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“Man, I could think of a few fun ways to put that sassy mouth to use,” Dante mutters, and I shoot him a glare that feels mostly like a farce, because my body’s about to combust at the deep growl in his voice. He looks out his window again, and I force myself to stop drooling over the way his muscles bulge under his tux, or how large his hands are, or how they felt when he touched me earlier.
It’s going to be a long night.
Chapter Four
Dante
I’m pissed at myself for making that crack about Samantha’s mouth and what I’d like to do with it. My mind hasn’t been right since the first time I saw her, and talking to her, to my surprise, has only made it worse. One thing is abundantly clear: Samantha’s not the type of girl who belongs anywhere near a strip club. She’s sweet, smart, and very clearly submissive, even if she doesn’t realize it. And she definitely doesn’t belong anywhere near a sleazeball like Harry. He knows he’s essentially pimping these girls out to his high-paying clients. Anyone else would have had her on her knees already, and she would have done it, because she doesn’t feel like she has a choice.
The thought of anyone else even thinking of doing that to her makes me want to hit something. Hard.
She’s a good girl who deserves a guy who’ll treat her like a princess and shower her with flowers and gifts and make all of her dreams come true.
Me? All I can think about, as we near the site of the gala we’re attending, is how badly I want to peel that dress off of her, spread her legs, and pound into her sweet pussy. I bet it’ll be tighter and hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I want to take every bit of her sweet innocence and fuck it right out of her until she understands that her body exists for my pleasure.
I curl my hands into fists. I want to do that, but I fucking won’t. I’m not that guy. Damn, I want her. I feel it deep in my gut, not to mention my balls, how bad I want to be inside her, how bad I want to hear her screaming my name, begging me to fuck her harder.
I look over at her, and she’s watching the scenery out the window. That dress. Fuck.
I can admit I want her. I can admit that I want to dominate her completely. But not because I’m paying her. No, that takes all of the fun out of it. Seduction is a game, and I’m going to seduce Samantha’s sweet ass into my bed. She’ll be begging me to take her. My cock twitches, thinking about how fresh and innocent she is. I mean, as innocent as a girl working as a stripper can be, I guess. There’s no way she’s a virgin. Guys have probably been trying to get into her pants since she was a teenager.
But I bet she’s never had anyone fuck her the way I can.
I sit back and allow myself to smile. Before this night is over, I’m going to have her screaming my name, even if right at this moment, she seems like she can’t stand me.
I always have enjoyed a challenge.
***
When we get to the venue for the gala, I step out and help Samantha out of the limo. She sets her hand in mine, and I can feel that she’s trembling, just a little. I tuck her hand into the crook of my arm and bend down to her, close to her ear.
“You’ll be fine. You’re an actress, right? Act like you do this shit all the time.”
After a moment, her spine straightens and the trembling lessens. She looks straight ahead, as if she has every damn right to be here, and I’m impressed not only by her composure, but by her ability to follow instructions.
I can imagine telling her to do all kinds of things. She’s the type of girl who’d outdo herself trying to please me, I just know it. Her innocence, her sweetness, that submissive streak I can see every time she lowers her gaze…all I want to do is get back in the car and spend the rest of the night making her want me as much as I want her.
But I have a job to do, and seduction can happen just as easily right here. If I can keep myself from staring at her tits all night, I’ll be just fine.
“What does your family do?” she whispers.
“Construction. Luxury high rises, that sort of thing.”
She nods, and then she falls back into silence again.
We walk into the party, and most of the eyes in the room follow us. It’s just the way these things are. Most of the people in this room are either people who have worked with my father’s company, people who want to work with the company, or politicians my father and brother have cozied up to to get our permits fast-tracked. Of course, the reason for the gala is to raise money for the foundation my father set up, providing scholarships for promising future architects. It’s a worthy cause, and I do what I can to help with it, even if it wasn’t adamantly, clearly expected that I be here. I do a tour of the room with Samantha on my arm, greeting people I know, as well as people my father told me he wanted me to meet. Everyone knows I’m the charming one in the family, so schmoozing our client base is generally left to me. Again, not my preferred area of focus, but I can be patient. After I finish this next mega project, I’m branching out and finally getting to work on some of my own building projects, and they sure the hell won’t be luxury high rises for the filthy rich.
We stroll toward yet another group of clients, and I greet each of them with a handshake. This is all second nature to me, but I keep glancing at Samantha to see how she’s holding up.
“Dante. I want to talk to you about taking on another project for my firm.” This is from Hans Engel, who hired our firm last year to build a high-
rise office tower with luxury condos. I spearheaded that project, and we’ve gotten more than a few contracts based on his recommendation.
I nod. “Let’s do it, then. You know you can call my father’s assistant anytime to get the ball rolling.”
“I’d rather deal directly with you. I want you on this,” Hans says. “Do you have any idea how good that building has been for our image? Revenues are higher than any of us projected, even in our wildest dreams, and that’s because of the quality of the building.”
“Easy, Hans. He’ll know to bill higher next time,” one of our other former clients, Larry Rogers, murmurs. Everyone laughs, including me.
