Billie Eilish

The main room crowd had been louder than usual tonight. You peeled off the damp dollar bills tucked into your waistband, tossing them into your bag without counting. The backstage air smelled like hairspray and perfume. You collapsed onto the leather couch, and grabbed a makeup wipe from your bag. You dragged the wipe over your face, until the smudged eyeliner was gone. You redid your eye and lip combo, counted the bills and tossed them back into your bag.

Then you went to the VIP room. You took a breath before you walked in. Again, the VIP was filled with rich businessmen in suits, polished shoes, Rolexes, cologne so expensive it made your nose itch. A man in his early thirties, tailored navy suit, caught your wrist as you passed. "Lap dance." he said and putted some money bills in your stocking. You nodded, sliding onto his lap before he could change his mind. His lips curled into a cocky smirk and placed his hands on your waist.

You moved with the rhythm of the music, rolling your hips in slow circles. His breath hitched, and you smirk grew slightly. Then, out of the corner of your eye, You saw someone familiar. You glanced over your shoulder and you saw Billie sitting in a red couch, her blue eyes locked onto you. You shook it off, forcing your attention back to the man beneath you, but you were hyperaware of her gaze focused on your movements. The man’s grip tightened, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your stockings. You stiffened a bit, your muscles locking for a second before you forced yourself to relax.

Then, the man slid another bill into your stocking, before he opened the first button of your bodysuit, his smirk widening when he caught your inhale. You forced yourself to keep moving, but your pulse kicked up. Not from his touch, but from the way Billie's hand slightly formed into a fist. The second button came undone easier, his fingers sliding over the underside of your bra. You swallowed, your thighs flexing around him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Billie shift in her seat, her fingers drumming against the table. Then, luckily, the usual three-minute lap dance time was over. You slid off the man’s lap, his fingertips lingered on your waist for a second too long. You adjusted the hem of your bodysuit and refastened the buttons that he opened.

You walked away from the navy-suited guy. Another businessman, older, black hair with white highlights, white cufflinks, crooked his finger at you. His smirk was all practiced flirt, but you forced a smile anyway. His fingers had just touched your waist when a folded hundred-dollar bill was shoved under the waistband of your bodysuit. Before you could react, a hand closed around your wrist, yanking you backward. Billie. The man blinked and his smirk left his face. Billie’s free hand slid another bill into your stocking. "I believe I outbid him," She said with fake sweetness.

Before you could even say a word, Billie was already dragging you toward the VIP exit. She dragged you through the exit, walked toward the backstage room, opened the door and walked in it. She spun you around and pinned you against the wall, her body pressing flush against yours. She grabbed your wrists, holding them above your head as she leaned in close enough that your lips barely touched. "I fucking knew it," She murmured. "All the nights you came home all sore and shit.."

Her breath was warm against your lips, as her knee slid between your thighs rough and possessive. "Billie," You said, but she cut you off with a nip at your bottom lip. "You think I don’t notice?" She hissed, her free hand sliding down to grip the lace of your bodysuit. "The way you arrive home, the way you wince when you sit down," Her voice was husky with jealousy. "You let them fuck you like that?"