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He pulls out his phone, tapping out a text at lightning speed. Putting it back in his pocket, he shakes his head. “What are you willing to give me for it?”
“That’s not how this works, Garrix.” I can feel the sexual tensions crackling between us down to my bones.
He pulls me into his lap, with my legs straddling either side of his. His hands run up the backs of my thighs, hiking my dress up until it’s bunched on my hips. When he sees the black lace thong I’m wearing, he wolf-whistles.
“Mmm, I think that is exactly how this works.”
He runs two fingers under the lace in the back, feeling the silky texture before he pulls it. The strap rubs against my pussy, brushing lightly against my clit. I need more, but I’m loath to ask him for it. Because that’s admitting to both of us that I want him—whatever this thing brewing between us is—and the thought of being with this man terrifies me.
I take a deep breath, readying myself to put a stop to this. Garrix is a blackhole, and I’m hopelessly getting sucked into his orbit. His fingers trail along my seam, through my obscene wetness, before he circles my clit. He makes a V with his fingers, rubbing the sides and drowning me in a sharp stimulation that makes me forget all my common sense and doubts. I’m a panting, writhing mess. I want him–need him to make me come.
Garrix pulls his pants down just enough to free his long, thick cock. He positions it so that the head is in just the right spot.
“Grind on it, take what you need and make yourself come, little killer,” he rasps in my ear.
I slide up and down his dick, his head hitting my clit. He pulls down the top of my dress and bra cups, popping my nipple into his mouth and biting it until I moan. He rolls each nipple between his fingers, pinching down on them. The feeling tips me over the edge.
“Every time you think about putting distance between us, I see it in your eyes. I don’t care what your hang ups are. This pussy is mine, and eventually your heart will be mine too.”
“What are you doing to me?” I whisper. This man is turning my entire world upside down. Every time he touches me, my walls crumble a little more—eventually there’ll be nothing left.
“The same thing you’re doing to me.”
My phone chimes with a text from Dave, letting me know that Boris and Ginger are in the room next door. I show Garrix, and we right our clothes.
We stand at the door to their VIP room, and Garrix puts his ear up to the door.
“Let’s catch him with his pants down. Ladies first.” His devilish grin excites me.
I open the door and casually stroll in, taking a seat on the armchair across from them. Ginger pops off his lap with a sigh of relief, then puts her top back on to cover herself.
“I didn’t order another girl, but I’m sure we can make it work. I like them thick,” he rumbles in a thick Russian accent. “And in leather.”
Garrix comes in, his face set in a hard line. “She’s not here to suck your dick, asshole.”
I pull my gun from its holster and point it at him. One of The Vixen’s policies is that patrons can’t be armed in the private rooms, and it’s working in my favor right now.
“Take all the cash from your wallet now. Count it aloud for me.” I order him. He looks to Garrix, who offers him no sympathy.
“Don’t look at me, she’s in charge here. I’m curious to see where this goes.”
He empties crisp one hundred dollar bills from his wallet with a frown on his face. “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred dollars,” he counts.
“Lean forward and put it on the table.” After he follows my instructions, I look to Ginger. “That’s yours. Have a good night, and keep your mouth shut.” I wink at her, and she promptly leaves the room.
“So, Boris, I hear you spend a lot of time with Dmitri Popov…” I ask.
“Fuck you,” he hisses.
“No, I’d be fucking you,” Garrix laughs. It’s an unhinged, manic sound that’s music to my ears. It’s like his crazy calls to mine. “Answer the question, or I’ll start this party off right.” He pulls a knife from his pocket, flicking it open to show a smooth, shiny blade that gleams off the low lighting of the room.
He stays silent, glaring at me like I’m dog shit on his designer shoes. “I don’t talk business with shlyukhi.”
Seriously, did this asshole call me a whore? The fucking audacity.
“Oh, well, let me just get up and leave then,” I sarcastically announce. “So sorry for bothering you.” I get up, take my knife out of my boot, and plunge it into his hand that rests on the couch cushion. He screeches like a banshee. Mixed with the sound of Garrix cackling, it’s another track to add to Torture’s Greatest Hits, volume two. “Do you know who I fucking am?”
He shakes his head as tears stream down his face. I seriously thought that Yedinstvo soldiers would be made of stronger stuff than this. “My name is Maddalena Vettore. I’m not a shlyukha. I’m a fucking boss. My family runs this city, and I’m about to be your fucking angel of death if you don’t wise up and answer my questions.”
