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She’s young. No older than twenty.
She’s breathtakingly beautiful and sweet.
My little doll.
3
SHE’S DEFINITELY NEW and innocent.
I can almost fucking smell it on her. Can literally see the naivete inside those expressive eyes. Eyes that look away when mine bore into hers.
Something I find myself quite enjoying. That shyness. How lost she is.
It’s there in the delicious touch of pink that sweeps across her cheeks and then down the soft curve of her neck. It exudes from her every pore as she nervously wrings her hands—the small hint of fear I took notice of before she began to avoid my gaze.
And fuck me if this doesn’t both piss me off and turn me on.
While she takes in every detail of the room, I bask in the tension that’s building between us; her uncertainty and my hunger.
Because there’s no denying that I more than like what I see.
Unlike Michael’s fear earlier tonight, hers makes me hard as fuck. Causes my entire being to pulse in time with each deep inhale she takes.
How the fuck did this delicate little thing end up working here?
She’s not like the other women here. A blind man can see how out of place she is.
That she’s more than likely inexperienced.
Not that it matters much. The journey is of no consequence to me when her destination is this room. With me.
I want her. Will have her. But more importantly, I won’t share her with anyone in this place.
This little girl has no idea that I am the devil she never saw coming.
She will be for me alone. My personal tiny dancer.
That decision has me reaching down and undoing my belt. With a harsh yank, I toss it across the room. There’s a clang—it’s loud inside the quiet space—and she jumps. Finally fucking looks at me.
Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a sip and savor the herbal note of my gin, all the while my eyes roam her small frame. She has no idea what to do with herself, and for some reason, that pleases me.
I want to touch her.
Taste her.
Possess that genuine purity that causes an ache—an uncontrollable yearning to grow within me.
“Closer, sweetness.” Neither of us miss the gruffness in my tone, how each syllable rumbles up my chest until it’s a low and guttural growl.
“Yes, sir,” she whispers low, taking her first step toward me. My eyes traverse her short frame, devour each piece of bare flesh I discover. Take in the rich, dark brown of her hair, and how each loose curl sweeps, then bounces around her bare shoulders.
This tiny morsel of sin is a natural beauty with wide, doe eyes in a rich cerulean tone. So expressive. Beautiful. She reminds me of a fairy tale princess. The kind that every dirty motherfucker covets and wishes to corrupt.
My gaze travels lower then, taking in her delicate upturned nose and the small smattering of freckles. Then to her bee-stung lips with the natural hue of a ripened berry that I want to see stretched around my girth.
Her skin is luminescent under the stage light. Soft, and with the barest hint of a tan. As if the sun kissed her skin. My bite marks will look glorious on her.
Next, I take in what she’s wearing…
