Page 117 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

I know I look like Niko’s wet dream.That’s the whole point.

I saunter over to him and trace a long fingernail down the side of his neck.I bend in close to whisper in his ear.“I’ve missed you.”I pull back to smile down at him.

Niko looks me up and down before his gaze meets mine.I see confusion in his bloodshot eyes, then suspicion, then a flash of recognition.“Fawn,” he says.

He calls me that when he wants to remind me I’m a stripper.When I met him, I met him as me, just a girl out with her friends, and I told him my name: Frankie Lyles.

But at the moment, I’ll take Fawn.It’s fine.Because it’s still a step back from bitch or cunt or whore or any of the lovely Russian things he calls me.I’m fine not knowing what the words mean.Based on the other ways he communicates with me, I think I get the point.

I straddle Niko’s lap, doing my best to quell the sick twist of my stomach.He smells disgusting, an overwhelming mix of Crown Royal and buckets of sweet cologne and the depths of hell, where he lives.

I steady myself and put my lips to his, cold and slimy.I kiss him for all I’m worth, willing myself not to gag in disgust.I know what this is.I’m selling myself to him, handing over my freedom to him.

But it’s worth it.

That’s what I remind myself as my tongue dances against his and I grind my crotch over his cock, now growing and pushing against his pants.

Niko isn’t a moron.He knows I haven’t returned because I love him.

But he’s a businessman, and this is all business.And in this business deal, he knows he’s already won.

“Let’s go to my place,” he says, when we come up for air.

He signals to his men, and then he pushes me off him, and he stands.Taking my hand, we leave the club and get into his black Lincoln.We drive the short distance to the airport, and during the trip, I make sure I’m all over him, as if he’s so irresistibly sexy that I can’t stop pawing him.

A helicopter is waiting for us, and we get in.I know where we’re going.We’re heading to his fortress at Lake Tahoe.He has a house in an exclusive gated community surrounded by water on three sides and everywhere else by fifteen-foot solid metal security fences.

An impenetrable compound.

I hate him.

I drape my leg over his during the flight, and my hand slips over his pants.Images of Special K pop into my mind and I nearly break down.His sweet, generous way.His willingness to give up everything for me.

How much I love him.

It’s going to take every ounce of my strength not to think of him.But I can’t think of him while I’m with Niko.

I shut my eyes tight and try to erase the memories from my brain.There’s no sense dwelling on what was or what might have been.The only thing that matters now is survival.For me, but more importantly for those at Yosemite Ranch.

The helicopter lands on the roof of Niko’s home, and we get out.We walk down to his bedroom, and when he finally closes the door and we’re alone, I begin to strip for him.He smiles at me, but it’s not a friendly smile.

He approaches me, and it takes all of my courage not to run.But I stand in place, still playing the game, still making sure that I broadcast how happy I am to be here with him, how much I’ve missed him.

When at my core I’m a shaking mess.I’m on the verge of vomiting.

Niko’s hand flashes out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me down and twisted to the side.My head flies upward, and I strain against the pain.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, bitch, but as long as it amuses me, I’ll play along.”He tugs on my hair so hard that I go flying backward, hitting the edge of the dresser at mid-back and knocking a lamp to the floor.He marches toward me and grabs my arm, wringing it sharply.

“Niko!I don’t know what you mean!I’m not playing a game sweetie.”

He spins me around by the roots of my hair, my knees scraping on the carpet.

“I missed you so much.We had a good thing, and I should never have gotten scared and ran.You know how stupid I can be.Will you take me back?I’ll do anything for you.”

“Like be on time?”He wrings my arm even more, and I can’t help but cry out.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice strained.“I took too long getting pretty for you that night.”