by Lia Lee
“Easy, Hans. He’ll know to bill higher next time,” one of our other former clients, Larry Rogers, murmurs. Everyone laughs, including me.
“Well. You pay for quality, right?” I ask with a smile, and Hans nods.
I glance at Samantha. She’s listening intently, but, as I asked, she’s staying quiet. She smiles when the others joke, reading the situation perfectly. These men expect to be humored, even when their jokes aren’t that funny.
“And who is this beautiful creature?” Larry asks, and Samantha smiles sweetly at him.
“This is my friend, Samantha,” I say, placing my hand at the base of her spine.
“Stunning,” Larry says. If he wasn’t seventy-six years old and one of our best clients, I’d be less nice about his obvious admiration.
Samantha just nods serenely, still smiling.
Smart girl. Humor him, honey. Play the role. And the fact that she follows instructions so well… well, that’s just one more thing for me to try not to think about too damn much.
I glance across the room and see one of our biggest clients standing alone. I smoothly separate Samantha and I from the group we’re currently talking with and steer her toward the bar. “I need to talk to someone. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you go grab a drink or something.”
“I can do that,” she says in a bit of a breathy voice, and my gaze drops to her full breasts, her lush cleavage. When I look back up at her, she’s got the prettiest damn blush to her cheeks and it hits me again, how innocent she seems and how badly I want to corrupt her.
“Go on,” I say, and it comes out harsher than I mean for it to. She walks away, and I can’t help but follow the sway of her hips as she walks.
“Get it together, Knight,” I mutter. I give my head a little shake, straighten my cuffs, and head over toward the client I’m supposed to talk up.
But I won’t be leaving her alone for long.
***
Samantha
When I reach the bar, I notice that most of the women seem to be drinking champagne, so I order a glass as well. The first sip is like magic, and I realize this isn’t the cheap stuff we used to get on New Year’s Eve while I was growing up. I take another sip and just let it sit on my tongue for a while, enjoying the taste of it.
A guy in a dark suit slides up to the bar beside me, and for a second, I think it’s Dante, but immediately realize that this guy isn’t tall or bulky enough.
“Hey. Samantha, right?” he asks in a voice as smooth as honey. I glance up at him. He looks like someone from an underwear ad, kind of model-perfect. Nice looking, but after spending the last hour with Dante, I’m not overly impressed for some reason.
“Hi,” I answer, glancing around to see if Dante is nearby. The way this guy is looking at me, like he’s imagining me naked, is already making my skin crawl.
All right, so clearly I wasn’t meant to be a stripper.
Unfortunately, Dante is nowhere around and now I have to try to figure out how to step away without offending underwear model guy.
“I’m Anton,” he says, holding out his hand. After a moment, I take it, intending to briefly and politely shake it and then get the heck away from him. “If I had you for the night, I sure the hell wouldn’t waste it here,” he says in a low, smooth voice, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“Excuse me?” I try for my haughtiest, most blue-blood attitude. I’m an actress. This is an act. It’s like a mantra I have to keep repeating to myself, from the second Harry led me into that room earlier today.
“No need to put on the high and mighty act with me, sweetness. I was there earlier at the Calla Club when Dante bid on you.”
I quickly glance around, hoping no one overheard, but everyone else at the bar is engrossed in their own conversations. I glance back at the guy, Anton, and he’s giving me this sleazy little smirk.
“One million dollars, huh? You must be so damn good, to be able to charge that,” he purrs, and I try to pull my hand out of his without making a scene. He lets me go, but maneuvers himself so my body is trapped between him and the bar. “I can only imagine how sexy you look on your knees.”
I try to duck around him, and he smoothly keeps me cornered. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous and it’s been a little while since I’ve had a good, dirty fuck. One million, plus fifty grand, if you leave here with me, right now.”
“Not interested. Excuse me,” I say, and I quickly manage to get around him this time, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. I’m shaking now, a combination of anger and flat-out fear. I’ve heard plenty about men like this, who think their money entitles them to whatever they want. He doesn’t care if I say no, and he’s trying to pull me toward the door.
All of a sudden, there’s a solid wall of tuxedo-clad chest by my side, and Dante’s there, knocking Anton’s hand away from me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dante snarls, and the look he’s giving Anton makes it very, very clear that they’re not friends. At all.
“I was just making conversation,” Anton says with a smirk.
“You touch her again and I’ll break a few things. Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”
Without another word, Dante takes my hand and leads me toward the dance floor. I’m still shaking stupidly from my ordeal with creepy Anton, and when Dante pulls me close, another type of tremble runs along my spine.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his mouth near my ear, his warm breath caressing my neck.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk to him—”“It’s not your fault. Anton’s a dick, and if I’d suspected he’d make a play for you, I never would have left you alone. I’m sorry.”
I’m more than a little surprised by the apology, and it must show. He gives me a small, almost-sheepish smile, and then he pulls me closer. My hand is in his, and his arm is around my body, holding me tightly, plastered up against his hard body. His fingers start playing up and down my spine, and it feels like I can barely breathe.
When I look up into his face, his eyes are on me, and the dark intensity of his gaze takes my breath away.
“What did he say to you?” he asks quietly.
“That he’d pay more if I left here with him tonight.”
“He’s a prick,” he mutters.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I contented myself with swaying in his arms, with the shivers that went up my spine every time his fingertips traced a path from between my shoulder blades to just above my ass, though it felt as if his hand dipped almost indecently low a few times.
“So. Construction, huh? Do you like it?” I ask, fighting to keep some sort of control and focus.
“Yeah. Most of the time, anyway,” he murmurs. “My father’s trying to groom me to take it over in the next year or two.”
“Trying? You seem to handle yourself pretty well,” I say, and then blush as his eyes meet mine. “I mean… you’re very confident and so many of those people you talked to earlier just kind of went on and on about how much they liked working with you in particular.” Great. Now I’m babbling. I’m about to say something else when his fingertips skate over the roundest part of my ass, and, for just a moment, his hand lingers, gently gripping my behind, his fingertips so, so close to where I’m already throbbing for him. I gasp, and he slowly moves his hand back up to my back.
“My brother’s going to end up taking over. This is more his thing,” he says, as if I’m not about five seconds away from exploding.
“This isn’t your thing?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“My focus is a little different.”
I want to ask him what his focus is, but he leans in, just a little, his breath caressing my earlobe. “I’m shitty with compliments. I meant to tell you earlier how stunning you look tonight.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. Every man in this room wants to be where I am right now.”
I give
a nervous little laugh, and he pulls me even closer. “I kinda doubt that. There are some gorgeous women in this room.”
“Mm. There are some nice-looking women. None of them look like you, though. And I can tell you right now what’s going through these men’s heads, watching you here in that sexy dress, pressed up against me like this.”
“What?” I swear I can barely breathe.
“They’re all thinking what a lucky bastard I am, because I’m going home with you,” he murmurs in my ear, and there’s that little growl again. I try to press my thighs together, and, at the movement, he maneuvers himself so his muscular thigh is there instead, pressing into me. I feel the insane, ridiculous urge to grind into him to get some relief, but I refuse to lose myself to this insanity. Unfortunately for me, he keeps talking. “They’re imagining what you’ll be like for me later, when it’s just the two of us. They’re imagining you, naked, those gorgeous legs spread. They’re wondering if you scream when you come. Hoping you do, probably.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“They’re thinking about the long, hot night I have ahead of me. Every guy in this room wishes he was me.”
“I think that has more to do with you being rich and powerful than it has to do with me,” I tell him with a laugh. I need to pull myself together. Right at this moment, I’m just as curious as anyone to find out whether or not I scream when I come, and I wonder what it would feel like to have him buried deep inside me.
How did I get here? I’ve been saving myself for love, and now I’m willing to give everything to this smooth, commanding, cocky man who can make me wetter than I’ve ever been in my life with little more than a word or a look.
“I think we’re done here, Samantha,” he murmurs, and the way he says my name makes something twist deep inside me. The way he says it, my name is pure sex, and for just a moment I want to live up to the way his mouth forms the word.
“We are?”
“Yes. I’ve played the good son. I’ve made my father’s clients happy. You’ve helped me put on a good show, and now I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
“Okay,” I say, and he takes my hand, pulling me toward the exit. I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I’ll be away from all of these rich, powerful, intimidating people and their questioning glances.
Until I remember that I’m going home with Dante.
Chapter Five
Dante
What the fuck is wrong with me? I mean, yeah. I had every intention of seducing her. Fuck knows I want to hear her screaming my name. I didn’t expect what happened to me when I saw Anton with his hands on her. The hot, molten wave of rage that tore through me at that moment was unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with. In that moment, I seriously could have killed him and laughed about it later.
And then on the dance floor, I’d come this close to telling her what I want to do with my life. The big dream. Very few people know about that, and why the hell would I want to share it with someone I’m paying to attend events with me for the next month? I’m letting myself get sucked in by her innocence and naiveté. Some sick part of me wants to take that away from her, prove to her that no matter how professional and together I am, I’m no fucking fairy tale.
I know I should go to my room when we get back to the penthouse. This woman is getting under my skin and fuck if I know how she’s doing it. I don’t want to like her. I don’t want to know her. I want her to do what she’s being paid to do. And, yeah, if I could have her lips around my cock, I’d be good with that, too.
We pass the drive to the penthouse in silence, and when our driver pulls up to the entrance, I climb out and help her out, then walk ahead of her into the building. It’s driving me nuts, being close to her, surrounded by her scent. I haven’t been this helplessly horny since I was a teenager. My dick hasn’t settled down since I first laid eyes on her and I’m almost in pain from the need to cum. She’s driving me nuts.
We take the elevator up to the penthouse, and she seems nervous, standing as far away from me in the elevator as she can. Even though I was just thinking about how I need distance from her, it pisses me off that she’s staying away.
Yeah. I’m getting more fucked up the more time I spend with her.
I unlock the door to the penthouse and wave her in. When she gets into the living room, she takes a deep breath and walks over to the window. The view is spectacular, even at night, and I watch her as she takes it in.
“You did well tonight,” I tell her, coming up behind her.
She turns and looks up at me. “Thanks. I felt a little awkward, but I mostly just tried to look calm and not talk.”
“Well, you were perfect. Keep up that kind of behavior, and maybe I’ll throw a little more cash your way.”
Her eyes narrow and even though I have a good hundred pounds on her, I almost back up a step.
“I’m not some… servant or escort or whatever the hell you’re implying.” I get a sense that the champagne she drank at the gala gave her a little extra spunk, and I kind of like it. I smirk.
“You kind of are. I mean, that’s exactly the arrangement we made.”
“You paid me one million dollars for a month of going to events like this with you and spending time with you as you required. Waving money at me like, what? Like I’m some kind of whore or something? What’s next? An extra hundred for a blowjob?”
My dick twitches and the words are out of my mouth before I even think about it. “I’m up for it if you are, baby.”
I realize just in time that she’s raised her hand to slap me, and I grab her wrist before she can make contact. She struggles against me.
“Let go of me, you asshole,” she shouts, and when I don’t let go, she tries even harder to pull away. The way she’s moving has her dress straining over her tits and it’s all I can take. I pull her in close and my lips crash down onto hers.
Fuck. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. She tenses and she struggles for a moment, but I feel it the instant she gives in to what’s been growing between us all night. I press her body up against the windows and tangle my hands in her hair, angling her head so I can devour her gorgeous mouth the way I want to. A tiny, helpless whimper escapes her, and it has me practically dizzy with need. I grab hold of one of her thighs and lift it, pressing my thigh between her legs, and she cries out at the contact of my leg to her pussy, my hard-on pressing into her belly.
“Dante,” she whimpers, and I kiss her again, my tongue delving between her lips, my thigh pressing against her, and when she grinds her pussy against my leg, I practically roar in victory. She’s just as needy as I am right now, and I have no qualms at all about taking advantage of that.
I pick her up and carry her down the hall to my bedroom. She’s panting, trembling a little, just as out of her mind as I am.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” I growl as I set her down. I quickly pull down the zipper at the back of her dress and push it off of her body, watching as it puddles around her feet, which are still in the heels my assistant bought of her. She wasn’t wearing a bra with the dress, and her full tits are there now, on display for me.
“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect,” I murmur as my gaze runs down her body. Her body is soft, curvaceous, and I can only imagine how good it’s going to feel having her under me. She’s wearing tiny, lacy red panties, and I have the feeling I’ll be reliving this moment in my wet dreams for a very long time.
I reach out and run my fingertips over her shoulder, then down, gently tracing the side of her full, luscious breast, then down her side, over her hip.
“Tell me you want this, baby,” I say, meeting her eyes. My voice is hoarse, and if she says no now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. “I need to hear the words, Samantha.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me. Yes, what?”
She blushes prettily and glances away, and I cup her chin and force her to look up at me. Her eyes are wide, and she licks her lips. I can’
t help myself: I lean in and claim her lips again, and she whimpers as I kiss, lick, and nibble her full lower lip.
“Tell me, Samantha,” I repeat. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I want that,” she whispers. I smile. I’m determined. She’s not going to play innocent with me forever.
“Want what? I want to hear you say it. You’ll say so much more before this is over. Tell me,” I say, and she responds immediately to the command in my voice.
“I want you to fuck me, Dante. Please,” she whispers.
Perfect. She is fucking perfect. My mouth crashes down onto hers again, and my only thought now is how many times I can make her come before I finally find the relief I’ve needed since that first moment at the Calla Club.
Chapter Six
Samantha
This is really happening.
Dante’s lips are on mine, hard, possessive, and all I can do is try to hold onto what feels like the last shred of sanity I have left. My heart is pounding, my stomach is twisting, and every cell in my body is screaming out for one thing: I need him to touch me.
As if he hears my silent plea, Dante cups my breasts in his big hands, and I let out a little cry at the sudden contact. He’s still kissing me, molding my breasts in his hands, and I can’t stop myself from thrusting my chest forward, needing more of his touch.
And, oh, he obliges. He rubs his thumbs over my aching nipples, again and again, and the sensation is sweet torture. I’m holding onto him for dear life, and he’s kissing me in a way I’ve never been kissed before, his tongue rhythmically sliding into my mouth in a way that mimics what he’s going to be doing to me soon.
And then he takes each nipple between his fingers and rolls them, pinching them, and the loud, needy cry that comes from me is like no sound I’ve ever made before. All I know is I want him to do that again, harder… and then he does, and I can’t help myself; I grind my aching pussy against his thigh, and he laughs in this low, dangerous way that sends shivers up my spine.
