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I sell sex, sin, and pleasure, but it isn’t just my business, it’s my entire life. I get off on the power of controlling it all.
She’s the one woman I can’t have.
She threatens everything, and yet I can’t stay away. There’s a beautiful, sexual creature inside this timid girl that’s desperate to claw its way out. I’m going to set it free, even if it brings my empire tumbling down.
I have to believe she’ll be worth all the little mistakes I’ve made
She smiled knowingly. “You should know, I’m used to getting my way.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Her statement felt like a challenge and I couldn’t let it go. “Put your hand in your lap and touch yourself.”
“What?” Her mouth fell open.
“I’m not going to repeat myself when we both know you heard me.”
The air heated and crackled with intensity, swirling around us. Would she obey my first command as my submissive?
Her shoulder shifted hesitantly, and I felt hot on the back of my neck. She was doing as told.
“No,” I snapped, when her gaze darted away, checking to see if anyone was watching. “Eyes stay on me. It’s my responsibility that you don’t get caught.”
The outer rim of her irises were a soft, celery green, giving way to tan just before her dark pupils, that dilated now. I pictured her fingertips below her dress, rubbing herself over her panties.
The corner of my mouth tugged upward. “Do you like being a bad girl for me?”
Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing, her gaze fixed on mine. She nodded.
“Are you getting wet? Is your tight, little cunt aching for my mouth?”
She jolted. “I don’t like that word.”
“Are you telling me that’s a limit? Pull your underwear to the side and get your fingers in there.”
She swallowed a breath and blinked rapidly. The war inside her head was visible in her beautiful eyes. The want to give in, versus the desire to stay appropriate. If things were different, I’d train her so her want to submit would become need.
Her bicep flexed subtly. Power flared and burned in my veins. Now I pictured her finger sliding inside her body.
“It’s not a limit,” she said, her voice tight. “I just don’t care for it. It’s vulgar.”
“Says the girl fingering herself in a crowded restaurant.” I finished the last bite of my dinner. “Go faster.”
Air was sucked in through her parted lips. She wouldn’t come like this. Not sitting up, with other people around, and from penetration alone. But, goddamn, it was hot as sin watching her.
“I want that to be my cock that’s fucking you right now.” I wanted it with every cell in my miserable body. “Do you want that?”
“Yes.” Her dinner had been abandoned. Her other hand clutched the edge of the table.
“Yes, Sir,” I corrected.
Her eyes hooded. “Yes, Sir.”
And . . . I was hard as steel. Fuck.
“Stop,” I commanded. “Keep your hand exactly where it is.”
Puzzlement flooded her eyes, and quickly turned to anxiety when the waiter appeared tableside.
“How is everything?” he asked, his attention on Noemi as he cleared my plate.
She had no choice but to answer. “It’s great.” Her strained voice was enjoyable.
“Are you all finished?” He gestured to her plate, and she nodded quickly. “Any dessert this evening?”
“No, just the check, please,” I answered. He was gone a moment later and her tight shoulders relaxed, but I wasn’t ready to release her just yet. “Put your fingers in your mouth and clean them off.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, both nervous and excited.
Her hand came up quickly, darting to her mouth, but not fast enough. I’d seen the moisture there. She sank them in her mouth, closed her lips around the first knuckles, and drew them out slowly. Like her meal had been so good, she wanted to lick every last trace from her hand.
“Have you tasted yourself before?”
She flushed, broke the gaze, and looked guilty. “Yes.”
“Look at me.” The edge in my voice was dark, and it came out just a little louder than I wanted it to. If we’d been alone, I would have delivered a physical, negative reinforcement, but I couldn’t do anything from across the table. “Yes, Sir, my filthy girl.”
Author Bio & Links
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is married and has two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn’t be any happier.