Page 17 of Baby for the Bratva King

“What did you want me to do? Stay in the shower and rub soap over your body?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes cutting right into mine, weakening me by the minute. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

“What?”

“You’re stripping.”

“I don’t strip.”

“You don’t need to. These men have very wild fantasies.”

“As you would know, having the same vulgar thoughts.”

Felix’s eyes dart across my body and face as he tries to comprehend me in this different light.

Admittingly, I look like a totally different person. I don’t bother with hair and makeup during the day, and I tend to cover up in public, opting for high neck shirts and long pants.

I’m wearing a black string bikini, the fabric barely covering my nipples.

I see why this could be a lot to take in, but the bastard has no right to be pissed. We hardly know each other, and he probably visits strip clubs on a regular basis.

He doesn’t get to be pissed at me for dancing when men of his caliber are to blame for setting up these establishments in the first place. Hypocritical fuck.

“Get out of here.”

I bat my lashes repeatedly. This has to be a joke.

I burst into uncontrollable laughter, cupping my hands over my mouth, my breasts jerking.

Felix’s humor is rather dry. He stares at me blankly, waiting for the laughter to run its course.

“You’re kidding.”

He steps closer, pepper and caramel notes washing over me. “Laugh again and I’ll show you how much of a joke this is when I drag you out of here.”

“You wouldn’t dare make a scene, not after you already caused one.”

Felix grinds his jaw, irritation pulling at his lip. He steps even closer, our mouths inches apart. “Why are you here?”

I study his face, his brow lined with concern. “Why do you care?”

“Because you work for me.”

“So, I’m un-fired?”

“What made you think you were ever fired?”

“The sex. You know, the crossing of boundaries.”

“You think I care about social constructs? You work for me. And while you work for me, you stay far away from the clubs.”

“The gentlemen pay me well here, sometimes better than you.” I tap the dollar bills under my G-string. “I probably have another six hundred on the stage.”

“Does ten thousand a week cover it?”

“What?” I blink.

“Ten thousand dollars a week for free board, free food. You can use my cars, anything you want, as long as you never come back here.”