This book isn't edited. ~••~ “Where the hell is Liza?” Loud stomps and a rageous voice echoed through the hallway into the dressing room, where the strippers prepared for their show as they giggled and babbled their day's event. “She isn't around yet, Dean." One of them—Zoe—answered as the door revealed a crimson face with thin knitted brows above furious green eyes. That was the third time he came checking up on her. “What?” he unbelievably blurted as he glanced at his watch, “Is she aware it's almost twelve?” The room went dead. Dean fisted his hair in devastating frustration. “Tell her to report to my office upon arrival.” his words seeping through clenched teeth was the last thing heard before the door brutally shut. Dean was a tall muscular fair-skinned man dancing in his mid thirties. He owned one of the town's famous private club; Spyce nightclub, worth thousands to millions per night. A single father of a ten-year-old for as long as five years after losing his wife

Lord Huron-- The night we met.Zaphrina stared at her reflection in the giant restroom mirror, eyes focused on a completely different image the mirror reflected of her. What she saw was a depressed and frustrated version. She realized the unwanted masks showed up from the latter event.That wasn't a life she was living anymore, it was more of a hellhole. Her eyes slowly teared up both as a result of an unblinking stare and reminiscence of her life. Zaphrina fought to stop herself from breaking down but her emotions got the best of her and her lips convulsed resulting in a pair of colorless warm liquid run down her chestnut cheeks.She sniffed a couple of times, dabbed the almost dried and cold tears off her face only to give more room to fresh and warmer teardrops.As time elapsed, Zaphrina knew more than just sulk in a restroom all day.What more could make her feel better on an awful Saturday morning but a h

He had been there, not once, not twice but no sign of this mystery lady. He questioned those he thought might help unfortunately they claimed not to know her, those who manage to, won't tell him a thing. Use what you got to get what you want. That certainly didn't cross his senses all that time. But was this lady some sort of illusion? No, she wasn't, she couldn't be, for he felt her that night; every tender part of her body against his. He felt those soft and juicy lips of hers against his where he thought they belonged, her big brown eyes so charming yet stained with a worrying flicker of sorrow and a pain that had him persistently intrigued. He returned to reality at the sound of his office door creaking revealing to him a slender lady in her late forties who adorned a beige designer satin dress on a pair of black three inches stiletto. A thick white vintage designer fur coat over her shoulders complimented her elegant togetherness. To crown it all were a pair of sapphire earrin

Twenty more minutes. Just twenty little minutes and I'm out of here. Liza thought as her body twisted in different acrobatic styles. It certainly wasn't helping her stomach the least bit especially after her encounter with Dean. He threatened to fire her yet again when next she went awry.  Now, the population in the room had suddenly doubled from a couple of minutes ago, she knew too well that it wasn't as a result of more customers filing in--well if at all more really did come in what about the double tables and drinks, did they come in too?  Liza's belly gurgled more and louder with time as a huge lump slowly began to build up to her buccal cavity. Her throat lurched, ready to empty it's suffocating contents but she managed to out smart it by posing into an erect pole stance. Delightfulness tickled her lips but that was just for as short a while as she could remember because nature could really not be cheated. Damn it

"Mira called yesterday, she said she'd been trying to reach you all day to no avail," Kate said, keeping some leftover food into the refrigerator. "I told her you were probably too busy to pick up." "Yeah, I was. Messaged her immediately I saw her missed calls," she confirmed, wiping the last plate in hand. Mirabelle was the closest relative she was in touch with all the way from her paternal home town--Cameroon. Unlike her, Mira as she was preferably called, was married with two kids. A girl who was just a year older than she was.  Zaphrina was just nine years old when her parents took her there. Immediately, she and Mira became inseparable. The only problem she had was communication. She knew nothing about french back then same was Mira with English, but as children are; quick to learn, eight months three weeks spent was more than enough to know every secret of the french language. The doorbell rang just in time, Zaphrina wiped her hands on a k