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The horror, the need, the way she looks at me like she’s going to do what I said and then plot a way to murder me.
It’s so fucking hot.
I can barely stand it.
She starts to move off my leg. But I give her a little shove, and as she stumbles, I rise out of my chair and clamp my hand on her wrist, holding her upright. More importantly, keeping her from doing what I just demanded.
“Actually,” I say, turning her into me and lifting the back of her skirt, or what fucking passes as a skirt, so they can see the soft curves of her ass, but nothing else, except maybe some wetness on her thighs, “I’m not in the mood to share.”
“Too fucking bad about that,” John DeMarco says in his thick Bronx accent. “I wouldn’t mind a piece of that fucking ass. Look at it.”
I wait until she goes stiff against me, and then I stroke her ass cheeks, sliding a finger between them to burrow into the heat, the slick tightness of her cunt. Just enough to make her jolt, just enough to make me want to eat the fuck out of her on the floor like an animal.
Then she shifts. I know what she’s doing before she does it.
Scarlett grinds her stiletto heel down on my shoe. They’re special steel-toed dress shoes, which she obviously doesn’t know. And I pull my finger free of her pussy, slide my other arm around her waist, and stick my finger in her mouth. “Suck it, Red.”
Her eyes glitter with hatred but she does as I command. Then I hold that burning gaze for another second before turning my eyes back toward the table of hungry vultures who are foaming at the mouth to see what I do next.
“This part of the club remains closed for your enjoyment, gentlemen. A show will start soon, but I think I’m going to take my fiancée home now.” I offer a shit-eating grin. “We just got engaged, so I hope you’ll cut me some slack.”
I nod at the door and security passes my signal along.
These fucks will enjoy the fruits of the club, the for-hire girls, the specialty show, and all the booze and blow they want.
They’ll be watched closely, and if any of the criminals and mafia bosses and made men who are in here so much as touch one of the girls without her permission, they won’t be found in any recognizable condition.
If they’re found at all.
This is all part of the game, a bullshit meeting for guns and drugs that’ll spread the word of the newest player’s powers and prowess, and the fact that he just bagged one hot number.
Most won’t know her name.
Yet.
They don’t move in the same circles her father does. The circles I need to enter. But they have affiliates, and assholes like these guys gossip over things like this. Not the deals on the table, not anything that might be construed as sensitive or off the record—the kind of criminal in here has a code which makes them easy to manipulate. But it’s the fact that I’m engaged, and even in this patent leather getup, she looks like class.
“Move it,” I say to Scarlett. “Or I’ll leave you here.”
“Maybe I’d prefer them to you.”
Her words are so soft, almost lost beneath the music as I lead her out and down the halls to the private exit.
My car is waiting, and the minute the driver sees me, the motor purrs. We’re pretty close to SoHo, so when I slide into the back seat next to her, I tell him to take the scenic route to give me more time. I roll up the partition and motion to the mini bar.
“Scotch, Red.”
She slants me a glare, a grunting sound deep in her throat. But she sloshes the booze into a glass and shoves it at me. I take it before it spills on the suit. I like the shirt more than the suit, but the flashiness of it is perfect JM. It’s also muted just enough where I know she’s twisting herself in knots trying to work me out.
“Do you always drag girls to seedy places like that to showboat them for no reason?”
“Do you always try to hide your pain and punishment fetish behind bitchy comments?”
“I don’t have a fetish,” she snaps. “Unless you count me wanting to kill you a fetish.”
I take a sip of my drink. “Depends. Does it make you hot? Wet? Do you orgasm over the fantasy?”
“Not yet,” she says, crossing her legs and folding her arms on the seat opposite me as she turns away. “But the night is young.”
