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Modern day pimp. Sex. Dangerous.
The words fly at me like the sharpest razor blades.
Hard and fast because he’s an assault on my senses. He’s elegant, tyrannical, and the outfit shouldn’t work, but it does.
He runs his gaze over me.
“You look… hot.” His voice is dark and soft, something that can lick against me, up my thighs and along my already wet slit.
I don’t like him. I want him. It’s visceral, this want. And goddamn, I hate it.
“Except the hair.”
“I’m not cutting my hair.”
He comes right up, drink still in one strong hand. Malone winds my hair between the fingers of his other hand. Pulling my head back, he bites my throat, sucking until the skin in his mouth throbs and beats, and a small wave of electric excitement ignites me deep within.
“I don’t want you cutting your hair. I want it up. A braid. Tight. High.”
He nods to the hall where the bedrooms are and I walk away, my legs wobbling, and not just because of the slut heels.
I’m seething, everything’s hot as I put my palms on the vanity. I look myself in the eye.
He appears behind me, tall, built, a runner’s body lithe in the suit but swathed in power. It’s in the control he wields.
Malone puts down his glass, and the smoke of the scotch cuts through the pure decadence of him. I don’t know the scent, but it’s not the dark, hedonistic boozy scent that seems to come from his skin. This is more salt and money and animalistic charm from a bottle of men’s cologne that has a hefty price tag.
I prefer the other one. But this one… it almost feels safe, and I’ll take whatever safety I can get.
Wait, what am I thinking? I don’t prefer anything that comes from him. Except, maybe the goodbye that waits at the end of this long damn road.
“Put your hair up. If you don’t have any girly shit for hair, which I highly fucking doubt, you’ll find it in the top right-hand drawer.”
I glare. “Things your lovers left behind?”
“I don’t bring anyone here. So pull the claws back in, princess. This is our… love palace.”
“You’re an asswipe.”
“Sir,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “Sir.”
He strokes a hand over the mark on my throat, a bruise. A gift from him, and his touch on that sensitive spot makes my nipples harden, something he doesn’t miss as his gaze drops to them in the mirror. He puts an open ring box on the table near the door.
“Have a drink, and put your hair up and the ring on.”
Then he turns and leaves.
The square cut diamond is big. Obnoxious. Ostentatious. I glare at it before I pull it from the box and then slide it on, hating that it fits. Not perfectly, but it fits.
Then I do my hair, and when I’m done, I pick up the glass and down the remaining drops of booze before eyeing myself in the mirror.
I look…
Like some creature from his sex club. But in red. The latex is low-cut, ending right above my nipples. And the skirt’s so high that it just barely covers my pussy. He didn’t put out underwear, but there’s quite a gap between the top of the stockings and the bottom of the skirt.
There’s no way I can go out in public like this. I look like he hired me for the night. I look… I look like someone who’d drag his reputation down, not up.
