“Yet here you are.” Something shifts in his eyes. He juts his chin. “Get on your knees.”
The command jolts me. It’s quietly spoken, but there is a steely expectation that I will obey. And the hell of it is, I want to. I want to get on my knees and slinky-crawl up to him so I can press my lips against his bared throat and feel his heart beat under my palm. I want to see if he’s really as unaffected as he looks.
But instead I stiffen my legs. “I’m not here for sex.”
“You think that pathetic song is going to earn you two grand?”
“Keep your money. I’m not for sale.”
“Everything’s for sale.” The small smile on his face is insolent, the kind that would earn a slap in one of those old black-and-white films. “Three grand.”
I blink at him. “Are you seriously insane?”
“No. I just happen to like your mouth and want to know what it feels like wrapped around my cock.”
Something hot fists itself around my throat. My entire body ignites, and sweat mists over my skin despite the A/C in the penthouse. I should kick his ass right now, customer or not. But despite the arrogant note, there’s genuine want underneath his voice, and laser-like intensity in his eyes as he looks at my mouth like it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever seen.
And I can’t help but respond, and I don’t even know why. It’s usually no problem at all to ignore men, even the good-looking ones…but not Elliot. He’s making me throb in places I never suspected I could throb.
But there is no way I’m doing it.
I hug myself. “Look, this is a big misunderstanding. So I’m going to go now, if all you want is sex.”
“You won’t even attempt to negotiate? I can up my offer.”
“No, because I’m not going to have sex for money.” Then Mr. Grayson’s demand pops up in my head. I recklessly add, “Next time I have sex, it’s going to be with my husband.”
Elliot shifts, his gaze cooling. “You have a fiancé?”
“No. But I’m not interested in casual sex. I want someone with a serious commitment to me, and I’m afraid money doesn’t prove that commitment.” I wet my dry lips. “Anyway, sorry about the singing. I’ll talk with…‘Madame G.’ and see if you can get your money back.”
Then I flee the penthouse before I actually give in to the heady, bone-melting heat pulsing in my veins.
Chapter Six
Annabelle
I’m still so pissed off by the time I get home that I barely even nod at Caroline’s parents before I drag her to my room. “What the hell was that about?” I hiss at her.
She gives me a grimace of sympathy. “Oh no. Was he a total perv?”
If commanding me to give him a blow job while looking at me like I’m the most interesting and desirable woman in the universe makes a man a perv, yes. “You said I wasn’t expected to have sex with the guy.”
“Oh. Well.” She shrugs. “I kind of hinted. And I told you about the tip—”
“I didn’t do anything. No sex.”
“Seriously?” She grips my wrist. “Why? Was he that old and gross?”
“No!” I yank my arm from her grasp. “I don’t care if he’s the most gorgeous man in the world. I’m not going to…sell myself like that.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “Uh, drama much? Men want it more than women. Why give it away when they’ll pay? Honestly, it’s a lot more fun than waiting tables. You know that.”
“Really? Then why did you need me to sub for you just because your parents are here? Did you tell them about what you do?”
Her face scrunches like a wadded piece of paper and her voice drops an octave. “Don’t be a hypocritical bitch, Annabelle. I know you have a sugar daddy you’re fucking on the side.”
“What?”
“You think I’m stupid? That job you had couldn’t possibly have paid enough for the rent, utilities, food and everything else for you and your sister. Just because you only fuck one guy doesn’t make you better than me. I happen to prefer variety. Sorry if I offended you. I just thought you might appreciate a new dick in your cunt.” She gets in my face until her nose grazes mine. “Now if you breathe a word about this to my parents, I’m going to tell your sister. Wonder how she’ll react.”
A sneer twisting her mouth, she marches out.
My knees shake, and I plop down on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. Caroline is right about the money I was making at the restaurant, damn it. And she’s obviously vicious enough to follow through on her threat.
The most frustrating thing is that I can’t get rid of her since there’s nothing I can afford on my own in the city, and I’d rather die than ask Mr. Grayson for anything now.
Breathe deep. This too shall pass, I tell myself. Nonny and I have survived worse. We’ll get through this as well.
* * *
Elliot
I’m standing on my penthouse balcony, drink in hand, gazing at the evening traffic. Caroline. I keep rolling that name around, but for some bizarre reason it doesn’t fit the redhead.
It’s been four days since my birthday, but I can’t stop thinking about her. Even as she bristled, her eyes were bright, her pupils dilated. The flush in her cheeks and neck betrayed her. I’m certain if I’d slipped a hand underneath her G-string, my fingers would’ve come out slippery and hot.
Wonder if she would’ve succumbed if I’d gotten up and actually touched her, turned up the charm until she had no choice but to give in to her need. But I wanted to see how far she’d go for money. Lots of it. I told her as much…that I could offer her far more than three grand.
Girls who work for someone like Madame G. often play coy, but they all ultimately want one thing—money. It’s the key that opens every pair of female legs in the universe.
So I wonder why she left, while saying all that stuff about a husband.
Would she let me fuck her if I married her for a year? It’s a tempting thought. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed for a while, provided she didn’t get all meek and boring.
But even if she did I might bear it as a “fuck you” to my dad. There’s no dick move he hasn’t made against me. Then he has the gall to preach about “upstanding behavior”. Fucking hypocrite.
My phone pings. It’s the doorman, informing me that my “guest” is here.
Madame G. is sending Caroline again, at my request. This time I plan to fuck her brains out before I let her leave.
I slip into the living room. Just as I settle on my couch, the girl walks in, a light trench coat around her. She’s in knee-high boots with stiletto heels that scream sexual availability.
What the hell?
She’s not the one from before. This one’s taller, with long coltish legs, and her hair is dyed. The makeup around her eyes gives her an obviously practiced, smoky look. But there’s nothing but dollar signs in their depths. Even her smile is bright with calculation as she drops the coat and reveals a young body clad in a lacy black bra and matching thong.
“Just because you have a cunt doesn’t mean you’re the one I want to fuck,” I say coldly as she starts toward me.