Page 3 of Flames

“It’s just—” I feign an innocent little cough. “The way you yelled at the waiter. I guess I’m just not used to a man with such authority.”

His hand lands on my exposed thick thigh and he gives it a tight squeeze before roaming higher, teasing the hem of my leather skirt. “You need a real man, don’t you?” he asks as his fingers dance even higher, skimming the lips of my pussy and finding no underwear. “You need a man to take good care of you, and show you what good girls get, don’t you, pet?”

Gag me with my fucking soup spoon, please.

“Yes, please,” I whimper softly.

This meek damsel in distress shit is getting real old, real fast.

“Maybe I need to take my pet outside for a moment?” he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows, his fingers finding my dry as a bone pussy and stroking my lips.

“Maybe it’d be better if we went back to your place?” I suggest as coyly as possible.

My stomach clenches with anticipation. I need access to his home. There is no doubt that Alexander Yovik keeps the most valuable pieces of his collection at his home. I did recon at his studio this week, looking for signs that the priceless tapestry might be there, but unfortunately for me, the only treasure I left with was Alexander’s phone number and the promise of a dinner date.

Lucky me.

My buyer was very specific—he doesn’t just want an expensive and ancient tapestry. He wants the most expensive and ancient of tapestries—The Firebird. Named for the real gold woven into the fibers of the bird’s feathers—its value is astronomical, its payout for me is near astronomical, and its current location a mystery. It took me months to track down notorious art thief Alexander Yovik and his collection, which I’m certain contains The Firebird.

“First, you show me you’re willing.” His fat fingers continue kneading at my flesh despite my clear lack of bodily reaction. “Then, I bring you to my house,” he grumbles.

I really do not want this asshole feeling me up in a back alley, but the pay day will be worth it. I steel myself and nod. Adjusting my skirt to cover myself fully, I stand and act as if I’m off to the restrooms. As soon as I turn away from the table, I let the grimace I’ve been holding spread across my face.

Gonna have to close my eyes and access my internal spank bank for this one.

The cold air hits my exposed skin with a sharp sting as I push open the door to the back alley. Despite this being a nice restaurant, the neighborhood behind it is just like the rest of this city—shady as shit and covered in a layer of filth. The smell of garbage permeates the air as I lean against the brick wall.

I try to picture myself on a warm island beach where I’ll lay out like a lizard in the sun once I get this pay day. Anemic girl problems—I’m always cold… like always. If it were up to me, I’d be wrapped up right now in a nest of blankets, like one of the omegas in the Omegaverse books I love. A nest of blankets, warm lighting, and adoring alphas who want nothing more than to eat me out—sign me the fuck up. A warm beach with a piña colada is equally as appealing.

The metal of the back exit door flying open pulls me from my warm fantasies. Unfortunately for me, I’m not snuggled in a nest or lying on a beach. I’m in a cold alley with Mr. Bushy Brows himself. Speaking of, he wiggles them at me as he approaches like an overindulged predator stalking his helpless prey.

Soon I’ll be on a beach.

“There’s my good little pet,” he coos in a voice that sends shivers down my spine, and not in a good way.

His beady eyes rove over me hungrily—just like all other men in this shit stain of a city, he’s here to take what he wants. It’s why I’m so good at what I do—the cocky men of this world never suspect they’re getting played by a girl. Much less one with a rack like mine.

“Show me your cunt,” he demands as he licks his lips.

Demanding and ugly as sin, what a winner.

I do as he says though, because at the end of the day, I’m here to win. I grew up in this city—and a street kid quickly learns how to take what they need in this world. And take I fucking do. This asshole can look, touch even, because at the end of the day, I’ll rob his ass blind and laugh all the way to my private cabana.

“Yes, sir,” I say meekly as I roll my leather skirt up my thighs slowly, teasingly.

He moves closer, his eyes never leaving the path of my skirt hem as I expose more and more of myself to him.

“Please,” I whimper when my skirt is pushed all the way up past my hips. “I’m so wet for you.”

Well, for your money, but tomato, tamahto.

“Do you need Daddy to take care of that aching cunt, little girl?”

Oh, barf. He has a daddy fetish? Lucky me, again.

“Oh, yes, Daddy. Please,” I beg, spreading my thighs and letting him take me in. He sucks in a sharp breath as he gazes straight at my pussy, his pupils dilating with lust.

“Don’t worry, little girl,” he says as his fingers move in and he begins to rub the lips of my pussy. “Daddy will make the ache go away.”