that happened when I was standing too close to the stage to avoid it. It makes me feel like one of the dancers, blending in.

Why the club still does the glitter-filled sparkle bomb is beyond me, but the other women loved glitter, and the men on the floor exploded with shouts and applause.

I see the glint in the eye of the patrons as the dancers move for them.

Sometimes I find myself wishing that I’m one of them on stage, twisting my body to and fro in the dark and captivating the men around me like a siren on the sea.

Instead, I always get the strangest customers who want the dancers but decide to settle for their waitress instead. Earlier had been an example of that sort of thing.

The man was a somewhat regular. I’ve seen him almost every day since I started at The Scarlet Lounge. He has always been too handsy, in my opinion, but the money is usually worth it for me. I need it more than I need to worry about anything else.

The man has always paid in hundreds. Today though, after I handed him his hot chili wings, he decided to slip an extra bill into my tiny, tight shorts, smacking my ass with a loud, boisterous laugh that made my skin crawl where I stood by him.

Of course, the bouncers had been too busy to see it happen, or so I assume.