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Falynn
PLAYLIST: ? HUMAN - SEVDALIZA?
If there’sone thing to know about me, it’s that sometimes I put my foot in my mouth. Never intentionally, but usually whenever I’m pissed off. It’s why Enzo always refused to involve me in his schemes; I don’t make for a good criminal, because I tend to blurt out whatever comes to mind. I’m also a bad liar; it makes my skin itch and my palms sweaty.
A cleverer woman would’ve played into Gio’s hands sitting on the sofa in his penthouse suite. She would’ve schmoozed her way into lowering his defenses.
I couldn’t help thinking WWTD—what would Tasha do?
She’s a master at the art of tricking men into doing what she wants. She says it’s a lot like a performance on the stage. You use your feminine wiles, your body to your advantage, get a man to think with the wrong head. Then it’s off with his head—andhis wallet. Above all, play it smart, play it subtle. Even the most pussy-whipped man recognizes a con when there’s no finesse to it.
Not thatIwas conning. More like trying to survive.
I have no clue who Gio is, but it’s obvious he’s someone with immense power and wealth. A man who can order other men to dispose of a guy like Jerry as if it were any other regular Friday night.
Once I asked about Jerry over our room service, something changed in Gio. Over the course of the last hour, he had smirked. He had evenlaughed. He sat on a cushion opposite mine and watched me scarf down food like we were a normal couple and my quirky habits endeared him more than anything.
As soon as I asked my question about Jerry, the twinkle in his shocking blue eyes vanished. They darkened into a stormier shade. His steel-cut jaw hardened, his lips tight. He rose from the sofa, an intimidating muscular mass of a man. It wasn’t until that moment I noticed how much sexier he looked out of his suit jacket. His dress shirt strained against his broad chest, the sculpted definition of his pectorals and abdomen vague outlines underneath. For as wide as his shoulders and chest are, his waist is trim.
I couldn’t resist imagining that V line, fit, muscular men normally have. The generous indentions that point down to what most women wonder about when picturing a man naked—what does his dick look like? How big? How thick? And does he know how to use it?
Another pulse thrums between my thighs. I squeeze them together and watch as Gio storms from the living area.
Even his walk’s masculine and commanding. His gait reminds me of a lion, the fluid manner in which he stalks across a room. His posture even, shoulders straight, chest out, powerful thighs propelling him forward. I actually let out a sigh. I’ve never noticed a man’s stride before, but now that I have taken note of his, I can’t shake the image of him stalking toward me.
It takes me minutes to gather myself sitting alone in the living area. He makes no effort to be quiet in the bedroom and bathroom. He fixes himself a drink, the ice chinking in glass, and drawers rattle open. The shower starts up, filling the suite with staticky background noise.
“Get your shit together, Falynn,” I whisper to myself. “Ball’s in your court.”
Needless to say, tonight has been a wild, unexpected one for sure. When I made the decision to work the VIP rooms, I had done so hoping I could start off slow—always with a hard limit as to how far I’d go. I wasn’t offering anything more than a job that started withhandorblow.
I figured once 4 a.m. came, as the club closed, I’d be done with my first night. I’d carpool home with Tasha and another dancer, Amaryllis. The car Enzo and I drive stopped working weeks after he got caught up, and I don’t have the funds to fix it. Real shit luck.
Thankfully, Tasha doesn’t mind giving us lifts late at night.
But I was supposed to come home to the crappy one-bedroom apartment I share with Enzo in East Vegas, with our dryer that doesn’t work, and the blinds that are always crooked no matter how often I fix them. At least it’s home, though.
Safe. Familiar.
Instead I’m here, held captive by some transactional terms I wasn’t aware of when Gio became my customer. He’s killed a man, has an army of enforcers ready to do his bidding, and I’m stuck alone with him.
I should be more hysterical. I should be crying for my life.
Because that’s how this ends—I’m a witness to a crime. Gio is going to use me, get himself off, and then he’s going to kill me.
The only way to survive is by playing the game. I rise off the sofa and slink toward the bedroom. Gio’s dress shirt is discarded carelessly on the bed. His shoes have been abandoned by the closet. The TV’s playing some late-night rerun of an old show; not sure the name, but it must be ’90s or earlier because a laugh track plays every other line.
I stop in the bathroom doorway. My breath is torn from my lungs. Gio isnaked.
He stands in the glass shower in all his beefy, brawny glory. And itisglorious.
The man is more chiseled than any masterfully sculpted statue. Muscles stacked on muscles. Washboard abs that water takes an eternity to trickle down, as it glides along the defined lines like a current does a riverbank. The V shape I’ve pondered about is better than anything imagined, deep cuts along his pelvis pointing directly to his penis.
His dick that’s basically an anaconda. Thick, lengthy, and deadly.
It’s enough to kill me on the spot. His blue eyes flash as he looks over and discovers me standing in the doorway. His dark hair is wet and slicked back against his scalp, his beefy arms up as his hands wash shampoo from his strands. A slow grin forms on his lips as he rinses off the last of it and then beckons me with a single index finger.
The shock of the moment burns heat onto my cheeks and stops my heart. I’m flustered like a damn school girl who’s never seen a dick before. So much for being super seductive and confident. I fumble my way out of the bathroom and put as much distance between us as possible. That’s in the living area by the glass window of a wall, overlooking the Vegas cityscape.
