by Dani René
“Thank you.” I don’t tell her she looks good, because there’s no point. I’m not here to make friends. I keep them all at an arm’s length. Perhaps that’s why I’m so lonely. Rather than having a big group of fake friends, I’d rather spend time at home with a good book.
Most nights when I’m not working, that’s where I am. Cuddled up in a big, floppy tee with the latest romance novel. Reading about sex and having it are very different things. Most people don’t know I’m still a virgin.
I down the gin and tonic with a wince before making my way to the foyer where I find Henriette typing away on the computer. Her gray hair is knotted in a severe bun at the back of her head and her kind, chocolate eyes hold affection for all her girls. Her sturdy build always reminds me of my gran who used to give the best hugs. Henriette is about fifty, but doesn’t allow age to play a factor in the way she enjoys her time with us girls.
“Darling,” she smiles up at me. “You have a private dance request. They only requested you,” she tells me with a frown. Most men who have business meetings ask for more girls to entertain them, but I guess I’ll be on my own tonight.
“I just need to use the restroom, then I’ll head in to VIP,” I inform her. A small smile is my response as I head by her and down the hall toward the bathroom. They are so beautifully decked out, they look like they were transported from a five-star hotel. Before I reach the entrance, a hand shoots out, gripping my arm.
“Kristyn?” My heart stops. When I turn to look into familiar mocha eyes, my throat closes with anxiety.
Shit. He did recognize me.
I’m wearing a wig that covers my normally chestnut waves in a sleek raven-colored curtain, but those eyes penetrate me. They see past the façade, finding the hidden girl normally in his office.
Shaking my head, I glare at him. “Wrong girl,” I utter in a low voice, hearing the trepidation in my tone. I’m hoping he’ll release me—pray he’ll realize his mistake.
But I know he won’t.
He can’t.
Because I am her.
I am the girl he orders around every day. The same girl who schedules his meetings and knows exactly how he likes his coffee. My tension skyrockets when he leans in farther without letting go. He inhales me, as if he can sniff out my lie.
“It is you,” he utters in shock. His gaze drinks me in like a fine wine, savoring every drop. When those dark orbs land on the spot inside my arm, I’m done for. My truth is clear. Levi Kingston saw my tattoo when I walked into the office one day because I’d forgotten my phone at work. It was a Saturday, and I didn’t think anyone would be there, but as soon as he exited his office, I was hooked.
I was dressed in my workout clothes—a tiny sports bra and tights—since I’d been out jogging. It was then he saw the tattoo on my arm normally covered in my office attire.
The small ink of a bird in flight has been on my flesh for four years. I got it when I turned seventeen. It was rebellious—the only bad thing I’d ever done. I’d never touched drugs, or even had a drop of alcohol. And boyfriends? Well, they were non-existent.
His gaze roams over me, hinting at the sexual tension between us I already knew was evident. Since the first day I walked into his office, I was too aware of him—of how he made me feel.
And every day since, I’ve pushed it to the back of my mind. He’s too good for me. A successful man like him must have women draping themselves over him at every opportunity.
How could he look at an innocent girl half his age in that way?
He doesn’t say another word. Instead, he shoves me into the restroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. Levi has always been a force to be reckoned with, and I could never fight him off. Not that I would. I want him to touch me—to manhandle me. I want to be at his beck and call. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it, but the man exudes sex, hunger, and raw, animalistic desire.
Like a hurricane taking down a city, he destroys me every moment I’m close to him. Each time I’m near him is another second I lose myself. We’re from two different worlds, and they can never clash. My life is too complicated. This innate desire I feel for Levi needs to stay where it is in the back of my mind.
“You should leave,” I tell him. My voice is assertive, but the way I shiver in fear, wariness, and desire doesn’t go unnoticed. I’ve been sassy with him before, offering my opinion when I think something won’t work. But this right here…this is different.
“Kristyn, why are you here?” His question is something I can’t answer. There’s no way I can afford him with the truth.
“This is my time out of the office. I don’t answer to you here,” I inform him, lifting my chin, attempting to find the confidence I don’t feel.
“Like fuck you don’t,” he growls. His voice is a rumble of torturous yearning that sounds pained. Why would it matter to him what I do?
“Levi…Mr. Kingston, this is my life. I don’t need you to save me. I don’t need a knight in shining armor to care what I do when I’m not on the clock.” I place my hands on his chest, wanting to push him away, but I don’t. Heated tingles shoot through my body at the contact. His skin is warm beneath the material. His taut muscles feel glorious under my fingertips.
“Kristyn, don’t fucking test me right now,” he spits out, the words full of frustration. He’s on me in seconds, ensuring I can’t escape. His hands plant on either side of my head against the wall, pinning my back flush against the cool tiles, forcing a gasp to fall from my lips.
“I wasn’t testing you.” My response is nothing more than a whimpering moan. Chastising myself, I push against his body, hoping he’ll let up, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his mouth inches from mine.
My core pulses, a heavy ache tightening low in my gut. I’m turned on by his possessiveness.
I want this. I want him.
“I gave you a job. Wasn’t it good enough? You come here to shake your ass in front of assholes who pay you too?” His voice holds more anguish than anger.
“Yet, here you are, asshole.” My retort has his gaze lighting up like an inferno. It burns into me. Fire blazing through a forest, taking down everything in its path.
His hands grip my shoulders and he spins me around before shoving me back against the wall. My face presses hard against the surface.
“What are you doing?” My words are muffled by the porcelain. Soft hues of cream and pink are too close to my face.
“I’m showing you what an asshole I can be,” he growls, lifting the negligee to bunch around my hips. Without warning, he swats my ass painfully, the sting eliciting a whimper from me. He rains down another, and another, until my knees buckle.
I haven’t been spanked since I was a kid. But this is very different. This…this just made me wet, my arousal soaking the flimsy material of my panties. And I wonder just what else Mr. Kingston can and would want to do to me. Those thoughts have my belly fluttering with hummingbird wings. I’ve wanted him since the first day I walked into his office. But it can never work. There’s just no way… or is there?
Chapter Three
Levi
“That’s what an asshole can do,” I tell her, releasing her from my grip.
She turns to glare at me, and I can’t stop my cock from throbbing. The need to shove her to her knees and feed her my dick runs rampant through my veins. She’s incredible. Exquisite in the tiny lingerie hugging every fucking curve of her beautiful body.
“Do you realize Eric is here too? If he saw you tonight…” I don’t have to finish the sentence. She knows this could ensure she gets fired from Four Father’s. Her job is on the line because she wants men to look at her.
“I…I didn’t think about it.”
“No, you didn’t fucking think.” My words are harsh, and I immediately want to take them back at her wince.
A knock on the door interrupts us. “Are you okay in there, Kismet?” It’s the old lady from the reception area. I snap my gaze to Kristyn and pin her with a g
lare, telling her to get rid of the woman.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she calls to her boss.
“All right, hurry. The clients would like to get started.”
Once we’re alone, I grip her arm and tug her against me. I don’t know why, but the need to hold her makes me do stupid shit. “You’ll go out there, tell her you’re not feeling well, and go home.”
“I can’t—”
“That’s a fucking order from your boss. Do it,” I command in a no-nonsense tone. She peeks up at me with those big blue eyes, and I almost lose it. I reign in the desire to fuck her right here on the spot, holding onto it until I get her alone—until I have hours to show her how much of an asshole I can really be.
“Fine. But you’re paying me the money I would’ve earned tonight.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, which doesn’t help the fact that I want my dick between those luscious tits while her tongue laps at the arousal on the crown.
“I’ll pay you that and more. Just get your ass out of here,” I hiss, my frustration blooming into a darkened hurricane that wants to tear this little girl apart. She peeks up at me with a fragility that tugs at my chest. Her curvaceous frame in next to nothing is what wet dreams are made of—especially mine.
She stalks by me, her hips swaying hypnotically. I know she’s doing it on purpose, trying to bait me to devour her, and I will certainly do that. Now that I’ve had a taste, I want more. The click of the door alerts me that I’m alone. Sighing, I glance in the mirror.
Breathing through the range of emotions, I wait until my hard-on is gone before I head out to the main area of the club. I find Sanders and his business associate at the bar, along with Pearson, their drinks already ordered.
“You ready? Thought you got lost.” Eric glares at me, curiosity in his blue eyes.
Shrugging, I reach for my Scotch, down it in one gulp, and order another. “I’m fine,” I murmur before glancing at him. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“That, my dear boy, sounds like a splendid idea,” Sanders chuckles, and we follow him into the private room he requested.
As soon as we’re settled on the plush velvet sofas, the hostess strolls in. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry to say Kismet isn’t feeling well this evening, but I have two lovely ladies to keep you entertained.”
My heart kicks in my chest at the mention of her stage name. Eric’s gaze burns into the side of my face. Leaning in, he whispers, “Does Kismet being ill have something to do with you, Kingston?” The amusement in his tone has me overly aware that he must’ve seen me with her earlier.
Thankfully, she was wearing a wig. He wouldn’t have recognized her because of that one minor detail.
“What do you mean?” I glare at Pearson. The asshole is too intuitive for his own good. Also, he’s a hound. He’d fuck Kristyn if he knew she was single, or if he knew I wanted her. The man is great at business, but he’ll fuck any young pussy that comes his way.
“I know you too well, Levi. You can have any beauty on your dick in seconds,” he chuckles. He’s right, I can. Lifting his tumbler, he tips it my way, then swallows down the amber liquid.
“It’s not like you’re an angel, Pearson. Your dick is overused. You need to tone it down some,” I bite back in jest. We both guffaw at the sentiments that fit the other perfectly. I’ve never had close friends. None that I’d feel comfortable talking to like this, anyway. The guys I went to college with were all prep school boys. Too fucking posh for their own good. They wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if one was handed to them on a silver platter.
A moment later, two beautiful dancers with next to nothing covering their tits and cunt stroll in. With bodies that would make a priest break his vows, and lips that would make a sane man lose his mind, they take the small stage and begin a routine to Cookie by R. Kelly.
The sexual song and their swaying hips have my cock responding, but my mind is still with Kristyn and the way her ass reddened with my handprint.
“Who’s on your mind, Kingston?” Eric thuds me on the shoulder, his piercing eyes boring into me with curiosity.
“Nobody.” My response is clipped, almost angry. I know I need to shut the fuck up before he figures it out, but with him goading me like he normally does, I don’t know if I can. I’m still worked up from earlier with that sweet little vixen.
“Like fuck will I believe that. Who is she?”
I keep my gaze trained on the two beauties swirling and twirling before us. One of them steps off the stage, heading right for Eric. She places her pert ass on his lap, grinding on the bulge prominent in his slacks.
“Hi, handsome,” she utters from those plump—surely Botox—lips.
He turns to her, not the least bit interested. She’s trying her utmost to get something out of him. Her hands trail up his thighs, landing on his crotch. “You’ll have to do so much more than palm my dick to get a decent tip,” he tells her with confidence. Her big green eyes widen in shock. “I don’t do well with teases.”
“We’re not allowed—”
He leans in, getting as close to her as he can without touching her. “I didn’t say I wanted to touch you, sweetheart. Those plastic tits do nothing for me,” he informs her with a dark, condescending tone that causes her to huff.
“Stop pissing off the girls, Pearson.” Sanders’ gruff tone filters over to us from the other side of the room. The space is small. So much so, the girls could easily reach him while sitting on our laps.
“Let’s talk business,” I chirp, hoping to get this done and dusted. As soon as I walk out of this place, my next stop is Kristyn’s house. I don’t give a shit how late it is, she’ll be explaining what the fuck she’s doing taking her clothes off for men like Sanders.
The second dancer rises from Holloway, the business associate seated beside our client. Sanders drops a folder on the stage situated between us, and I lean over to pick it up. Opening it, I find the figures we asked them for. They’re looking to sign a contract with us for the next five years that brings in almost ten-billion.
Handing the paperwork to Eric, I watch as he glances over the pages. He lifts his gaze, meeting mine with a satisfied smirk. “Think you can have a few more of these meetings as we seal the deal?” he questions.
The blonde dancer, who is all natural from her tits to her lips, settles herself on my lap. I cast a quick glance at her, but my dick doesn’t twitch. Not even when she grinds her perfect ass on my lap. She’s no Kristyn.
“I think I can deal with it,” I tell my partner, then look over at Sanders. “And this contract, it will be exclusive to us. We sign now, we get the deal. You’re not shopping around, or looking for a shared operation?” I ask him. He’s shrewd—an overzealous businessman who will chuck his money at anyone who does his dirty work.
“You’re the only company I’ve come to with it.”
There’s not a flicker of dishonesty. I nod. “Fine.” I lift my glass. “It’s a deal.” Barbie is still sitting on my lap when I down my drink.
“Lovely. Four Father’s will be my go to for all future dealings if this goes well.” Our new client grins like a fucking Cheshire cat. He’s old, probably in his early seventies, with a rounding belly and balding head. He reminds me of a pervy grandpa you would normally warn your daughters not to take candy from. Those small, beady eyes, dark as night, are almost sinister, but he’s worth millions, billions even, so as long as he is on board, we’ll be just fine.
“There’s no reason it won’t, Sanders,” Eric tells him.
Sighing, I glance at Eric. “Is that all you needed me here for?”
“Why? Got a tight little hole wet and ready for you at home?” Eric questions, his eyebrow arching. He lifts his refilled Scotch, taking it like a shot as he swallows it in one gulp.
“Not at home, but I will be inside her tonight,” I finally admit, knowing he wouldn’t give up if I didn’t give him something. He loves hearing about what I do to the pretty young things with rope and a
paddle. Reddening porcelain ass cheeks, ensuring they’re whimpering, mewling for me to fuck them, then, finally, driving deep inside their tight bodies while I torture their nipples and clits with metal clamps.
Something tells me I should invite my friend to the BDSM club I’ve frequented over the past few months. Perhaps he can work his way through the beauties dying for an asshole to spank and fuck them.
He offers me a knowing grin and slaps me on the shoulder while the pretty dancer stands up, knowing she’s not doing it for me. “I knew there had to be something stealing your attention.”
“Not so much my attention, but she’s definitely intrigued me,” I tell him.
“Well, you better get going. And if you get your dick wet, and it’s good, ask if she has a sister,” he murmurs conspiratorially.
“You’re an asshole, Pearson,” I retort.
“Takes one to know one, Kingston,” he bites back as I rise from my seat.
Buttoning up my suit jacket, I offer a nod toward our client. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow to finalize the contracts.”
“Good. I look forward to it.” Sanders shakes my hand. I don’t bother looking at his associate, who looks like a teenager trying to play in the adult’s world. Striding from the room, I step into the main area of the club, which is now filled with suits. Their eyes are trained on the stages where women grind against poles and kneel, taunting the men for more money.
Shaking my head, I exit the club. The night is chilly. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap out a message to Kristyn. Something tells me she’s still awake. I don’t tell her I’m coming over. Instead, I wish her a good night.
Slipping into the driver’s seat of my BMW X5, I start the engine and pull out onto the road. I know where she lives, her address was on her resume and I found myself memorizing it. At the time, I didn’t think I’d need it the way I do right now. What I don’t know is if she’s alone or has a boyfriend. However, the whimpers I elicited from her plump lips earlier tell me she does not.
