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“Orders are orders.” He gives an apologetic shrug.

I’m not mad at him. He’s just doing what he’s told. My smile shifts into a more sincere one, and I thank him anyway. I return to the confines of the penthouse and look around the lavish space. The stuff from the wicker basket catches my eye. If I’m going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, I might as well make the best of it. I put the toiletry products and designer clothes back into the basket and carry it into the bathroom.

For the first time since last night when I got dressed backstage at the Dollhouse, I look at myself in the mirror.

Reallylook at myself.

Damn, I’m kinda rough. My brown skin has lost its usual luster, and my hair is limp and flat from a night spent sweating under a wig and cap. I can practically feel dirt particles collecting all over me the longer I go without a shower.

I’m normally a hygiene freak; something Gio and I seem to have in common. For once, I take his advice.

Robby’s suit jacket falls to my feet and then my sheer, shimmery one-piece follows. The water is steaming hot as I step into the glass case and bask in its heat underneath the showerhead. Dirt and grime washes away and my natural curls feel nourished even before I’ve applied any product.

I spend a gluttonous amount of time in the shower, washing, exfoliating,deep conditioning. After I moisturize all over my body, I spritz on some perfume—Gio’s brought me several from brands like Dior and Dolce & Gabbana. I go with the one I like best, which is Viktor & Rolf’s Flowerbomb.

As I return to the basket to dig some more, I notice the designer labels on the clothes. There’s all sorts of outfits included. Everything from a pretty backless sundress to a pair of satin women’s pajamas. But it’s the lingerie that holds my attention.

It’s from La Perla, and it’s an intricately embroidered bustier with balconette style cups and a thong and garter to match. My fingers run over the luxurious silky black satin. This might be the most expensive piece of lingerie I’ll wear in my life.

Some of Gio’s parting words come back to me.

It’s about being able to tell you are faking. For a performer, you’ve failed to create that illusion. The fantasy.

A shrewd smirk crosses my lips. If it’s a fantasy Gio wants, it’s a fantasy Gio’ll get.

I’m waiting for Gio in the dimly lit penthouse when he returns. The sun set half an hour ago. The Vegas city lights have already twinkled on. As he’s done before when walking inside, he unclasps his watch and sets it down. The clink is loud in the otherwise silent suite.

He calls my name. He makes it to the bedroom before I reveal myself. I’m wearing the expensive La Perla lingerie, paired with my stripper heels. I’ve skipped on the wig, though. Instead my natural chocolate curls are out, free and wild, framing my face. I’ve applied a touch of makeup: mascara, eyeliner, and sinfully red lipstick. I strut out from the shadows, looking sexy as fuck,feelingsexy as fuck.

He stops in his tracks. His electric blue eyes skim over me head to toe. For once, I’ve thrown Gio off his game. His normally stoic expression slips for a split second before he cocks a brow.

“You’ve been busy,” he murmurs.

“So have you,” I purr, using the same sultry tone when on shift at the Dollhouse. It’s the tone that gets guests hard and stupid enough to hand over their cash. Except tonight I’m hoping Gio hands me my freedom. I start toward him, an extra sway in my hips. “Let me help you relax.”

In this moment, I’m not Falynn Carter. I’mHoney, putting on a performance just like I do when on stage.

Gio doesn’t move as I approach. He lets me take his hand and lead him toward the chair. He lowers himself into it with eyes still trained on me. They’re darker than an ocean storm, his expression back to being unreadable. But it doesn’t matter. This is what he asked for. I’m giving him what he wants—the seductress who entranced him on that stage last night. In the VIP room afterward.

I press play on a sexy and sensual playlist I found off the TV’s music app. As soon as the slow, lush beat starts, I’m surrendering to the music, gyrating to the sound. My hands slide along the curves of my body, seductive in how my fingers skim the cups of my bustier. They outline the cinch in my waist, the flare in my hips, then slip to the apex of my thighs. I trail my fingertips over my pussy lips, simulating touching myself.

His shirt tightens against his broad chest, the next breath he inhales slightly more audible.

My hips sway in smooth figure eights, hypnotizing him as I draw nearer. Though this is a show I’m putting on for him, I’m slick again. My thong is damp from the idea of where this ends—not with my escape but with Gio fucking my brains out.

I kick one leg up and then drop to the floor in a split, bouncing up and down. The imagery evokes what I want it to—the idea of me bouncing up and down on his dick. I can see the subtle reaction in his features, how his cheek twitches and his jaw tightens. I’m getting to him.

I put my all into this lap dance, channeling my inner Beyoncé the time she snatched Terrence Howard’s whole soul.

Back on my feet, I sashay closer, planting my hands on either armrest. I toss my head back, whipping my curls around. Chest pushed out, the arc of my neck exposed, I rotate my hips in another wide circle. When my gaze meets his again, they’re lust-filled and half-lidded.

I slide into his lap, curl my hands on his shoulders. They’re as hard as any rock, straight shredded muscle. I come in close, running fingers through his slicked-back hair. Lips to his ear, my tongue darts out and licks the shell. I let my thong-clad pussy grind against the fast-growing bulge in his slacks. The friction is tantalizing for us both, an unbearable tease as only thin fabric separates us.

His big ass dick is ready to go, ready to fuck me right here and now. His ragged breathing, and dark sapphires for eyes, tells me he’s a moment from doing it; from grabbing me and slamming me down on his length, lap dance long forgotten. My head fills with thoughts of how good he feels, how thick and fat his dick is, how he’ll stretch me beyond my limits.

I breathe in his musky scent as I move on to tease his lips with mine. I graze his lips, fingers still playing in his hair, my ass still grinding into him. He releases a surprise growl and his hand wraps around my throat. He wrenches me closer, smashing our lips together in a bruising kiss.

His tongue plunges into my mouth with no hesitation. He hasn’t let go of my throat, applying light pressure as his other hand grips my ass. In response my pussy throbs harder, begging for more.

Our tongues slide together in a duel. We’re fighting each other in our own way. His hand on my throat. Him palming my bare ass. Me with my fingers twisted in his hair and hips rotating against his in an ever-torturous motion. He squeezes the flesh of my ass so hard it’ll probably leave a mark. I moan into his mouth, whispering, “Fuck me, Gio. Right now.”

His answer comes in the form of a strangled groan, and if possible, he squeezes my ass harder. He’s unraveling before me as I hoped he would. As most men do when seduced by a sexy woman.

Now’s my chance. I let my hand drop down his chiseled chest and then in a bold Hail Mary move, I rip his gun from the holster attached to his waist. Before he notices what I’ve done, I knock him over the face with the barrel, using as much strength as possible. Then I’m out of there. I hop off him, modesty be damned in my bustier and thong, and run for it, gun in hand.

The craziest risk I’ve ever taken in my life.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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