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I run my knuckles down the side of her face and down between her breasts, feeling her heart beating while I do. She arches her back a little, and I have to stifle a moan when I see how hard her nipples are pebbling against her shirt.
“All in good time.” I wink. I want to tell the little tiger she’s going to get fucked any way I want when she comes home with me. Did I turn off the cameras in this room, so I can haul her onto the table and lick her pussy until she’s begging me to stop? Until she comes all over my face. I’ll use her and keep her until I’m done with her, which I know I definitely will.
Because everyone leaves in the end.
Me included.
SPRING
Storm
Okay, fuck, it was the only thing I could think of to give the man who apparently has everything. I had sex last year with the bastard who stole my money. I mean, I think I did, I was drunk, and I can’t remember a thing. Fun memories. So, I mean, yeah, let’s use the oldest currency in the book and hand myself over on a silver platter.
He lets me go and I cough, to try and catch my breath. “I thought maybe you would want, I m-m-ean,” I stutter.
“And how is that going to work?” he asks, leaning back with his perfect ass against the table he puts back upright.
I don’t know, asshole, I think as I glare at the man. Five minutes ago, when I was getting choked and he held his head a little to the side and wet his lips, I thought maybe he wanted me a tiny bit. That’s crazy, right? I always read the signs wrong. Like I asked one of my friendly neighbors out for a drink five minutes into him helping me move boxes, and he told me he was married. Not my best bet, I guess this happens when you’re lonely, probably why I fell for my ex, because I didn’t read the signs.
He crosses his arms and keeps staring at my eyes with that vacant look in his own. The black dress shirt strains over his ample chest, as does his pants over his perfect butt. I wipe my hands on my legs and his eyes move down before they focus on my face again. Maybe he doesn’t like me? Shit, I mean my boobs aren’t big, my hips are on the larger side, but the way the man towers over me does stuff to my insides.
I bite on my bottom lip and he makes a sound like a freaking growl, and goes for my neck again. I can only lean back and hope he doesn’t kill me. I’m probably also older, but with his skincare routine, I have no idea, the man could be in his forties for all I know. My eyes search his, and I take a deep breath, trying to get my heartbeat under control. He doesn’t know what I look like, you can’t exactly see what’s hiding undertwo layers. I might be digging my own grave here, screw it, let’s get it.
“I don’t know, we could go to a hotel, or we could…” I tell him, leaning against the wall with the chair, while his hand is still covering my neck.
He shakes his head, not saying anything. “No,” he grits out, his grip on my throat faltering a little.
“No?” I ask. “As in no to hotel, or no like no to me?”
The right side of his mouth turns up, revealing his hot as sin gummy smile, both cute and terrifying at the same time while he lets me go. Why do I get the feeling the man doesn’t hear a lot of ‘no’ in his life?
“How long?” he asks, running a hand over his neck, reminding me what he did to mine.
“What do you mean how long?” I ask, getting angry with the fucking mafia dude. I’m on my knees, begging him not to kill me. I’m already giving him me, what more does he want? I cringe, maybe he means time? I lick my lips and he adjusts his belt—nope, not a good idea to focus on his crotch area which is on eye level.
He clears his throat and I peer up, and the death stare in his eyes doesn’t falter.
“You mean how long, you and me?” I ask, stumbling over my words.
He nods and swallows, staring me down through those thick dark lashes of his. The man is a knife’s edge away from exploding, with his firm jaw and those serious eyes that look right through me. I can also feel the nerves pulsating through his body. It radiates from him like the sun in spring.
“I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“One hundred thousand equals how much time?” he asks, his voice raspy and hard. Shit, I’m still in debt, I have a month off from teaching because the summer holiday monsoon season starts in a week, and I’m fucked, or I’m going to be fucked for real. I try to stifle a giggle bursting out anyway.
“Is this funny to you?” he bellows, and the strength he possesses is intoxicating, like everything is going to be okay. Maybe after I fuck him? I made my bed, now I have to lie in it, literally.
No, I shake my head. How screwed am I that I like the murderous glare in his eyes or the way he grinds his teeth together all angry and shit? I think he looks cute. Scary and angry and maybe a little broken, but cute.
He grabs the side of the table and his knuckles turn white. Fuck, the man has a temper on him. “You better tell me how long or—” he says low and deadly.
I cut him off. “A month. I can come by once a week or we could do something else.”
He raises one brow like he’s already bored with this conversation. His dark eyes pierce right through me as he studies me. I know the guy is deadly, I caught a glimpse of the guns he’s carrying in his armpit holsters, but there is also something else reflected in his hard, cold stare. Like there are many broken parts in there, like he’s trying to piece himself back together somehow. I shake my head and snap out of my daydreaming. It is not going to get better with me trying to give the monster standing before me a human face.
“Or more or less or… whatever you want,” I murmur, while I try to ignore my drenched panties. One should not have this response when the only option is getting on my knees or being fixed in concrete for eternity.
“If I wanted a whore, I could call one,” he deadpans.
