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Riven spots her the minute he walks into the gentlemen’s bar. How could he not?
She’s a foreign beauty; skin pale and dewy from the glittery body lotion that shimmers underneath the
“Nice, right? She’s new, and already a favourite”, Big Logan says, nodding up at the stage where the dancers were prancing around in lingerie.
Riven gives a nod, then takes his seat, eyes never leaving the stage.
A scantily clad waitress comes around and Logan orders neat whiskey while Riven opts for a dry gin. He needs to stay alert, it’s only his third day on the job and he can’t afford any slip-ups. He was sent to help clean up the mess anyway; no point in getting messy himself.
“So, the boss has been keeping a close eye on you… and he likes what he’s sees”, Logan began in a low, gruff baritone.
“Just doin’ my job”, the younger man says. He trains his eyes to tear away from the girl dancing on stage. “I wanna prove my loyalty to the big man. I want him to know that he can trust me. I ain’t looking to be muscle forever, I wanna work my way up in the organisation”.
“Ambitious, huh?”, Logan asks with a smirk on his face.
“I gotta be – this is the only life I know”, Riven notes. He looks back at the stage, and at the pale, dark-haired dancer who’s finally noticed him, too.
Her expression changes when their eyes lock.
The waitress comes around with their drinks and Riven takes a slow sip of his while his focus remains on the exotic dancer, who now was showing off her skills on the pole. She swirls her hips around, dips down low, then rises to her full length slowly… sensually. She knows exactly what to do to grab his attention and keep it.
And he’s just a man, despite how much he prides himself on never just giving to his baser urges. He’s still flesh and blood, and right now that blood was rushing to only on location.
He finishes his drink, then makes up an excuse to stand up and seek out the manager or whoever was in charge of this place. This high-end stripper bar with the obnoxiously loud slowed and reverb remixes of songs playing over the speakers.
He finds the man in charge - a short, stocky fella named Rudi.
Rudi has a beer in hand and he’s arguing with a bottle blonde over some money.
“Get your ass backstage, you’re up next, blondie”, he says and nudges the girl away. When he spots the imposing figure of Riven, he gives a smarmy smile. “Good evening, how can I help ya?”
Riven sized the little man up – he wasn’t gonna do shit, especially not if Riven stuffs a couple hundred in his hand.
“Your girls give private dances?”, he asks, face remaining stoic.
Rudi lets out a loud belly-laugh and nods. “They sure do. Now, which one of our girls do you wanna get to know more intimately?”
Riven doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Her”, he says, turning around and nodding over to the girl he’s been watching all night.
“Oooh… you want Miss Saigon over there?”, Rudi asks with a dirty smile. “Yeah, she’s very popular”.
Riven turns back around to face the man. “How much for one private dance?”
“Well, that’s very uncouth”, Rudi says with a tut of his lips. “We’re civilised gentlemen, aren’t we? Why be so crass and ask about money right off the bat?”
Riven’s face remains unmoved. He doesn’t have the time to banter with this clown; he needs her. Right now. “How. Much?”
Rudi holds his grubby hands up. “Alright, alright – I can see you’re a very important man. You’re friends with Big Logan, so I would assume you’re a very… serious man”. He notices the gun hanging off of Riven’s hip. “Four-hundred for a fifteen minute dance in the Champagne Room. The lady has let it be known that she will only dance; nothing more”. He looks up at the stage. “However, for a hundred dollars more, you can touch”.
Riven doesn’t hesitate, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and shelling out five hundred cash. “Get her off the stage, I’m not a man who likes to wait”.
Two minutes later, he’s following the woman to the back, eyes trailing over her figure in the black lacy bra and panty set she had on. The bra and panty set that covered next to no skin at all. The lower his gaze drops, the more he thinks this was just a bad idea.
But, finally, they make it into the Champagne Room – a location far less glamourous than the name would suggest.
It’s a poorly lit room with an old leather couch against the wall. There’s a bar in there, too, but it could do with a restock.
The girl walks over to the stereo system and presses play. The room fills up with the same sultry music playing out front, only now it’s not too loud to hear himself think.
Then she turns around and faces his again head-on for the second time that night.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE, RIVEN?”, she asks with venom dripping off the words.
“First of all, lower your tone – no one needs to know what happening here”, Riven says, shrugging off his jacket.
“They can’t hear us”, Musa confirms. “Now, tell me why you’re here – this is my case”.
“The Agency sent me out, okay? It’s been three weeks and we’ve gotten nothing from you”.
“Yeah, ‘cos I’m deep undercover. I can’t just rock up at the HQ whenever I want”.
“People… were worried about your safety”, Riven says defiantly, and crosses his arms. “I was sent in to make sure you’re okay and to see what the hell is happening on this damn case”.
“So, what? You’re taking over?”
“No”, he said calmy. “No, Agent Pham, I’m not taking over – I’m going to expedite the situation by becoming another player in the undercover case. I’ve spent a week infiltrating Umberto Guilliano’s crime family and I’m already looking at a possible promotion. Meanwhile, you’ve been shaking your ass and putting yourself in danger and getting nowhere—”
“Sit down”, Musa then instructed.
Riven had a quizzical look on his face.
“Sit. Down. Riven. There are cameras in here. If we stand here arguing the whole time, it’s definitely going to arouse suspicion and you’ll blow my cover”.
Riven relents, and sits down on the couch. He watches as his fellow Federal Agent saunters up to him and he can’t keep his eyes off her breasts or the curve of her hips.
He’s always found Musa Pham very attractive. Annoying and loud and way too unladylike, but attractive.
“I have to dance for you or else they’re gonna know something’s up”, Musa explains through gritted teeth. “And I really don’t want to, but it’s part of my cover, so…”
“How many of these lap dances have you given?”, Riven askes, trying to keep his face and his voice neutral and not show Musa how affected he really is by her in this outfit.
“A few”, she answers easily. “I actually enjoy torturing men – who would’ve thought”.
“Any man who’s met you”, Riven notes off-handedly. He loves a good smart remark at Musa’s expense. But when she plants herself in his lap and her hips slowly starts gyrating, he realises that she’s about to have the last laugh.
He doesn’t understand why it feels so good.
It’s not like he hasn’t had sex in a while – just last week he’d had a casual night with a girl he saw from time to time. And he’d gotten lap dances before.
When Agent Timmy Carter turned twenty-eight, they dragged him out to a gentlemen’s bar and Riven had gotten a dance from a girl back then, too. But this feels different. The way he’s responding to it feels different, too. His body feels totally and completely relaxed, but his erection was growing and it was hard to ignore and impossible to hide.
Musa’s way too good at this. His hands itches to grab at her waist and pull her down so that there’s friction; so that he could find some kind of release.
But she’s always just a grasp or two away.
The music fills his ears, and she fills every other sense of his. All his sees is her – the way her body moves to the music. He feels her on him, her weight weighs him down in the best possible, most pleasurable way. He smells her sweet, cherry blossom perfume so much that he’s practically tasting it, too.
He wants to taste her – right now.
Musa slips out of his lap, then turns herself around and straddles his thighs. “Look, I know what I’m doing. I’m a good fucking Agent”.
“That’s debatable”, Riven murmurs. She lightly slaps his face in retaliation, but he likes it. “Look, you are a decent Agent; this op is just too big for you. They sent me in because this is a dangerous environment. We’re dealing with human traffickers here, Musa. I know you think you’ve got it figured out, but you’re lost. I’m here to help you”.
“I don’t need your help, Riven – I’ve got a handle on this”.
“You’re half-naked, sitting on my dick right now – you call that having a handle on it?”, he asks.
But his words only brings attention to his current state and the bulge in his jeans. She looks down and notices it. He grimaces, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Her tits are right in his eyeline, and he can’t avert his gaze – he’s locked in on her perky, hardly a handful sized breasts and it’s not exactly helping his… situation.
“We’re talking way too much; they’re gonna notice”, Musa says and starts to sway her hips side to side again. She leans forward, runs her delicate hand through his deep red hair. “Just let me dance, and then get the hell out of here”.
He scoffs but sits back and watches her grind on him. The way her lithe body moves is entrancing; her hips are magnetic and he can’t tear his eyes away. Everything about this woman was so damn infuriating – even now, when she’s dressed in lingerie and dancing on him.
Musa Pham has always been a thorn in his side; since their days at the Academy. They used to work the beat together. Used to spend hours in the patrol car on stakeouts, where she’d play the most annoying poppy songs and sing along even though they were supposed to be focused on the task at hand.
Then, they got promoted together. They had different partners then and although he liked Timmy well enough, he was always annoyed that Musa got the better partner. Agent Brandon Greene was a much better fit, and they solved a lot of cases, went on the biggest ops and got to do all the glamourous shit he always envisioned he would do.
But maybe he was just jealous that Brandon got paired with Musa and he didn’t. She was his partner first.
“You paid extra to touch, you know”, she reminds him, thin eyebrow raised just an inch of an inch higher. “It would look suspicious if you didn’t”.
Riven gulps, and he hopes Musa doesn’t notice. “I won’t touch you without your consent”, he says softly, though his face remained stoned and stoic.
“Put your hands on my hips”, she instructs. “I give my consent”.
He moves his hands slowly, from the couch cushions onto her barely-there waist. Her skin feels warmer than he expected, he always thought she’d feel cool to the touch, but now he’s touching her and she feels warm, and soft. Without thinking about it too much, his hands slide up and gently cups her breasts. He meets her gaze. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, Musa”. The music echoes in his ears, but his mind is muddled and clouded with thoughts of her. He wants to rip off her lace bra, he wants to palm her naked tits for real, and tease her nipples and kiss her up her sternum until he reaches that smart mouth of hers.
The front of his pants are way too tight now, he feels himself rising. She doesn’t break their eye contact; instead, she tilts his head up so that they can have an even better look at the other. She cups his face, rides him just a little faster and he hates her. He hates the way she teases him and the way she makes him weak. His only recourse is to palm her tits and play with her nipples through the thin fabric – he has to tease her back, he couldn’t let her just win like this.
Musa’s beautiful mouth falls open, her head hangs back, her hips slow down but only just.
Riven juts his hips upward to meet her. He wraps one arm around her waist to hold her place while she rides him. The other explores her body – the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast. “Fuck, Musa…”
The music then stops unceremoniously, and she looks back down at him, stilling her hips. “Time’s up”, she says and slowly climbs off of the other Agent”.
He swallows hard and gives a quick nod.
“I was serious, Riven – don’t step in on my operation. I know what I’m doing and this case will be handled, okay?”
Riven nodded, standing up slowly. His erection still left him uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. How could he be so affected by her? Sure, she was attractive, but she was also a huge pain in the ass, smart-ass woman who annoyed him endlessly.
She was also the woman that, for the last few weeks, he had really missed. Things at the Headquarters just weren’t the same without Musa there.
“Fine… I’ll lay off. I’ll tell everyone that you’re in control of the situation here”, he finally concedes. His eyes scan her from head to toe one last time. “Look after yourself, Musa. Don’t do anything stupid and if you need help—”
“I got it, Riven”, she says, crossing her arms to her chest.
“Okay, then”. He gives her one last look, then grabs his jacket from the armrest of the sofa. “I’ll see you when I see you then”.
Outside, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his pack of smokes and a lighter. Fresh air is the last thing he needs right now. Once again, Musa Pham has ruined another one of his missions; he’s now got to back to the HQ and explain why he’s had to pull out of the op. And he’s gonna have to take the flack and flogging that’ll for sure come with it.
But he doesn’t think about that too much – right now there’s something else occupying his head.
He inhales sharply and blows out the smoke into the wind. She’s a forest fire – she’ll burn down everything just to get her way; she’s probably a liability to herself and to the Agency. But, she’s a damn good Agent and he has to trust that she won’t mess this up and get herself into any more trouble.
The cool night air, coupled with the sense of impending lambasting from the higher-ups means that he’s previous… state… has downed in size considerably. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be laying in bed thinking about what happened in that Champagne Room.
