Lucky’s: The Colt by Emilia Mancini

Colton “The Colt” Dalton drew a deep breath when he heard the first thumps of Pitbull’s “I Know You Want Me.”

He tugged his black fedora down over his dark brown hair, he tilted it just enough to hide his face and stepped onto the dark stage, carrying a wooden chair with him.  He sat and posed, his legs spread wide and his hands on his knees, just as the light flared up and the music started.

Women, and a few men, threw catcalls his way before he even moved. Their whistles and shouts nearly drowned out the thumping of the music.

Taking a deep breath, Colt reminded himself that it was just dancing. It was great money. Money he needed if he was going to stay in school.

He had goals, dreams, a bright future. The only thing standing between him and being a professional dancer, a professional non-stripping dancer, were his damn bills. Who could afford school these days without working a full-time job? He sure as hell couldn’t. And he didn’t have the time for a full-time gig, not if he was going to build a resume.

But this…this was sure money.

Going into his second month at Lucky Charms, Colton still had to talk himself into walking on stage. But once the music started thumping and the women started screaming, something took over and he found this was the only place he wanted to be.

He never imagined that would be possible. He never imagined he’d end up on this kind of stage. But after yet another failed modeling audition, he’d slithered into a bar and decided to spend his last twenty bucks drowning his sorrows. After a few drinks, he poured his pathetic can’t-make-ends-meet story on the guy sitting next to him.

The man pulled out a wad of cash, paid for Colton’s drink, and introduced himself as Shameless. Colton should have known right then the guy was trouble.  But Shameless told Colton as long as he had a dick and wasn’t afraid to sling it around he’d make a killing, and then he showed him the cash again as proof.

Colton had started to laugh, but Shameless waved for another round—on him—and suddenly Colton hadn’t found the idea of stripping funny anymore. He’d found it intriguing.

So the next day he met Shameless at Lucky’s and was introduced to a chubby older man with thinning red hair. The man sat at the bar and told Colton to jump on stage and show him what he had. Not what Colton was used to in an audition but he did it and he landed the job.

It hadn’t been easy stepping onto the stage that first night. But it had been a hell of a lot easier than taking his clothes off.  Then he’d remembered something his mother had told him—admittedly standing on stage in front of a room full of people who want to see your dick wasn’t the best time to think of your mother, but it worked.

“Dance for me, Colton,” she’d told him at his first recital. “Don’t worry about the rest of the people, dance for me.”

So Colton had taken a breath, picked a drunken face from the audience, and danced for her.

It had worked like a charm and worked every night since.

Tonight, he stepped out and scanned the tables near the stage until he saw her. The girl he would dance for tonight.

She looked timid as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to be there. The women around her were going crazy just at the thought of him getting near-naked in front of them, but she was reserved. A first timer. It hadn’t take him long to learn how to recognize them.

Her straight dark hair fell to her breasts, two rounded mounds that bounced as she hesitantly danced beside her friend.  The tight, low-cut dress was sexy, but didn’t look as if it belonged on her. He guessed she’d worn it at the insistence of one of the women around her.

She needed to be drawn out before she could actually enjoy herself. And Colt decided he was the one to do it.

He traced the rim of his hat and shrugged in his costume, a tight-fitting black suit with well-placed Velcro, and then stepped in time with the music.

“One-two-three-four. Uno-dos-tres-quatro,” the lyrics instructed.

Colt stopped, gyrated his hips, and traced a hand down the front of his jacket. By the time he reached his waist, three buttons had been released and revealed the black, pinstriped vest beneath.

He looked at the brunette beauty and thrust his cock in her direction several times. The women around her screamed. She smiled, but she still wasn’t into his performance.

He tilted his head and stared at her as he jerked his jacket free.  The fabric fell away and left him standing there in a vest, slacks, and his hat.

He thrust his hips as he sank down until his dick was eye level with some of the women. They squealed and waved money at him as he eyed his girl.  Standing back up, he swayed and moved on to the next drunken set of women.

Hands shoved money at him, and he hadn’t even stripped yet. Yeah, as much as he hated to admit it, he loved this job.

He turned, found her again, winked, and teasingly opened his vest. Women screamed, a man somewhere in the crowd told him to “just fucking get to it already,” but his girl was still guarded. He slid the vest off, tossed it somewhere, and ran his hands down his chest.

He wasn’t as ripped as some of the other dancers, but he had tone. A lot of people thought ballet and tap were for sissies, but a man had to be fit to be controlled enough to dance.  Colton also liked to mention all the gratuitous pussy a straight man in ballet got when men teased him for wanting to be a dancer.

He offered several other tables some humps, thrusts, and gyrations before turning back to the brunette whom he danced for.

“I know you want me,” he mouthed as he ran his hands down the front of his slacks. “You know I want you.”

She laughed and clapped in response.

He smiled at her and the woman next to her screamed and grabbed her arm, realizing he was focused on her friend. The rest of the women at the table took advantage as well, and started jumping and waving money at him.

He stared across the round table at her. “I know you want me,” he sang again, this time jerking his pants away.

The crowd went crazy, and his girl dropped her face into her hands and shook her head. Colt laughed and when she dared to look up again, he gave her his best I’m-gonna-fuck-you smile.

Left in his thong, with a massive and slightly misleading bulge in the front, and fedora, Colt pointed at her and then slowly turned his hand over and crooked his finger, demanding she come to the stage. She shook her head, but wasn’t able to resist the push and pull of her friends. They made sure she got up the stairs and onto the stage. Colt grabbed her hand to make sure she didn’t leave.

He turned her away from her friends and made a show of sliding his hands down her sides. They screamed, she tensed, and he grinned.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your name?”

She looked at him, clearly debating. “Sara.”

“Sara, you can’t touch me. House rules. But I can touch you all I want.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Colt started grinding against her. He heard her gasp, heard her swear, and felt her start to step away.  His hands clasped her ass cheeks and pulled her back to him.

He could see her nipples were hard and pressed against the material of her dress.  Holding her by her ass and grinding against her, he moved her to his chair and sat her down.

She looked desperately at her friends who screamed with excitement.

“Hands on the chair,” he ordered.

She hesitantly obeyed, but once she gripped the seat, he thrust his barely covered dick in her face in time with the music.

“One-two-three-four. Uno-dos-tres-quatro.”  And then again.

He jumped back, bent forward, and slid his nose tauntingly down her chest. The audience cheered as he teased her, or maybe because they could see his ass. He wasn’t sure, but he knew this was the part that drove the crowd crazy.

His face lowered until his head was in her lap.  He shook his head back and forth like a tiger going after its prey. Sara nearly jumped from the chair. She pulled her hands from the seat, but then seemingly remembered the rules and gripped the seat again.

Colt moved back up her body, but this time he gyrated his way to sit on her lap. His oiled-down body was inches from her face, and he looked down.  She was actually laughing, but wasn’t giving him the overexcited response he was used to.

“You need another drink,” he said in her ear.

“I don’t drink,” she confessed.

“Oh, baby, you should start.” He stood up enough to thrust to the music again before backing away. “Don’t move,” he instructed.

He turned to the crowd and gave them some attention, taking their money in return. He slid his way to the floor, crawled around, gave some extra grinds to the table of older women who offered bigger bills. Then crawled back to Sara.

She had obeyed and stayed seated. He slid his hands up her legs as he rose. He stood over her, one leg on each side of the chair, grabbed her head and pulled her into his crotch as the music ended on an upbeat and the lights went out.

The audience screamed. Sara started struggling against him.  He laughed as he released her. The lights came up, he stepped back and took her hand. He held it as he bowed and then let her go as she practically ran off stage.

Colt hurried off-stage to empty his g-string of cash and re-oil his skin so he could rush out and talk to Sara. He wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed dancing with her and how he hoped she would enjoy the rest of the evening.

But when he pushed his way to her table, after brushing off the attentions of dozens of other women without completely disrespecting them, he found her gone. Some of the other women were there, screaming at Shameless as he danced, but Sara had disappeared.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

“She was embarrassed,” someone called to him.

He looked at the woman who moved toward him from the bar with two drinks her in her hand, both sloshing over with each staggering step.  “What?” he asked.

“Sara. She was embarrassed. She left.”

“Oh,” he said.

“You should look her up. She was into you.”

Colton laughed. “I’m sure, but I’m not the kind of guy women want looking them up.”

“Fuck that,” she slurred. “You could look me up anytime. She works at a little flower place, This Bud’s For You. Is that not the cheesiest fucking name you’ve ever heard or what?”

Colton laughed when she snorted and handed a drink off to her friend. “You know we have waitresses for that.”

“I wanted to check out the bartender. He’s hot as fuck. Anyway, she works every day, all day, except Sunday. Look her up. She needs to get laid.”

Colton laughed again. “Oh, yeah?”

“All she does is work and paint and paint and work.”

“She paints?”

“Better than that Picasso fuck if you ask me. Go see her. She needs a break. Maybe you can give it to her.”

Colt smiled as he imagined Sara staring intently at a canvas.  “Yeah. Maybe.”

*

Sara looked up when the bell above the door rang.  It was closing time on Monday. She barely had any fresh flowers left. Why the hell was someone coming in this late?

She forced a smile on her face, and it froze the moment the man turned around.

Holy shit.

It was, without a doubt, him. The stripper. The man who had bumped and ground his way into her dreams. Barely a moment had passed since three nights ago that she hadn’t thought of him, dreamt of him, imagined him buried inside her. And now he was here, looking at her and smiling. Walking toward her.

Holy shit.

“Sara,” he said.

She swallowed. His voice was as deep as she remembered, his eyes were as blue, and his smile as sexy.

“Colt,” he reminded her.

“Uh…yeah…I, uh, I remember.”

He smiled, looked bashful and a little bit nervous, and held out a small package. Sara looked at it and realized it was a slice of chocolate cake. When she looked at him again, his cheeks turned the slightest shade of red.

“I would’ve brought you flowers, but that seemed kind of pointless since you work in a flower shop.”

“Uh…right. I, uh…I see your point.”

He looked at her for a moment, and Sara realized she sounded as stupid out loud as she had in her head. She couldn’t help stuttering and sounding foolish. The last thing she had expected was this gorgeous sample of manliness to be standing in front of her.

For the last few nights, she’d imagined him there, in the shop, lifting her on the counter and then slamming his cock into her. He’d grinded against her as he whispered in her ear just as he had done on the stage. She blushed and looked down at the cake again.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the package. She smiled when she noticed it still had the price tag on it from the bakery next door.

“I’m sorry to just drop in on you. Your friend, I don’t know her name.” He smiled. “She said I should pay you a visit. I thought about it for a few days and decided it wasn’t a terrible idea.” He stopped rambling and she realized her mouth had fallen open.

She clamped it shut and reminded herself to breathe. “Lori is the one with the big mouth. It was probably her. She told you where I worked?”

“She was pretty drunk. She thought—”

Sara laughed. “That I need to get laid. Yeah, she tells me that pretty regularly. But look, as much as I may or may not need a good fuck, I don’t,” she gestured toward him, “you know.”

Colton shook his head. “You don’t what?”

Her face heated. “I don’t pay for it,” she whispered even though they were the only ones in the shop.

His brows lifted and his smile fell. “Well,” he said, his voice void of the warmth it had before, “I don’t sell it. I thought were you pretty, Sara. And when she told me you were an artist, I thought that was really cool. I just wanted to, I don’t know, grab a coffee or something. Talk about your paintings. I shouldn’t have listened to her. I’m sorry.”

Sara watched him turn and head toward the door. Her heart ached at the clear insult she had hit him with. But how was she to know he was here because he thought she was pretty? And that he liked art? “Wait,” she called dropping the cake on the counter and rushing to him. “Colt. Wait. I’m sorry.”

He turned and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Sara. It was stupid. It’s not like I work in,” he gestured around him, “a flower shop. I’m a stripper. I take my clothes off for money. It’s not the line of work where you meet people who are looking for a good old fashioned date.”

“I’m sorry,” she said more forcefully. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’re a prostitute.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Shit, I’m an ass. I’m sorry.”

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded when he turned away again. She reached and grasped his bicep. It was as firm as she had imagined. “Please,” she asked softly. When he faced her again, she offered him a timid smile. “I’d like to have coffee. I would. Well, tea, because I don’t drink coffee. Either way, it would be nice. I’d like to talk to you about…well, anything.”

His smile slowly returned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Come with me.” She nodded her head toward the back of the store.  She gnawed at her lip as he followed her. She could have sworn she felt his gaze on her, watching her ass with every step she took as she led him past the counter into the back room. “Go up those stairs. That leads to my studio. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Your studio is up there?”

She smiled. “Yeah. It’s kind of shitty, but it’s mine.”

“Nice,” he said. He looked at her for another minute before heading for the stairs.

“What am I doing?” She rushed to lock the front door. She flipped the sign to Closed and locked the register, making a mental note to cash out the drawer later. Closing the door to the back room behind her, she rushed up the stairs, and drew a deep breath before entering the one room studio where she spent most of her life.

She kept a cot in the room and slept there more than at her apartment. So much so, she planned on giving up the apartment at the end of her lease and permanently moving into the studio.  All she needed was a bed and a refrigerator anyway, and she already had that here. It was a waste of money to keep paying rent on a place she rarely saw.

Opening the door, she smiled when Colt turned and looked at her. “So? What do you think?”

“These are amazing.” He sounded genuinely impressed.  He turned back to the canvas he had been admiring. “I mean the colors you used on this complement the emotion of it so well. And the use of negative space, was that intentional?”

Sara knew the surprise she felt was written on her face. “You know art?”

He smiled. “I’m a dancer.” His eyes closed for a moment before looking at her. “I’m going to school for ballet and tap. The other dancing just pays the bills. I spend a lot of time around artists. We’re all on the same wavelength really. Don’t you think? The creative streak that flows through us.”

“Ballet?” Her voice was soft as she imagined his body stretched, his muscles taut, covered in a tight second skin.

He lowered his face. She realized he’d taken her question wrong. He probably had just as many people mocking him for his passion as she had for hers. A painter? Who the hell wanted to be a painter? Except some unbalanced dreamer who had no idea what it meant to work for a living?

“I love ballet.” She hoped to counter any misassumptions she might have caused. “I’d fuck Mikhail Baryshnikov so hard he wouldn’t be able to plié for a month.”

Colt laughed. “Oh, yeah?”

Sara smiled and felt her insides coming to life. Her friends acted as if she were celibate by choice, but the truth was, she couldn’t find a man who she found attractive. All the ones she thought interesting were gay, and she just wasn’t turned on by simple physical appearance.

Not that male beauty hurt. Colt had a beautiful body. His muscles were toned and his skin was tanned. His eyes were a clear blue that stood out boldly against his dark hair.  And his cock, the one that he’d rubbed over her body while he’d danced nearly naked, was nothing to be embarrassed about.

Sara sat on the lone stool in her studio and looked at this man who somehow seemed to fit there. “Dance for me? Really dance, not…stripper dance.”

He hesitated for a moment, a wistful smile toying with his lips, and then he slipped his jacket off and hung it on an empty easel. He looked at her for a moment before he moved with so much grace it took her breath away.

His back arched, his arms lifted, and his leg extended straight up. He spun as if an unseen force moved him. The motion was so smooth, so amazingly simple, it seemed as if anyone could do it. When he lowered his leg and turned to her, Sara saw the passion in his eyes.

He jumped effortlessly and landed perfectly. She felt a twinge of longing inside her pulsate into full-blown desire. The intensity in his eyes set her skin on fire. She felt a million pin-pricks on her skin, felt wetness between her legs, and her nipples tightened with anticipation.

His grace, his perfect movements, instantly made her wonder what he would be like in bed. So powerful, yet so gentle. So strong, yet so soft. Her desire must have been obvious, because he stopped and held her gaze.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered.

“As are your paintings.”

Sarah exhaled slowly. “So, this is going to sound incredibly forward but…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. She couldn’t. Colt stepped forward and threaded his hands in her long hair. His mouth covered hers, and she accepted him.

His kiss, like his dancing, was passionate but controlled.  His tongue slipped into her mouth, brushing along hers, tasting her as if she were a delicacy that he might never have again. He licked at her lips, suckled them, and then leaned back to look at her.

“We should have a proper date first.”

Sara grinned. “That wasn’t a proper date the other night?”

He laughed. “I was thinking dinner and a movie. Or a show. Maybe a gallery opening.”

“I’d like that,” Sara said. “But, it’s well past time for dinner. Or a show. Or a gallery opening. And you’re here. And I’m here. So…” she exhaled slowly, “maybe we can do that next time.”

“Next time?”

“I’d like there to be a next time.”

“Me too.”’

“Good.”

“Okay,” he said nervously.

“Kiss me again,” she breathed.

This time when his mouth met hers, she ran her hands over him. She hadn’t been allowed to touch him before. It had been hell, but this time, her artist’s hands roamed over him and soaked in every contour and ripple of his muscles.  His arms, his chest, his back.  Finally, unable to bear not feeling his skin, she pulled his shirt up. He discarded it.

She looked at him now. Without the harsh lights and the slick oil, she saw him for who he was. A beautiful dancer. Her gaze took him in, memorized him, painted him in her mind. Then she closed her eyes and leaned into him, inhaling his scent.

His hands were at her waist, and she raised her arms so he could lift her shirt away exposing her red lace bra. He caressed her as she had done to him.  He traced his fingers to where her skin disappeared beneath the material and then circled the tight bud of her erect nipple, then down to her stomach, and then back up to cup her face.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Sara closed her eyes and let her head fall back when he moved his mouth to her neck. He nibbled at her skin, licked at her flesh, and sent her senses spiraling out of control.

He picked her up and she clasped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the cot with an ease that proved his strength. He laid her back and hesitated when she looked up at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He smiled and he moved to suckle her nipple through the material. He released her jeans and slid them over her hips so he could toss them aside. Her panties followed, leaving her neatly shaved pussy exposed to him. He let his hands move over her thighs several times, each time getting closer to her center until finally he parted her.

She held her breath, anticipating his wonderful assault. Suddenly his mouth was on her, and she gasped. He licked her clit and then sucked the nub into his mouth. His tongue moved over it, swirling around it, and sent her spiraling out of control.

She dug her hands into his hair, pushed him deeper between her legs as she rolled her hips to meet him. She cried out. It had been forever since she’d had a man worshiping her, and it instantly sent her to the edge of a massive climax.

All Colt would need to do was…

“Oh God,” she screamed when he slid two fingers into her. The sensation was more than she was able to handle. Her entire body tensed, her back arched, her teeth ground, and for several long moments all she could do was hold on.

When she could finally breathe again, she collapsed back on the bed and pulled at Colt’s hair until he slithered up her body.  “Thank you,” she panted.

He grinned and leaned down to kiss her. She could taste her cream on his mouth. She kissed him more deeply as she struggled to release his pants.  Within moments he was naked, and Sara pushed him to stand.

She stroked his long, thick cock, admiring the smoothness, the large head, and the balls that were tight against his body in preparation for his release. She looked up at him and grinned as she ran her nose along his length. He shuddered when she blew at the tip.

“I didn’t tease you,” he complained.

“But you did,” she said. “The other night, wagging this thing in my face, brushing it over my body, not letting me touch you.”

“Those are house rules,” he reminded her, “not mine.”

“Even so.”

“Shit, Sara,” he moaned when she brushed her tongue over the head of his cock, licking at the pre-come that was leaking from him. He gasped when she finally slid her mouth over him, taking his length. He moaned as she moved her head forward and back, curling her tongue around his shaft and sucking as she pulled back.

By the time she stopped, he was tense and panting.  He frantically ripped a package open and covered his dick with a condom while Sara discarded her bra and lay back on the bed.

He took a moment to check out her tits before he stretched over her.  He slid deep into her with no pretenses they were making love. Tonight was about fucking, and that’s how he entered her, fast, hard, and deep.

She cried out as her body stretched to accommodate his girth. He was well-endowed, and it had been a long time. It only took a moment for her to adjust, and then her hips rocked to meet his. They slammed together, her muscles contracting, his dick throbbing as the friction lulled them deeper into the throes of passion.

It only took a few minutes before she tensed beneath him and came hard. She began to relax, but Colt apparently wasn’t done yet. He pulled out and grabbed her hips which he used to turn her onto her belly. She pulled her knees under her and stuck her ass in the air. He ran his hand over her ass cheeks for a moment and then put his face between her legs. She gasped when he licked her clit, loving that he gave it so much attention.

And then he was on his knees behind her. He pulled her hips back, and she easily slid onto his cock. He was deep in her and rotating his hips, giving her a moment to brace herself, and then he pulled back and slammed forward.

Sara called out, half with pleasure, half with pain. No, it was all pleasure. She was certain of that when he did it again.

“Harder,” she demanded. He obliged.

Their bodies smacked together as she bucked back to meet his thrusts. He was as deep as he could go and then he pulled back, nearly leaving her body, before he slammed forward again. His pace increased—in, out, in, out, back, forward, empty, full—until once again Sara’s body tensed so tightly she thought she’d come undone. Only this time, his fingers dug into her hips and he screamed with her.

He moved several more times, a few post-ejaculation thrusts and then he relaxed against her. Sara laughed softly as she fell forward onto the cot. A moment later he was beside her, naked and sweaty and breathless.

He turned his face to meet her gaze and smiled as he reached over and brushed hair from her face. “You know,” he said, “I really did just want to ask you out for coffee.”

Sara laughed as she leaned up and kissed him, feeling confident they would have plenty of time for coffee in the future.