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“So who am I here to see?” I ask her.
She checks her notes on her iPad. “A solo performer. Miss Hellfire. She’s a dancer.”
“Does she perform any sexual acts?”
“No.”
“Interested in performing with anyone else?”
“No, strictly solo. She’s looking for two nights a week.”
“Anything else I should know?”
“She’s new. I don’t think she has much experience with this kind of thing.”
Eve looks uncertain. She chews her thumbnail—a nervous trait.
“Something wrong?”
“No,” she says a little too quickly. “It’s just, well, it might be a waste of your time. She’s very inexperienced.”
I can already see her in my head. Young and inexperienced and lured to dance at Lair by the obscene amount of money we pay our performers.
But if anyone has the balls to get behind the glass and interview for the job, then they’re worth seeing.
“You must’ve noticed some potential in her for her to get this far along in the process.”
“Yeah,” Eve says unconvincingly.
I lift a brow at her. “What’s going on, evil stepsister?”
“Nothing. Enjoy the show.” She shoves the iPad at me and practically runs out of the arcade.
Inside the peep room, I settle in the seat and scroll through the information on the iPad. Apparently, Miss Hellfire is a twenty-something redhead from Idaho who likes walking around her house naked and lives to dance.
The lights come on behind the glass, and Miss Hellfire appears like a blast of sensual energy as “I See Red” bursts from the speakers.
And fuck me.
Miss Hellfire is stunning.
Legs for miles in thigh-high boots, which just happen to be my one and only weakness. Lashings of red hair tumbling down to her tiny waist. Big eyes behind a masquerade mask.
And then I see her lips.
Those luscious red lips.
Luscious red lips I am well acquainted with.
Because of the mask, it’s hard to see her face, but she could wear a thousand different masks and I’d always know it was her.
Bianca.
My body reacts almost immediately. It’s like every cell explodes with arousal.
I pour a scotch and take a big mouthful.
I may not know a lot about a lot, but you shouldn’t underestimate me, Massimo De Kysa.
Behind the screen, Miss Hellfire dips and parts her firm thighs, revealing a captivating view of her bikini-clad pussy, and my cock thickens in appreciation.
I should put an end to this. But hell, I can’t tear my eyes off her, let alone stop her. The way her body moves. The tantalizing way her hips sway in time to the music. The way her body looks in the red bikini she’s wearing. My breathing quickens, my pulse races. I haven’t felt this level of excitement in months.
I drain my drink and quickly pour another. But there is no chance I’m getting whiskey dick. I’m hard as fuck.
She stands and turns her back to me, and after undoing the buttons of her robe, it slips to the floor, revealing the juiciest, luscious ass I’ve ever seen.
Round.
Perky.
Fucking perfect.
I have to undo the top button of my shirt and sit back in the chair.
My cock aches behind my zipper.
I can’t rip my eyes from the glass—from Miss Hellfire’s mesmerizing dance in black lace and a tiny red bikini.
Images of tearing it from her body and sinking into her sweet, wet pussy send a wave of heat through me.
My palms sweat, dying to hit the button on the table beside me that requests the glass petition be removed.
But I won’t.
Not ever.
Instead, I sit frozen to the chair with my pulse racing and quickening breath.
She drops to her haunches and parts her knees, and I see another flash of the red bikini. Fuck. What I would give for a taste of what is behind that tiny strip of red fabric.
I grip the glass of scotch in my hand so tight my fingers ache.
I want her. I want her so bad it hurts.
Too bad I won’t ever be able to touch.
Because I’ve done bad things.
Things she can never know.
After the lights go down and Bianca disappears from the peep room, I remain seated. Every nerve and fiber in my body hums with need and a restless urge I know I can’t satisfy.
My little monster has moves.
She would be a draw card, for sure. A popular addition to the Peep Arcade lineup.
Yet, the thought of sharing her with others sends a hot rush of possessiveness through me.
I leave the peep room to find Eve in her office. She looks up from her desk.
“You seriously think I wouldn’t know?” I say.
She swallows. “What?”
“Miss Hellfire is Bianca.”
She huffs out a breath. “For the record, I told her it was a bad idea. But Bianca insisted she wanted to try it, and who am I to deny her the opportunity?”
“She’s not going on the roster.”
“She wasn’t any good?”
On the contrary, she was very good.
I look away, and my shrewd stepsister picks up on it. “She was good wasn’t she? Why don’t you want her performing… oh my God, Massimo, don’t tell me you’re developing feelings for—”
