A carefree stripper, a hunky bouncer, and one night neither of them will forget...

Porsche had the best body money could buy, a killer act from which no one could look away, and a lap dance gimmick guaranteed to get—and keep—any man’s attention. The one man’s attention she really wanted, however, was the gorgeous yet mysterious bouncer known only as Mr. G.

G had seen lots of women strut their stuff on the stage at the Den of Iniquity. Most of them were empty-headed bimbos he made it a rule to protect but never to date...until Porsche walked through the door.

After one wild and terrifying night at the club, he finally decided to do something about it.

The first time I took off my clothes for a guy, it was on a dare. I was ten, he was eleven, and we were behind one of the counselors’ cabins at Camp Iroquois Springs.

I learned two important things that day. Guys always find a way to get their jollies first, and watching someone watching me peel off my clothes brought to life an itch I’ve been scratching ever since.

These days I took my clothes off all the time, only there were no dares involved, and the end result proved to be fistfuls of money instead of poison ivy.

For the last two months, I had been scratching my itch on The Quad circuit, a rotation of the four largest clubs for exotic dancers in the tri-city area. My favorite club on The Quad remained Floyd’s Den of Iniquity. With three runway stages, lighted poles, and plush, private lap dance chairs, it was the nicest place I’d strutted my stuff…publicly, that is.

Mr. G, a delectable hunk of bouncer who never let anyone know his real name, would be the other reason the Den of Iniquity topped my list. He looked like most bouncers, muscles as far as the eye could see, and a body fat percentage that could be measured in negative numbers. His thick, jet black hair begged my fingers to dive in for a romp every time I walked by, and he had a way of smiling when he said my name that could make me melt every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Of course, every other girl in the place felt the same way about G—at least the straight ones did. No one ever got more than that heavenly smile or a perfectly timed helping hand, though. Regulars on The Quad had a five hundred dollar pool for the first one to get his real name, but no one had claimed it yet.

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