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Destiny likes working the champagne room even if the customers aren't high rollers because the cash is good, but she'll only do it with a partner. Predictably, it's always best with Ramona. (Isn't everything?) 

Ramona always takes the lead, always knows exactly what to say, what to do, and how to play whatever suited asshole has spread his arms back over the top of the leather bench seat. She taps into the id of a rich man like a bar back taps a keg—with a subtle flex of expertise and a flash of strength. It's still mesmerizing to watch her work, Destiny has just learned to look a little less star struck and a little more conspiratorial. Ramona always circles her little protégée, all dolled up and doe eyed and covered up, and Ramona plays up every zip, every tie, every last elastic snap when she strips off Destiny's clothes to the tune of twenties, fifties, hundreds raining down. It's their thing, and it works. It works really, really, really well. 

It's going swimmingly this Thursday night, with the coked-up day trader on their hook first loosening, then losing entirely, the tie around his neck. Ramona's in a blinged-out lavender bikini with matching Yves Saint Laurent heels, half-sitting and half-dancing on Destiny's lap to a bass boosted remix of 'Womanizer', business as usual. 

She alternates leaning forward, her tits in his face, then she rocks back to Destiny, grinding in circles to the beat with force enough to make Destiny throw one hand back to support them both. She lands the other on Ramona's hip, leaning over to wink at the customer when she hooks her fingers around the bow tie holding the bottoms together and tugs, pulling the material high and tight just as Ramona's rocking forward.  

Ramona, head at a calculated tilt—to give herself a break from looking at the fourth faceless dude they've danced for tonight, for one, but mostly to look back at her ass as she forces Destiny's thighs a little further apart to accommodate her—sees it, feels it, and the grin that lights up her face is genuine. It makes Destiny feel warm, like she's taken a shot of whiskey, and she lies back on the cropped fur coat Ramona had peeled off of her earlier, running a hand down Ramona's spine, who arches obligingly in return. 

"Holy shit," the guy murmurs, eyes fixated on Ramona's breasts as she thrusts them toward him, transitioning into a full body roll and tangling a hand in her hair. 

Destiny is feeling bold; she reaches out to smooth her palms up over Ramona's back, her fresh manicure scratching lightly up over her shoulder blades and creeping toward the halter tie at the nape of her neck. (There's a shimmy Ramona does that feels almost like a shiver, if Destiny didn't know any better.) But their paying customer interjects before she can pluck at the bow. 

"How much for you two to come back to my company apartment?"

"We're not those kind of girls, baby," Ramona says, swatting at his knee to diffuse his disappointment. 

He seems unfazed by her response, even smiling just a little. "What about if we stay here?"

Destiny wasn't watching closely but he's already dropped a few hundred, maybe a thousand for them each. Enough for them to cut their losses if he gets pushy, she thinks, certain Ramona's made the same calculation. 

"Location ain't the problem, sweetie," Ramona says, sliding off Destiny's lap to her knees, a possessive arm laid across her thighs, a hand sweeping the bills on the floor into a loose pile. "Nobody here sleeps with customers."

Destiny sits up enough to prop herself up on her elbows and gives him a sympathetic shrug. "Sorry."

"Forget about me then, what about you two?"

Ramona cuts her a look, and Destiny hears it loud and clear. Great, a negotiator. Fucking day-traders. Ramona turns back to him, knowing it has to be at least 3am and that once they're done with him they can go home.

"We don't—"

He holds up a finger and says, "I'll pay you $5,000 to go down on her."

That stops Ramona in her tracks. She blinks once, twice, then says, "Each."

His smile is smug. "Done."

"Prove it."

He reaches into his jacket's interior pocket and pulls out two fresh stacks with the tell-tale brown currency strap and wags the ten thousand before letting them fall to his lap. 

Ramona scoffs out a laugh and turns back to Destiny, ready to roll her eyes and cut him loose. Instead, Ramona's eyebrows crawl skyward because she expected Destiny's outrage, disgust, exasperation, but not the interest, the well, why not? in her crooked smile. One brow lifts a little higher than the other, as if to ask if she's sure. (Destiny doesn't know what's come over her, but she's sure enough. Sure of the warmth of Ramona's skin on hers and the buzz in her ears and the tingle at the base of her spine lingering from that lap dance, and the way Ramona looks drenched in the room's scarlet light at her feet, waiting for Destiny to say the word.) When she nods, Ramona's tongue darts out to lick her lips and Destiny's stomach swoops at the sight. 

Ramona glances at him, then looks right into Destiny’s eyes when she says, “It must be your lucky day, baby.” 

She holds a hand out, not breaking eye contact with Destiny. 

“Cash first.”

The sound of the stacks hitting her palm is deafening, and Ramona’s smile turns wolfish as her fingers curl around them. She slaps the money down near Destiny’s hip and pushes herself back up into her lap, fisting a hand in Destiny’s silky black hair. Her mouth lands unerringly just beneath one ear and Destiny sags in her grip. Ramona’s teeth briefly close around her earlobe before her tongue strokes down slowly over Destiny’s fluttering pulse. 

“Fuck,” the customer breathes, his eyes going wide at the sight in front of him. 

Ramona leans in and whispers, “Let’s give the man his money’s worth, baby,” before slowly closing the distance between them to kiss her. 

At the first flick of Ramona’s tongue against the seam of her lips, Destiny's mind goes blank. After that, she operates on instinct. She’s entirely at Ramona’s mercy, and can't imagine anywhere else in the world she would rather be. Their tongues meet and the lingering spark in her loins from the lap dance ignites like kindling. Destiny gropes for Ramona, finding handfuls of her hair as she starts kissing on her jaw, her throat, her sternum. 

Destiny inhales sharply when Ramona hesitates, but ultimately continues her kisses downward without a detour for her breasts. A good thing, Destiny thinks, since she might come apart entirely if Ramona had done anything else. Even as it is, she feels her chest heaving as Ramona urges her to lie back again, planting open mouthed kisses at the hollow of her hip, at the crux of her thighs, her breath ghosting over the shiny pink silk of her thong. Ramona hooks a finger inside the damp fabric, grinning as Destiny’s eyes roll back in her head, and tugs it aside. 

Ramona's tongue curls against her and she forgets they have a mark on the couch whose bankroll isn't yet fully scattered on the floor. Ramona hums while she does it and Destiny's head snaps back, her body one long arch, awareness of the room dimming. Ramona spreads her open, pushes one of her legs to the ceiling, and watches Destiny writhe, her gaze like a scorching heat traveling every inch of bared skin. 

When she finally glances down and sees burning brown eyes watching her every move; sees her hollowed cheeks and that sharp jaw between her thighs; sees Ramona’s long, beautiful eyelashes fluttering closed in what can only be described as an expression of utter bliss, Destiny comes so hard she briefly forgets her own name.

They're the last ones out of the club that night, since it takes them some time to count their take home without prying eyes seeking a cut. Destiny’s having trouble looking at Ramona without blushing, and Ramona’s having a hard time not smirking like an asshole about it. 

Ramona finally relents, and hooks her arm around Destiny’s neck, murmuring into her hair. “I guess money makes you horny, too.” Destiny peeks up at her, a knowing, sly angle to Ramona’s lifted brows and satisfied smile. “Fucking crazy, right?”

Destiny laughs, the stiffness in her shoulders relaxing away, and Ramona smiles wider as they head out into New York’s early morning embrace.