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“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” I reprimand her—and she flinches as if I’d just hit her.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“I’m fucking serious. The next time you put on that fake doll act in front of me I’ll drag you up to one of the rooms and spank the living hell out of you,” I warn. “Do you understand?”
A treacherous blush colors her cheeks when she looks at me through wideeyes.
Perfect.
“So, I gather it’s not your first time here,” she comments, tilting her head to the side. “Since you know about the rooms...”
I shake my head, accompanied by a sigh that should let her know how little I want to talk about my experience or involvement with The Velvet Rooms.
“I’ve been to the Boston location, yes,” I tell her. “I’m familiar with the concept.”
I pause and pointedly take in the sight of her beautiful body, the delicate curves of her small breasts, adorned with white lace that leaves just enough to the imagination.
“And I know that you’re off limits, little angel,” I say. “But don’t think that’ll stop me.”
Her face reddens into a darker shade as she nods.
“Stop you from doing… what?”
“You know perfectly well,” I murmur, my eyes flitting over to the stairs that lead up to the playrooms for a split second, before I wink at her. “If I decide to take you up there, that’s what’s going to happen. And I’ll make sure you’ll love it, don’t you worry about that.”
A gasp escapes her pretty lips, when I lean in closer, ready to reach for her face—when she swiftly turns away to reach for her drink. She brings it up to her lips with such velocity that it almost spills down her cleavage.
Deliciously innocent.
“That’s um... well, you know I—”
“Until then, let’s talk, little girl. It’s your job to talk to me, about whatever I want. Right?”
She nods, swallowing dryly when our eyes meet again.
“So, talk to me,” I say. “Let’s see if you can hold my interest long enough for a second drink—I’m sure the madame would appreciate that.”
A hint of fear flits across her face.
She must be new to this, inexperienced and terrified of fucking up. And since the charade of this job doesn’t seem to come to her naturally, she feels inclined to hold on to the strict protocol laid out by the boss—shielding her true self behind a wall of make-up, fake smiles and empty questions.
She needs this job, that’s obvious. But why is she so damn afraid? Would she tell me if I asked?
Only one way to find out.
“What scares you so much?” I query. “Why are you so frightened to be honest with me?”
She closes her eyes, shielding me from the beautiful depth behind them as she responds.
“What makes you think I’m scared?”
“I don’t think, I know,” I insist.
A cheeky smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, only reinforcing what I suspected.
“Fine,” she breathes the word like a heavy sigh of relief. “If honesty is what you want, you shall have it. But be warned: I might bore you.”
“I’ll take that risk,” I reply. “And I doubt you will. You read Salinger for fun. No one does that.”
