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But instead, she looks up at me with those wide blue eyes, and she sinks to her knees.
The jolt of lust that tears through me nearly buckles mine. I’ve never felt anything like it. My cock hardens painfully in the instant that she drops to the floor, her hands resting on her thighs as she looks patiently up at me. She’s the very picture of a submissive, quiet and sweet, her face upturned as she waits for her next instructions. My cock strains against my fly, desperate to be freed, to push between her soft lips and feel the warmth of that mouth that I was fantasizing about just two nights ago.
And last night, too, if I’m honest with myself.
“Open your mouth.” My voice has changed, down to a register that I use only with women in specific scenarios. Women I’ve paid to play out a scene with me, ones that share some of my darker desires, or who go to the exclusive club that I frequent on occasion when those lusts are too much to ignore. When I need, just for a night, to let go of some of my carefully honed self-control.
What am I doing? I’m hovering on a knife’s edge that could plunge me into something I know I’ll regret. Mila parts her lips obediently, showing straight white teeth and a soft pink tongue, her mouth opening just enough that I can see the warm space where my cock so desperately wants to be.
I reach out, pressing my thumb against her plush lower lip. She doesn’t break my gaze, her mouth still open, and when I push my thumb inside, her lips wrap around it. She sucks, ever so lightly, and pleasure so strong it’s almost painful jolts through my cock. I feel it throb dangerously, pre-cum spilling from the tip and soaking my boxer briefs. It takes everything in me not to tug my zipper down and free myself, ordering her to suck me dry.
God, I need to fucking come.
Her lips stay closed around my thumb, but I see her gaze flick, ever so quickly, to the thick ridge in my trousers. I see the shiver that goes through her. I see the way she catches herself, her momentary hesitation hidden behind the obedient facade that goes back up—and that’s the moment when I know that it doesn’t matter how badly I want her.
I can’t do this.
I tug my thumb free of her soft lips and step back. “Get up,” I tell her, a little more roughly than I intended, reaching out to help her up.
“Lorenzo—”
The sound of my name on her lips nearly undoes me. My cock jerks, more pre-cum dripping down the shaft, until I’m half worried there might be evidence of it on the front of my trousers. I’m one touch of her hand or mouth away from coming unexpectedly.
Something else I’ve never lost control over in my life. I don’t intend to begin now.
“Get up, Mila.” I step back further, sinking into my chair and trying not to wince as my cock is folded uncomfortably against my thigh. “I’m afraid I can’t take you up on your offer.”
She freezes halfway upright, and then finishes standing, going very still. “Why not?” she asks quietly, and I can hear the disappointment in her voice. She’s trying to hide it, but it’s there—along with something else. Fear. A fear that has nothing to do with me.
“I don’t trade favors for sex. Frankly, Miss Ilyena, I don’t need to. I never have, and I don’t intend to begin now.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t pay escorts? Your family owns a club where some of the women do offer such—services. You don’t utilize them?”
Apparently, Mila did her research before coming to visit me. “I have, on occasion. Not at my club—I find it’s not wise to mix business and pleasure—but at another. But that’s different.”
“How?” There’s a stubborn line to her mouth now that tells me she’s not about to let this go easily. She’s tried seduction, and failing that, she intends to argue her point. “Paying for sex is the same, no matter how you flavor it, Lorenzo.”
“You can call me Mr. Campano, Miss Ilenya.” I gesture towards the other side of my desk. “I don’t think we know each other well enough to drop the formalities.”
“You ordered me to my knees. You had your fingers in my mouth. I?—”
“Just the one finger.” The retort comes out before I mean for it to, and I curse inwardly. I don’t need to sit here and banter with this girl. I don’t need to continue to entertain her offers. I’ve made my decision. “Miss Ilenya?—”
“Please.” Just as quickly as the stubbornness entered her face, it gives way to desperation. “Losing Alfio—I can’t pretend I cared about the man himself. He was awful. I’m sure you know that, considering the part you played in his—” Mila takes a shaky breath, looking at me with those wide blue eyes. “I’m not sorry he’s gone. But without him—” She bites her lip, and I can see that she doesn’t want to beg me. But she does, before I can stop her. “I don’t know what will happen to my brother and I.”
There it is. The missing piece—the thing that tells me why she bartered herself to Altiere in the first place, why she risked stealing from him, why a moment ago she was on her knees for me in my office. She has someone she cares for. Someone who depends on her. And Altiere’s death has threatened her means to protect that.
It makes my decision to tell her no all the more firm.
“You can do anything you like to me,” Mila says in a rush. “I won’t say no to any of it. I know men like you have—desires. Things you want a girl to allow. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Just?—”
“Stop.” I shake my head, my voice low and forbidding. I can’t sit here and listen to this a moment longer—to this girl promising to degrade herself in whatever ways I choose out of sheer desperation. “I’m not going to fuck you, Mila. No matter what you say.”
She starts to say something else, and then stops, defeat filling her face. “I understand,” she says softly, her voice filling with something deeper than disappointment. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Campano. I won’t say anything to anyone still; I promise you that.”
Mila turns to go, and my heart wrenches in my chest.
“Wait.”
