Home > The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning #3)

The Screw Ball (Indianapolis Lightning #3)
Author: Samantha Lind








Titties, titties and more titties.

Every way I look, I see tits. Big ones, small ones, some with dusty nipples, and others with dark-ass ones that could take a man out. I’m not that picky; I like them all. Especially the pair that are inches away from my mouth as the stripper rolls her body to the beat of the music filling the room.

It isn’t easy, but I keep my hands to myself. House rules state I cannot touch the girls—pretty standard strip club rules—but they can touch me. The chick in my lap—Candy is what she told me her ‘name’ was—slides her barley-covered pussy against my hard cock as she pulls my face between her breasts. I can’t control myself and lick her skin where she’s got my head pinned.

“You like that, sugar?” she asks in what I imagine is the fake-ass sultry voice she uses to entice the guys she does this with on a nightly basis.

“You tell me.” I smirk up at her. She damn well can feel just how much I like what she’s doing to me.

“I get off in an hour,” she states, leaving the rest to my imagination.

“Is that so?” I lick her skin once again, needing another taste of her. I’d like to lick a few other places, but this will have to do for now.

“How much will it cost me for a private hour to finish out your night?” I ask.

“For you,” she says, trailing a finger down my chest as she leans back. Her ass is now firmly sitting on my lap with my cock pressed against her. “A grand,” she says, her eyes raking back up my body.

“Done,” I tell her as I reach into my pocket, pulling out another wad of cash. I watch as her eyes light up while I hand over the Benjamin’s. She could have told me it would be five grand, and I would have handed over the cash.

“Now, what did you have in mind?” she asks, tucking the bills inside her corset.

“Whatever you want to do to me. I’m all yours for the next hour.”

Candy gets up, strutting her fine-ass body around in front of me as she takes the small and private stage. She expertly swings her body around the pole, dancing to the beat of the music for most of our final hour together.

With about ten minutes to go before the night is over, she struts back over to where I’m sitting and gives me one last lap dance to close out the night.

“It takes me about thirty minutes to change and cash out, if you want to hang around outside for me,” she whispers into my ear before leaving my lap.

I drag my eyes up her body until they lock on hers. My cock has been hard for the last few hours, watching her tease the fuck out of me. Hell yeah, I’ll be waiting around for her to get off work so I can actually touch her without getting kicked out of the club.

“I’ll be waiting in my car,” I tell her, swiping my thumb across my bottom lip. “You live close by?” I ask as an afterthought.

“Yeah, just a few blocks away,” she answers before sauntering away. I gather my jacket and hat, sliding my hat on backward before making my way out of the club and to my car.

I slide into the driver’s seat and turn it on to blast the air for a few minutes to knock the temperature down a little bit. With the radio playing in the background, I pull my phone out while waiting on Candy to finish up her work night, and scroll through Instagram. I usually have a good amount of notifications; people like to tag me in the most random shit. But the amount tonight is a lot higher than it usually is, and I realize why as soon as I click on the first one.


Someone snapped multiple pictures of me while in the club getting lap dances, one with my head between her tits—damn, I miss being in that exact spot right now—but I don’t need this shit tonight. I’ve been trying, as much as the team’s PR rep thinks otherwise, to keep myself out of the press since I was called up to Indianapolis.

I flip through some of the comments on the posts. It’s a pretty even split of people encouraging me, and those that are disgusted by my actions. I’m a guy; I like tits, so sue me.

I at least am smart enough not to comment on any of the images. Not much I can do about them now that they’re out on social media. I’m sure they’ve already made the rounds on other sites, and come morning, I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from my agent and Carmen, the team’s PR rep, who I’m pretty sure hates my guts.

“You actually stuck around.” A sultry voice pulls me from the distraction on my phone.

“I told you I would, and if I’m anything, it is a man of my word,” I tell her as I reach to the dash and turn the music all the way down. “Get in, and we can get out of here.”

I watch as Candy walks around the front end of my Lexus SUV. A gift to myself when I got called up and my paychecks got a lot bigger. She opens the passenger door and slides in. Her mini skirt slides up her toned and tanned legs, giving me a lot of skin to look at. I’ve seen more while inside the club, but there’s just something about a woman sitting in the passenger seat of a car that has my blood pumping while the rest of my body is ready to go.

“What way?” I ask once Candy is settled in, and I can pull out of my parking space.

“Take a left out of the parking lot, then a right at the second light,” she instructs. I watch her movements out of the corner of my eye. She’s a little fidgety, and I can tell she’s a bit nervous, so I reach over and place my palm on her thigh.

“This okay?” I ask. I’d never push myself on any woman. That’s not who I am.

“Yeah,” she says as I take a right at the second light as she instructed.

“Now what?” I ask once we’ve turned.

“In about a mile, it will be the large complex on your left. Take the first driveway, and then you can park in any of the spots marked with a visitor sign.”

There is hardly any traffic out with the late hour, so we make it to Candy’s place petty fast. Her complex is newer from the looks of it. I easily find a spot to park, and then we’re both scrambling out of the car and up to her apartment door on the second floor.

“Are you going to tell me your real name?” I ask once we’re inside. I lean my back against the closed door as I wait on the answer.

“It’s Deborah,” she says, turning and smiling at me. She instantly lost the heels she wore when we walked in. Without the height they added to her, she’s a tiny thing. One I could break in half, if I’m not careful.

“Deborah.” I let her name roll off my tongue. I can see why she’d pick a stage name like Candy. It actually suits her. “Come here.” I beckon her closer, giving her the universal come here finger.

“Yes,” she coos as she steps into my personal space. Her fingers land on my chest as she slides the tips down my pecs and abs. Even with the layer of fabric from my T-shirt, it feels as if there is nothing between us. I let her explore my body as she wishes. She’s already felt me up most of the night, so she knows what I’m packing. I let her unbuckle my belt before pulling the button at the top of my jeans open and sliding the zipper down. I watch as she sinks to her knees and pulls my cock free from my boxers.

My cock twitches in her hand as I watch her tongue flick across her bottom lip, wetting it before she leans forward and does the same to my tip. I draw in a breath as she wraps those perfectly lush lips around my tip and sucks.

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