Stroke of Midnight

by K. Webster

  “No, asshole,” she grumbles. “That it wasn’t something on the table to negotiate with.”

  “Sucking my dick and fucking you are free. All the rest has a price.”

  “My hands aren’t clean.” She lifts her chin in a regal, bitchy way. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “You can use my thigh.”

  She parts her pink pillow lips, and her hazel eyes dart back and forth, testing my seriousness. I don’t joke when I’m negotiating.

  “In my jeans?”

  “Take them off.”

  She frowns, indecision warring on her face. “How much are we talking here?”

  “How much do you want?”

  “Ten thousand and my jeans stay on,” she mumbles.

  “And how much to get them off?”

  She swallows hard and wrings her hands together. “Twenty?”

  “You sound unsure . . .”

  “Would you pay twenty for that?”

  “Offer it, and I’ll take it or leave it.” I smirk at her, enjoying the flash of anger in her eyes. “Go on. Make me an offer, little girl.”

  “Twenty thousand to, um, ride your leg for five minutes without my jeans on. No pictures either. And, you can’t touch me.”

  “What if I ask nicely?” I grin at her. “Does that earn me a hand on your tit?”

  “No touching, freak. That’s the deal.”

  “Take your pants off. I accept your deal.”

  Panic flashes in her eyes. It’s cute to see the minnow swimming with sharks like she belongs. She rises to her feet, her hand trembling slightly as she unbuttons the top button on her jeans. I keep my stare on her hand as she unzips them slowly. She kicks off her sandals, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug.

  “No touching,” she reminds me. “You’ll owe a thousand dollars if you accidentally do it.”

  “A deal’s a deal.”

  This settles her, because she shimmies her jeans down her wide hips. This girl has one of those timeless hourglass figures the celebrity pinups used to have. Small, trim waist. A flare of her hips. Nice, thick enough thighs that taper down. And her tits are just the perfect size. A handful of reality, something I’m not at all used to coming from a world where money can buy anything, even the perfect body.

  She pushes her jeans down and kicks them away. I drink in her perfect figure, settling at the tiny scrap of black satin panties. With awkward, jerky movements, she makes her way toward me. I remain still with my hands on the sofa cushions beside me. She holds onto my shoulder as she straddles my thigh.

  “This is going to be difficult,” she complains.

  “I’m sure you’ll make it work.” I smile at her. “Just ask if you need any assistance.”

  She flips me off, making me laugh, before settling herself on my thigh near my knee. “Time it,” she snaps. “I’m not playing.”

  I pull my phone out of my shirt pocket since she never offered hers and then set the timer for five minutes, sitting it down next to me. She lets out a ragged sigh. Patiently, I wait for her to get started.

  “Your pussy isn’t going to rub itself,” I remind her.

  She huffs, clutching onto my other shoulder as she clumsily attempts to rub herself against my thigh.

  “Eyes on me, remember?”

  Hazel eyes lock on mine. At first, she’s annoyed and frustrated. But the longer she’s forced to stare at me, the more fluid her movements get. Her breathing quickens, and her hold on my shoulders tightens. Every so often, she accidentally brushes up against my hard dick with her thigh, causing her to flame crimson.

  “Feel good, pretty girl?”

  She shrugs.

  “Lie to me then. Tell me how good it feels and how happy you are for the privilege.”

  “It feels good,” she grumbles. “I’m so happy.”

  “Liar.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s weird. Sorry I’m not into it like you are.”

  “Would you rather me pin you down and dry fuck you on the rug?”

  “W-What? No,” she rushes out. “This is fine. It feels good.”

  “Or,” I rumble, leaning forward to inhale her sweet cherry scent that lingers in her hair. “I could take your panties off and lick your pussy until you scream. That would feel much better.”

  A tiny gasp escapes her.

  This girl likes dirty talk.

  “Maybe I should shove my finger in your tight asshole while you ride my big cock. That would feel really good,” I croon. “Teach you what a real dick feels like.”

  “Stop,” she pleads.

  “I’m only just getting started.” I lean back, searing my gaze into hers. “When we fuck, it’s going to hurt the first time, because I’m going to be desperate to come inside your barely-touched pussy. So much come will run out of you, you’ll be cleaning it up for days. I won’t allow you to wear panties so I can watch it run down your sexy thighs.”

  Her eyes flutter closed, and she whimpers. I don’t remind her to open her eyes, but instead let her enjoy the moment.

  “One day, I’m going to spread you out on my bed and see how many fingers you’ll let me put inside you. If I lubed up my whole hand, would you let me fist your cunt, little girl? Would you scream because it hurts, or would you beg for all of it?”

  Her body trembles, her nails biting into my shoulders. “Winston . . .”

  She jerkily rides my thigh, desperate to come, but she needs help. I reach between her thighs and rub on her clit through her panties.

  “I owe you a grand,” I murmur and then kiss her neck. “Oops. Two.”

  She comes with a shriek of surprise. I delight in the way her body comes undone for me. I don’t remove my finger that lazily teases circles on her clit until she smacks at my hand.

  “I said don’t touch,” she snaps, her words breathless.

  “And you still owe me another minute.” I lift a brow in challenge. “Keep riding, cowgirl. Time’s not up yet.”

  Her expression grows murderous, but she obeys. I know she won’t get off again, at least not without help, and she has a determined look that says she’d rather throw herself out one of my windows than let me assist again. The second the timer goes off, she flies off me and quickly pulls her jeans back on. I rub my palm across the wet spot on my thigh before bringing my hand up to smell her arousal.

  “Mmm.” With my eyes glued to hers, I lick my palm. “Good, good girl.”

  “Where’s your restroom?” she chokes out as she buttons her jeans.

  I point to an open door. She scurries off, leaving me with an aching erection. While I wait for her to return, I send her the money we agreed upon.

  “Holy shit,” I hear her croak out in the bathroom.

  And to think, I’m only getting started.

  This girl has much to learn, and I’ll enjoy every second of teaching her.

  After twenty long minutes in the bathroom, she emerges, her self-confidence back in place. She waltzes over to me and pushes her feet into her shoes.

  “I’m leaving now. I did my job.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’re done here.”

  I rise to my feet and prowl over to her. She’s got balls. Unlike most women, she stands her ground and meets my stare with a fiery one of her own.

  “I’m taking you home,” I rumble.

  “No.”

  “Not up for debate.”

  “I’ll take an Uber.”

  My lip curls up in disgust. “Absolutely not.”

  “Fine, I’ll walk,” she huffs. “As long as I don’t have to spend another second with you.”

  “No,” I growl, gripping her delicate neck. “You will not walk. You’re going to accept the ride, woman.”

  “I can afford my own ride now.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I’ve just been paid.”

  “You’re not spending your college money. Sorry, sweetheart.”

  “If I want to, I will,” she barks back at me. “You don’t get to dictate how I spend my money.”

&n
bsp; Her attitude is pissing me off. I release her to stride out of the living room to grab my keys from the entryway table. “I’ll negotiate on a lot of shit, Ash, but not this. Let’s go.”

  She’s quiet the entire way down to the lobby. Ollie, my doorman, gives me a nod as we pass. Outside, the late spring air is warm and refreshing. The valet, Dave, brings my matte-black Lamborghini Urus to the front door.

  I open the passenger door for her. She won’t look at me, clearly pissed at having me take her home. I don’t care. She can either take a ride from my driver or from me. I won’t have her riding in a fucking Uber. It’s insulting. And it’s not safe for her.

  Once inside my vehicle, I fly out of the circular drive and onto the street.

  “Plug your address into my GPS,” I instruct.

  She lets out an exaggerated sigh before leaning over to add it in. Once the robotic voice commands me where to go, I cut my eyes over to her. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her phone is sitting between her thighs.

  “Anytime you feel like sending a picture, I’ll pay for them. Day or night.”

  “Seriously,” she grumbles. “You’re too much. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

  “Pity, because I have so much more to give.”

  She’s quiet until we pull up in front of her brownstone. “Until when?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her brows are furrowed. “Is this just a fun weekend thing for you?”

  “No.”

  “So you plan to throw money at me for gross kinks for the rest of the foreseeable future?”

  “Unless you have a better plan.”

  “Nope,” she snaps. “Just ready for this to be over.”

  I study her for a long moment. “I won’t stop until I’ve been inside you.”

  “And then you’ll be done?” She narrows her eyes at me. “That simple?”

  “Nothing is ever simple, Ash. I’ll simply stop pursing you at that point, because then you’ll be mine. You won’t need to work then.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be yours. Maybe I want to work to earn a living and not be some old rich dude’s plaything.”

  “We’ll see,” I say with a grin.

  “Yeah, we will.” She flings the door open and storms away.

  I’m having the most fun I’ve had in years. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let this one go anytime soon.

  8

  Ash

  I flee from Winston’s car like my ass is on fire. But, like the old phrase goes, “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” As his ridiculously expensive car drives away, I have to face the nutty triplets.

  The music is loud and can be heard outside. I hope one of the neighbors rats them out. As stealthily as possible, I slip inside and rush to the stairs. In my haste, I slam into Sparrow.

  I nearly gag at the stench of liquor on his breath.

  These psychos are going to be raging alcoholics by the time they can legally drink.

  “Excuse me,” I grate out, moving past him.

  Rushing up the stairs, I take them two at a time. I’ve almost made it to my room when Sparrow grips my arm, his strong fingers bruising into me.

  “Ow,” I yelp. “Let go of me!”

  His laughter is dark and demonic, but thankfully he releases me. “I was trying to help, baby sister. But if you’re going to be a bitch about it, whatever.”

  My brows furrow in confusion. “Help with what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Fear chases away the confusion as I push into my room. The moment I see the open birdcage with no bird inside, I panic.

  “Where’s Shrimp?” I screech, spinning to face Sparrow. “Tell me!”

  “You should ask Scout.” He smirks at me. “You know he loves that bird.”

  He doesn’t love my bird.

  He loves terrorizing it.

  I shove past Sparrow on a mission to find the bastard. The music and laughter are loud from the living room. I notice Sully is getting his dick sucked by some Pembroke Prep lacrosse groupie, but Scout is missing.

  “Hey, sis,” Sully calls out. “Carrie won’t mind giving you a turn next.”

  I don’t satisfy him with an answer as I run through the house looking for Shrimp. In Dad and Manda’s room, I find Scout sprawled out on the bed in nothing but his black boxers, a joint in his mouth, one hand petting my bird.

  “Hand him over, dickhead,” I growl. “You know you’re not allowed to mess with him.”

  “Says who?” he asks around the joint. “Your daddy? He’s your father, not mine. I don’t have to listen to jackshit he says.”

  I storm over to the bed, climb on, and walk on my knees toward him. “Give him to me.”

  Shrimp is strangely quiet, just like any time he’s in Scout’s presence. My heart hurts to see him so afraid. I try to take him from Scout, but his grip tightens. Tears well in my eyes as fear consumes me. He wouldn’t hurt my bird, would he?

  “Please,” I beg, blinking back my emotion. “Please, Scout.”

  “Tell me where you were.”

  “At dinner with a friend.” I swipe away a stray tear. “He’s scared. Let me have him.”

  “What friend? I thought we told them all to stay away.”

  First Tate and now my friends? I’m too upset to be angry. Once I get my bird back, I’ll rip them all new assholes.

  “Sully said you had a boyfriend. That’s not true, is it?” His dark eyes glint with madness. “Our baby sister isn’t allowed to date.”

  “Not a boyfriend,” I rush out. “A friend. Now please let him go.”

  He releases his hold on Shrimp, but before I can scoop him up, he flies to the ceiling fan, ruffling his feathers. Scout grabs me, yanking me to him. The joint falls from his lips onto the bed. I struggle in his arms, growling in frustration when I can’t free myself. He rolls us until he has me pinned beneath his strong body. Terror wells up inside of me.

  “Let me go,” I spit out.

  “Or what? You’ll tell my mommy?”

  I try to shove him away, but his strong hands grab my wrists and slam them to the mattress. My heart hammers in my chest as I realize I may not be safe with him. His taunts and teases aren’t just that. He wants to hurt me.

  “We’re going to fuck, Ash. And it’s going to ruin our parents’ marriage.” He licks my cheek like a fucking dog. “Don’t worry, baby sis, I’ll make it really good for you. It’ll be worth it when you’re back to living in your shitty apartment with your loser dad.”

  I struggle to no avail. “Let me go or I’ll destroy your life, Scout. Do not test me.”

  His eyes narrow as he studies me. I make sure to keep the venom in my glare. I’m not about to let this monster have sex with me just to cause a divorce between our parents.

  “I better not find out this friend of yours is a boyfriend,” he warns, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “It’ll only make your life worse.” He glances at the ceiling fan. “I will stomp on that pretty little bird if I have to get that point across to you.”

  He climbs off me and saunters out of the room like he didn’t just drop massive threats on me. I scramble to my feet and reach out for Shrimp. Now that Scout is gone, Shrimp chirps angrily at me.

  “I know, buddy, I know. I’m so sorry. Come on.”

  After bitching me out in his birdy way, he finally flutters down into my open, waiting hands. Tonight, I’m barricading my door. I’ll be damned if I let Scout or his brothers touch one hair on my head.

  I take a quick shower and then coddle Shrimp until I’m sure he’s forgiven me. Once I have him back in his cage with his blanket covering it so he’ll feel safe, I dig the money out of my jeans pocket and hide the stash in my jewelry box. I take a peek at my phone, disappointed that Winston hasn’t messaged me.

  Why?

  He’s another version of the Terror Triplets.

  A rich, strong man hellbent on doing whatever it takes to get his way.

  Still, a pang of sadn
ess hits me in the gut. I take a selfie and send it to him before I can think twice.

  Me: A freebie.

  His response is immediate.

  Winston: What has you in such a giving mood? Was it that mind-altering orgasm I helped you obtain?

  I roll my eyes at his stupid words.

  Me: I wouldn’t call it mind-altering . . .

  Winston: That’s because it wasn’t my tongue.

  Heat floods through me as I imagine just that.

  Winston: You could earn more money, but it’s going to require you to show a little skin.

  Me: Perv.

  Winston: A rich one.

  Me: Tell me what you want, and I’ll decide if I’ll give it to you.

  Winston: Got more of those candies?

  I glance over at my giant jar of cherry Starburst, special ordered in that flavor only.

  Me: Maybe . . .

  Winston: Unwrap one and lick it.

  Me: Okayyyyy.

  Winston: Don’t be a brat. Just do it.

  I set my phone down and then grab a handful of Starburst. Once I’m settled on my bed, I unwrap one and lick it.

  Me: Done. Now what?

  Winston: So dutiful. Take your shirt off.

  Me: Tell me everything you want first.

  Winston: It’s more than I can text.

  Me: Then I’m probably too tired for it.

  He doesn’t reply for what feels like forever. Insecurity claws at my insides. I’m not exactly plaything material. Hell, I’ve barely had a boyfriend, much less a man. He probably has several girls he does this with, which for some reason, annoys the hell out of me.

  An hour passes and I frown so hard at my phone, my head aches. I’ve gone through all but one of my Starbursts I grabbed.

  What could Winston have possibly wanted me to do?

  Several filthy images tease my mind. One of which I’m not ready to try. With a sigh of resignation, I peel off my shirt and toss it. The cool air kisses my flesh, making my nipples pebble. I lie back, lick the Starburst, and then tease my hardened nipple with the wet side of the candy. Once my nipple has had enough attention, I smear the sticky wetness all over my breast. I rest the candy on top of my nipple, hiding it and then take a selfie. Just my breast and hair are in the picture. Before I think too hard, I send it.