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That’s when I came up with the Honey Pot.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I look down, uncomfortable with his praise. After being physically and emotionally beat to shreds the first eighteen years of my life, it’s hard to believe I deserve it. To most, I come off as an arrogant fucker who cowers to no one, but it’s all bravado. Inside, I’m still an eight-year-old desperate for my dad’s attention. That’ll never heal, but Cy’s been slowly getting me through all that childhood trauma bullshit.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Well, I’m outta here. Char’ll put my nuts in a vice if I stick around for the party.” He stands and gives me a hug. “Make sure these assholes don’t embarrass me.”
“Will do.”
Without Prez here to distract me, my focus turns to the party. Liquor is flowing, and my brothers have quickly gotten friendly with the ladies. Mary was in charge of hiring and scheduling, so this is the first time I’m getting a look at the talent. There’s literally someone for everyone. It’s fucking impressive.
I spot Lucky with a beautiful, curvy redhead on his lap. She’s lost the clothes she came in with, leaving her in a lacy bodysuit that’s completely see-through. He gives me a chin lift with a shit-eating grin. I knew pussy was the best way to get my brothers invested.
My gaze catches on a little thing chatting Dutch up. She’s fucking stunning in a brown faux-leather crop top and matching booty shorts. Her hair is in two French braids with ends that brush the top of her tits that are spilling out of her shirt. She’s balancing on sky-high stilettos, making her long legs appear even longer. The lighting is dim, but I can make out her plump, shiny lips and cute button nose.
None of that is why she has my attention, though. There’s something about her eyes. I know this girl from somewhere. Racking my brain, I try to think from where, but I’m drawing a blank. I’ve met a lot of women in my days, fucked a lot too, sometimes two or three at a time; maybe she’s one of them.
That doesn’t feel right.
“Hey, Mary,” I call over to where she’s still fretting with paperwork at the end of the bar. She moves next to me so we don’t have to shout over the music.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s that?” I jerk my chin to the corner where the girl sits on Dutch’s lap. I get the urge to rip her off him, but that’s jacked. Neither of them is doing anything wrong.
“Who?” She follows my gaze. “Oh, that’s Navy. She’s the only one I was a little uneasy hiring because she seems so innocent and sweet—too sweet.”
Navy. That’s a unique name, one I would’ve recalled had I fucked her. Then I remember that I’m a bastard and don’t always ask for names. I’m usually more worried about how hard she can suck my cock.
“She’s never fucked for money?”
“I didn’t say that. She said she’s been hooking privately for years. Hard to believe.” She takes Navy in, deep in thought for a second before straightening her posture. “But that’s also why I think she’ll be a big earner.”
Navy twirls a finger in Dutch’s unruly black hair. His gaze is fixed on her lips as she says something to him he must like because his hand grips her hip and pulls her even closer. My hands tighten to fists, but I keep myself in check.
“We need girls who know what they’re doing.”
“She does.” Mary scoffs. “Like I’d ever expose a virgin to this world.”
“What’s she offering?” I ask out of curiosity. All the girls have a menu of things they will and will not perform. Since they’re independent contractors, we have no say in it.
“Let me see.” Mary walks over to the coffee table and picks up the laminated card with the girl’s picture. She blows out a breath as she returns to her stool. “Everything except the Dungeon. That one’s a hard limit.” She looks up and assesses Navy. “Makes sense. She’s so skinny, she’s probably worried about injury.”
“There are implements in the Classroom.”
“Yeah, but she was okay with that one.”
The image of her in a schoolgirl uniform, bent over a desk and being swatted with a ruler pops into my mind and turns my cock to stone. Then I remember I won’t be the one doing the swatting. It’ll be a stranger—many strangers—and an irrational bubble of anger works its way through my body.
“You sure she’s old enough to be here?” I ask, searching for any reason to kick her to the curb so I don’t have to feel this keyed up any longer.
“Rigger,” she says in a scolding tone. “I know you’re not questioning my ethics and morals.”
I shrug. “Just asking.”
“Each girl has to be fingerprinted, undergo a background check, and be approved for a license with the county. Yes. I’m certain she is who she says she is.”
