Book Cover: Capricious

This is a short story.

Lacey Caldez is in a bind.

Her bills aren't paid, her mother is broken, and they're about to lose their house. Realizing she's low on options, she buries her pride and approaches the last person she ever wanted to owe a favor to.

Robbie Reynolds is brutal, demanding, and one hell of a mobster. He's also her ex. But despite his character flaws, he offers her a chance to avoid financial ruin—but can she stomach what he's asking of her?


The lounge thumps out club music, shaking the walls in the hallway. I peek out from behind the red velvet curtain and see Misty at the tail end of her set. She's spread-eagle on the floor, her mile-long legs stretched in the air, stacked stilettos pointed toward the ceiling. She swings around the pole and then climbs it like a gymnast, her biceps constricting with the movement.

I watch her with such intensity it borders on voyeurism. The way her peachy skin blurs with the myriad spotlights reminds me of the trapeze artists at the circus. They move so effortlessly, aware of their bodies with every motion.


A balding sweaty man licks his lips and throws a dollar at Misty, but it floats aimlessly, missing the stage. His face crinkles and he pulls another bill from his wallet, this time setting it on the stage gingerly. Misty slithers down the pole like a snake and then crawls to the dollar bill. She stuffs it in her G-string and moves closer to the sweaty man. When her chest is on the same level as his face, her hands move to the back of his head, pushing his face into the valley of her tits. She shimmies fast enough for him to get a nice faceful of flesh and slow enough for him to enjoy it. She pulls back and his smile is so wide I'm afraid it might split his face in two.

The music stops and the DJ introduces Brandi. She struts onstage, her showgirl costume glittering against the flashing disco ball. Misty walks away, her hand grazing Brandi's during the pass by. She steps through the curtain, a thin sheen of sweat glazing her face.

"Decent crowd tonight," she says, pulling the bills from her G-string.

"I could do with a few more faces in the crowd. Need the money."

She puts her hand on my shoulder. "Oh, honey. I know you're still new, but don't let crowds like last night get your hopes up. That was unusual."

I frown. "That's what Brandi said too. But fifteen hundred dollars every shift would make up for the pervs we see in here."

Misty's laugh is surprisingly masculine, given her womanly figure. "Ain't that the truth. Just do your best and you'll be fine here." She walks toward the dressing room.

I use the few minutes before my set to slather vanilla-lavender oil over my skin. I reach beneath my thong to cover the recently waxed flesh of my crotch. I massage the oil onto my breasts, the scent wafting up. At least I smell damn good. The last verse of Brandi's song filters through the speakers. Taking a deep breath, I reposition my glasses. Here goes nothing.

"Next to the stage is Lacey, our resident sexy librarian. Better be on your best behavior, boys—she gets rather naughty with a ruler."
I strut onto the stage, swinging my hips back and forth. The spotlight from the ceiling beams down on me, casting the rest of the lounge into darkness. The music picks up speed and with one hand on the cold metal pole, I swing myself around in a circle, my body twisting and turning with the movement of the beat. I land in the splits, my legs like toothpicks on either side of me. I slide them together and sit on my haunches, my ass directly in front of Sweaty Man. I shake, making the men hoot and holler. A couple of crumpled dollars slide beneath my legs. Smiling, I stand up slowly, rolling my body as I rise. My hands run over the oily skin of my stomach until I reach my tits. I cup them and bend over, displaying their roundness in full glory. Another round of hoots from the crowd.
I make my way through the line of men standing at the stage. I shake, twist, and flit about seductively until I stand against the pole in nothing but my stilettos.

The first time I stood in this exact spot I felt exposed. Dirty. Raw. Like the entire lounge could read my thoughts as if they were etched into my alabaster skin. Now, though, it's liberating. I'm more naked in clothes than out of them.

Like I used to do when I was a bad, bad girl.

That's the thing about power: it consumes you from the inside out. Races through your veins like a shot of crack, begging you for more. That's why I had to get away from that feeling.

And here I am, right back to it.

The spotlight falls over me and I allow the patrons to disappear in the darkness of the lounge with my hands tracing every inch of my skin. The music fades and the claps erupt. I bow and pick up the remaining money thrown to the stage.

Reviews:DMM wrote:

I'm not sure where to start. This book is nothing like I thought it would be! I was captivated by Lacey's story from the moment I started reading. I loved that the heroine was strong minded and street smart. No damsel in distress here... 🙂 A great quick read.

Amazon Customer on Amazon wrote:

I did not see this short story coming, but it grabbed hold and kept me glued to the page for every delicious word. The story is fully realized and well plotted. The characters have depth and their motivations are ubiquitous. Every word, every sentence pulls back a new layer for the reader. It's not a long story so I won't go on and on about what a truly terrific piece of writing this is. I'll just say this: Dang, this girl's got skills.

For people interested in suspense, action, and a dash of erotica.