Pretty little thing, p.1
Pretty Little Thing, page 1
PRETTY LITTLE THING
LK FARLOW
CONTENTS
Pretty Little Thing
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Dirty Little Secret Prologue
Lk’s Other Titles
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PRETTY LITTLE THING
LK Farlow
© 2022 by LK Farlow
All rights reserved.
Cover Design: Y’all. That Graphic.
Photographer: Lindee Robinson
Models: Xhuliano and Azia
Editing: Librum Artis Editorial Services + My Brother’s Editor
Proofreading: Deaton Author Services + Tiffany Hernandez
Interior formatting: CPR Editing
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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www.authorlkfarlow.com
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To my Phoobs, through our ups and downs, through good times and bad, you’re the person I want by my side. Love you.
PROLOGUE
FRANKIE
“ATF, get your wallets ready!” The DJ’s voice booms through the club, letting me know I better get my ass out there. “Because up next is your all-time favorite, Birdie!”
Even backstage, the whoops and hollers drown out all other sounds as men pull out fresh stacks of cash.
This job is literally the definition of same shit, different day. But the money I make is more than worth the monotony of shaking my ass for horny old men. Plus, it’s not like they can actually touch me—security would toss them so fast they probably wouldn’t even make contact.
I check my mask and pasties one last time and then strut out onto the stage, swaying my hips in a way that’s much sexier than my accompanying music calls for, but still, the crowd eats it up.
My eyes scan the audience as I dance, alternating between working the pole and the floor.
I’m halfway through my routine when a guy I’ve never seen before bolts out of his seat. The intensity of his gaze is alarming. With his tanned skin, dark hair, and rippling muscles, he’s easily the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
For a split second, I think he’s about to rush the stage, but then he turns and heads for the bar. I’m as disappointed as I am relieved, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
The rest of my routine goes off without a hitch, and I quickly gather the cash littering the stage, making a big show of fanning myself with the bills before blowing a kiss out to the crowd and then retreating back behind the relative safety of the curtain.
“Good set,” Walter says, keeping his eyes squarely focused on mine. Being that he’s built like a brick shithouse with the temperament of a grandpa—until messed with—and totally into dick, he’s easily the best part about working here. He watches out for his girls and only hires staff who share his ideals of look but don’t touch and fuck around and find out.
“Thanks, Walt. Want me on the floor?”
He shakes his head. “You got a VIP.”
“Oh.” My heart thumps a little harder in my chest. Being one of the newer girls on the roster, Walter hasn’t put me on the list for private shows… until now. “Okay.”
“You’re ready, kid.” He steps aside, inclining his head toward the door down the hall. “He wanted a bed, but Ronnie talked him down to a couch. Still shelled out the big bucks for a private room, though.”
“Okay,” I say again, feeling more confident. Walt wouldn’t have put my name on the list if he didn’t think I was ready. He’s about people over profit and takes the comfort of his girls very seriously.
“Marcus will be outside of the door the entire time. If he tries anything, hit the panic button. Got it?”
I nod. “Got it.”
Walter grins. “Atta girl. Now go shake that ass like you’re getting paid to do it.”
My confidence grows as I head toward the VIP room. I know from hearing the other girls talk that this is where the big bucks are made. And seeing as I’m already bringing home enough to cover my rent and childcare, anything I make back here will go straight into a savings account for my son.
I nod to Marcus as he opens the door, letting me into the room. “Hey there, hand…” My words trail off as I take in the hottie I noticed during my set, sprawled out on the couch like he doesn’t have a worry in the world.
Quickly, I regain my composure. “Hey there, handsome.”
He rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he slowly takes me in, dragging his eyes over every inch of my body.
My breathing accelerates under his appraisal. His gaze feels hot and heavy, almost like a physical caress against my exposed skin. And I can’t help but wonder if him looking at me feels this good, how much better would his actual touch be?
The man is gorgeous, like out of this world attractive, and he’s here… with me. He’s literally paying money to be here with me.
“You seem nervous.” It’s a statement, not a question.
My hottie’s voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. Deep and rich, like syrup.
“Maybe a little,” I whisper, rubbing my fingertips over my thighs.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you this was my first time?” His lips tip up in what has to be the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen.
“You’d be lying.” Right? Surely a man like him knows his way around a strip club.
“Cross my heart.” He draws an ‘X’ over his chest, and maybe it makes me an idiot, but for some reason, I believe him.
The thought of this being both of our first times in the VIP room sends a whole new rush of nerves—and maybe a little desire—rushing through me.
His lips tip up in a grin as his eyes zero in on my anxious fidgeting. “No need to be shy with me, Bluebird.”
“What?” I feel my brows furrow beneath my mask.
Hottie shrugs. “They call you Birdie, and you have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Seems fitting.”
It’s been so long since a man has complimented me one-on-one—obviously they yell all sorts of things from the tip rail, but smother me with your tits baby isn’t really a compliment—that him simply noting my eye color has my brain going a little haywire.
“Well.” I run my fingers over my thighs again. “I guess we should get started. Wanna make sure you’re getting what you paid for, and all that.”
He jolts forward, as if he wants to say something but can’t find words. His mouth opens and closes, as he wages some kind of internal war, before finally he settles back against the couch and nods for me to continue.
A new song starts, and I move to the center of the room, swaying my hips to the beat. This music is different from what I dance to on stage, and I find myself slightly off count.
Though, judging from the way Hottie’s eyes are eating me up, it’s safe to say he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
My confidence grows with every second, and when he pats his thigh and beckons me closer, I find myself willingly straddling his leg as I dip, roll, and sway my body.
The crotch of my leather shorties brushes against his thick thigh as I drop down to grind on him, and while I’ll never in a million years admit it out loud, the heat of his leg between mine nearly makes me moan.
I guess not having sex in over four years will do that to you.
“Fuck, Bluebird,” Hottie groans when I thrust my tits into his face.
He wants to touch me—his heavy breathing, clenched fists, and massive erection are dead giveaways. But not once does he ever try. Despite being turned on and hard as steel, my sexy stranger remains the picture of respect.
A fact that only makes him hotter.
A fact that makes me want to reward him.
I shimmy away from him, moving so that I’m standing between his legs with my back to him.
His sharp intake of breath when I arch my back and roll my hips only spurs me on.
Gathering my hair in one hand, I lift it off my neck as I wind my body down until m
“Fuck, Bluebird,” he groans, his hips thrusting forward ever so slightly. “You’re killing me.”
I lean forward and wrap my hands around my ankles, making sure he has a good view of my leather-clad pussy before rubbing against him again. “Do you want me to stop?”
I’ve never once been this bold with an ATF patron. Even with men at the tip rail shoving money down my shorts, I’ve always remained a little bit aloof.
But with my sexy stranger, I find myself wanting to throw caution to the wind. I want to touch and tease and play.
Maybe because he’s the kind of guy I’d be interested in outside of these four walls?
“God, no,” is his sharp reply. “Never.”
His voice sounds like pure sin, and it sends an anticipatory shiver down my spine.
“Good.” I lower myself fully, leaning back against his chest and laying my head on his shoulder. His body is rigid beneath mine, like it’s taking every bit of his willpower not to snap.
I roll my head to face him, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. “You… you can touch me.” I swallow and lick my lips, my tongue accidentally grazing his warm skin. “If you want.”
He doesn’t hesitate in wrapping his strong hands around my hips. “Here?”
I nod and then place my hands over his, guiding them up to my breasts. “Or here.”
His fingers flex as I continue to rock my hips.
“You’re perfect.” He rubs his thumbs over my pastie-covered nipples. “What’s your name?”
Drunk on his touch, I almost tell him. Luckily, Marcus bangs on the door, signaling the end of our time together.
I slide from his lap on shaking legs, wondering what in the hell came over me. How did I go from VIP room novice to practically dry-humping a stranger?
Shame coats me from the inside out, and I rush from the room without saying a single word.
Tears sting my eyes and worry turns my stomach. This isn’t who I am. Yes, I’m a young, single mom, but I’m not easy. Hell, my baby daddy is the only person I’ve ever slept with—and clearly that turned out well.
Yet, Hottie had me ready to spread my legs and bounce on his dick all night long, and I don’t even know his name.
“How’d it go?” Walt asks, as I step into the locker room. “He hurt you?”
I shake my head. “No. I just…it was…intense.”
He nods like he understands. “It can be that way. Take the rest of the night off.”
“I can’t. I need—”
Walter wraps his meaty paw around my elbow and walks me to my locker. “Your VIP stint more than covers the rest of the night. Go home and snuggle that son of yours, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiles down at me, like a doting father would at his daughter. “Positive. Now, scram.”
I thank him again, pull on my leggings and hoodie, grab my bag, and dart out of the back door.
Walt’s right—spending the rest of the night snuggled up with my son is exactly what I need to get my head on straight. I don’t strip for fun, and I certainly don’t do it to meet men.
Everything I do is for my son, and I’m not about to let some TDH—tall, dark, and handsome—stranger get in the way of doing what’s best for him. No matter how freaking hot he is.
CHAPTER ONE
FRANKIE
“Are you doing okay?” my brother asks, sighing into the phone. “Are you sure I can’t send you any—”
“I don’t want your damn money, Phoenix,” I growl, clenching the phone between my fingers. We go through this same song and dance every time we talk. And while I know he means well, it grates.
“I’m not like Mom and Dad—there’s no strings attached here, Frank.”
My grip loosens, and a soft puff of air escapes me. “I know you aren’t, but I want to make it on my own—I need to…” To prove to them I can, I add silently.
My relationship with my parents has always been strained—probably because I look exactly like the guy my mom cheated on her husband with when she conceived me. Oops. Not like it’s my fault she slept around, yet for some reason, I’ve always been the one to pay the price.
So, it’s no surprise that telling my lovely parents that I was pregnant at seventeen went over like a lead balloon. Honestly, I was prepared for their anger, and even their disappointment. What I wasn’t expecting was their complete and utter dismissal.
Who knew all it took to ruin our relationship once and for all was a seven-pound-ten-ounce bundle of joy?
I should have known. Because just like with Mom’s affair, anything that doesn’t fit into Franklin and Winnie Davenport’s picture of perfection gets tucked away to the very back of the closet.
In my case, the closet was an adoption agency, and when I vehemently told my parents I wanted to keep my baby, they did what every well-off family does with things they no longer have need for—they threw me out.
And yes, my mom had the audacity to name me after her husband, despite him not being my father. She was almost able to pass me off as his, until my features really sharpened at around two and he realized I looked just like his former business partner.
“I get it.” He pauses. “But sometimes asking for help—”
“So, help me God, I will end this call.” There’s no heat behind my words, because in actuality, aside from my son, my brother is all I have in this world.
The fact that he’s a rockstar is a moot point for me, because I refuse to accept handouts. From anyone. Ever. Even him…especially him.
“Fine, fine. Stubborn ass.” I can practically see Phoenix’s eye roll as his raspy laugh filters through the line, instantly erasing my frustration with him. “How’s little man?”
“Maverick’s good. Growing like crazy. You won’t believe how tall he is when you see him.”
Phoenix sighs again. For as much as he loves performing, I know he’s worn down from years of constant touring. “I need to make some time to come visit.”
“We both miss you.”
“Say the word, and I’ll fly y’all—”
“Phin.” I inject steel into my tone.
“Frankie.”
I know he thinks I’m being stubborn—and sure, part of me is—but I have obligations. I can’t just pick up and hop on a plane to visit him in whatever city he’s in. That’s not how the real world works.
“I have a job and classes, and Mav has his routine.” A sniffle breaks free. I really miss my big brother. “But we definitely want to see you.”
“If you really wanted to see me—”
The alarm on my phone blares to life, conveniently blocking out Phoenix’s pleading—in the nick of time, too, because while he doesn’t know it, I was dangerously close to giving in. It really would be easier for me to go to him, since he’s on tour and all. But I’ve seen firsthand exactly how money and the power imbalance between the haves and the have-nots can destroy relationships.
I’d rather die than let something like that ruin my relationship with Phoenix. Aside from Maverick, my older brother’s the only good thing in my life.
“I’m going to be late for my next class; I gotta go. Love you!” I end the call before he can reply, shoving the phone back into my bag so I can haul ass across campus toward the arts building.
My phone trills again, telling me I’m really out of time right as the building comes into view.
It’s a tall and modern thing, made of mostly glass. It really sticks out, since the rest of the buildings at CVU have an almost cabin-slash-lodge-like quality to them.
“Watch it!” a random guy yells as I nearly bowl him over as I race down the cobblestone path.
