Untouchables Book 2: Candy [COMING SOON]

SUTTON

Nocturne is loud tonight.

Men crowd the edge of the stage, drinks forgotten in their hands, eyes tracking every movement we make.

The music slows into the final sequence and the five of us close ranks automatically, hips swaying in sync as we move through the last counts together. My hand wraps around the pole behind me, and I let myself slide down into the splits.

A man in the front row looks seconds from cardiac arrest, so I wink at him.

The room erupts.

Violet blows a kiss toward one of the VIP booths while Emmaline throws in an extra turn she definitely wasn’t supposed to do, and I can practically hear Isla scolding her for it already.

I laugh breathlessly as the final note hits and we settle into our last pose beneath the lights, chests rising hard from exertion while applause crashes through Nocturne.

And then, automatically, my gaze drifts a few rows back.

That man sits exactly where he always does—off to the side, but still with a perfect view of the stage.

He’s in a dark suit, posture calm and confident. One arm stretches along the back of the booth, a tumbler hanging loosely between his fingers.

His eyes meet mine instantly, steady and warm in a way that catches me off guard every single time.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and my stomach somersaults.

I recover fast, flashing the crowd one last playful smile before turning away with the girls as we disappear backstage in a haze of perfume, sweat, and laughter.

We pile into our dressing room still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.

I drop onto the plush couch in the corner and hold up my leg as Elodie walks past. “Help me with my boot, will you? I think the leather fused to my skin halfway through the dance.”

Elodie rolls her eyes, but helps me anyway. The scrape of zippers fills the room as we all shed our thigh-highs—the first things to come off the second we’re out of sight. They’re as comfortable as six-inch heels get, which is to say not very.

“Any of you up for grabbing a drink later?” Violet asks from the other end of the couch, bare feet propped up on the backrest. “I don’t wanna go home yet.”

“Can’t,” Emmaline murmurs, fixing her lipstick in the mirror. “I gotta head upstairs. Two more shows before closing.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Elodie says, brushing her hair out with rough movements. “I’m wiped. Can’t imagine doing another one, let alone two.”

Emmaline recaps her lipstick and tosses it into her makeup bag. “Different kind of show, babes. This one involves me, a soft mattress, and a few toys. Nothing I wouldn’t also be doing at home.”

I snort as I move toward my vanity, twisting my hair into a messy bun on top of my head. My bra comes off next—glittery, strappy little thing tonight—and I grab a wipe to tackle the worst of the sweat. I’ll shower when I get home, obviously, but I hate the feeling of sticky skin against clean fabric.

“Such perfect tits,” Emmaline murmurs, catching my eye in the reflection of her mirror. “You really should consider coming upstairs with me. The tips would be insane.”

“Thanks,” I purr, wiping along the swell of my breast before tossing the wipe into the trash beneath the vanity. “I just don’t think it’s for me, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

A sharp knock cuts through the chatter, and we all glance toward the door.

Benny’s voice comes through the wood. “You ladies decent?”

I glance down at my bare chest. Not really, but it’s only Benny.

I rummage through my bag for a top. “Sure. What’s up?”

Benny steps inside, completely unfazed by the varying stages of undress around him. “There’s a gentleman in room eight asking for you, Sutton.”

I pull my top over my head and arch a brow. “For me?”

“Well, for Candy,” Benny corrects with a shrug. “Wouldn’t take no for an answer either. Said he had something important to discuss with you.”

All the girls pause.

“In room eight?” Violet blurts. “We don’t do private rooms.”

“I know,” Benny says quickly. “I can kick him out if it makes you uncomfortable.”

I shake my head, intrigue already prickling through me. “Let’s not be rash. Who is it?”

Benny chews the inside of his cheek. “Something Ellington? Silver fox, sharp suit, expensive watch. One of the regulars.”

My pulse kicks up. “What did he want?”

Benny glances back toward the hallway like he’d rather I just go find out myself. “I don’t know, okay? He just said he wanted to discuss something. Tipped me just for asking you.”

My gaze drifts toward the damp sequin bra abandoned on my vanity. I do not feel like putting that back on.

Violet follows my line of sight and jumps up. “Go like this. You look fucking hot.”

Before I can protest, she grabs the hem of my top and tightens the fabric until it stretches around my breasts before tying it into a knot at my waist.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “Go discuss whatever needs discussing.”

I glance down at myself, then back at Benny. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

Benny nods immediately. “We’ll grab Fred on the way. We won’t let him anywhere near you.”

I smooth my hands over my thighs, the high-waisted faux leather suddenly feeling like armor—the last little piece of Candy still clinging to me.

Then, grabbing my training heels from the cupboard in the corner, I follow Benny out.

Benny has my front, Fred solid at my back as we make our way through the dark corridor toward the private rooms.

My heels click against the polished wood, my reflection flashing in neon-lit mirrors as we pass. Benny reaches the door first, knocking twice before glancing back at me.

“Say the word and he’s out,” he says quietly. “You know we’ve got you.”

I nod, then plaster on Candy’s smile as I pull my hair from its bun and drape it over my chest. Suddenly, I feel a little exposed in my thin shirt.

“Come in,” a warm, smooth voice calls from the other side.

Benny opens the door, stepping inside first. I follow a second later, Fred falling into place behind me immediately.

The room is surprisingly classy—there’s leather couches, warm wood accents, and a stylish chandelier casting a soft glow over the otherwise dim space. If it weren’t for the pole mounted on the little platform in the center of the room, you’d never know we were inside a nightclub.

My eyes land on the man across from me.

For an older man, he’s devastatingly handsome.

His silver hair is neatly swept back, a short salt-and-pepper beard grazes his jaw, and deep lines mark his sun-browned skin—not harshly, but warmly, proof of a life spent laughing more than worrying. The smile lines around his eyes outweigh the others by far.

“Candy,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his gaze.

I flash him my prettiest smile. “Sir.”

Something shifts behind his eyes.

“My name is Desmond Ellington,” he says smoothly, gesturing toward the couch. “Please sit.”

My gaze flicks toward the leather cushions, then back to him. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Of course.” He straightens slightly, something more businesslike settling over his features. “I just thought we might get a little more comfortable before diving into things.” His attention shifts briefly toward Benny and Fred. “Can I get any of you a drink?”

Neither man moves.

I glance back at the cushion beside him. For a leather couch, it looks absurdly soft, and something about Desmond makes me want to step closer despite myself.

So I fold. “I’ll have a Coke.”

One of his brows arches faintly. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Coke kind of girl.”

I lower myself onto the couch, crossing my legs slowly. Benny settles beside me, a solid wall of muscle between Desmond and me, while Fred takes the armchair in the corner.

“What did you take me for?” I muse.

Desmond studies me for a moment, his gaze hot and heavy as it drifts down my body. Beneath the curtain of my hair, my nipples tighten painfully beneath the thin fabric of my shirt, and I internally scold myself for letting a member affect me like this.

His head tips back slightly, eyes dragging up my body again before finally settling on mine.

“I was going to say cosmopolitan,” he murmurs. “But I think I’m going with a dirty martini instead—extra olives.”

A smile curves my lips. “Right on the money, Desmond.”

He stills for the briefest second at the sound of his first name on my tongue before another amused little smile cuts across his face. Then he looks toward Benny and Fred. “And for the gentlemen?”

“No drinking on the job,” Benny says flatly.

“Not even a club soda?”

Benny inclines his head slightly, and when Fred gives a short nod too, Desmond places the order through the intercom.

Then his attention slides back to me. “So, Candy—is there something else I can call you?”

“Candy’s fine.” I flip my hair over my shoulder out of habit and instantly regret it when the outline of my very obvious nipple presses against the thin fabric of my shirt.

To Desmond’s credit, he pretends not to notice. He fails, but he’s trying.

He’s just about to speak again when Kelsey arrives with the drinks. Her eyes widen slightly when she spots me in the room, but seeing Benny and Fred seems to settle her enough not to sound the alarm.

The door clicks shut behind her.

Desmond clears his throat. “Right. Candy—I wanted to ask if you do any other kind of dancing.” He lifts his whiskey to his lips, eyes never leaving mine.

I take that as a cue to drape my hair back over my traitorous nipple. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t—”

“Desmond,” he corrects gently. “And I’m not asking you to strip for me, Candy. I know the rules. You’re one of the Untouchables.” His gaze flicks meaningfully toward Benny before returning to me. “I’m simply asking whether you know ballroom dancing.”

I blink. “Ballroom?”

His patience doesn’t waver. “Yeah, you know. Salsa. Tango. Bachata—”

“I know what ballroom dancing is,” I cut in quickly. “I just… why are you asking?”

“Because I have a very important gala coming up.” He takes another slow sip of whiskey.

“And I need a date.”

Hooked? Good 😏

I'm still writing this story, but it'll come your way ASAP. Keep an eye on my wall—I'll update you guys about the timeline as soon as I have enough to share!

Love, Viv ♥️