Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
"You got private rooms here?" I grunt.
"Yeah," she whispers.
"Let's go."
She walks ahead of me with purpose. But I don't miss the tremble of her hands when she retrieves a key card from behind the counter. I don't miss the way her eyes keep darting around the room. I don't miss any-fucking-thing.
Unlike her, I'm calm as fucking ever. I follow her upstairs down a long hallway with several doors. She opens one of them and steps inside, and I follow her in. The room's a pretty basic BDSM dungeon with a huge heart-shaped bed and various implements and equipment peppered around the place. I can already think of a few very fucking fun things to do to Monroe in here.
"W-What do you want to do?" she stutters, flushing.
"I want you to make me another drink." I shrug off my jacket and place it on the bed. "Turn on some music. I'm going to watch you."
She nods, eyes avoiding mine as she puts on some sensual music through the speakers. She starts mixing a drink at the bar in the corner of the room, but she's so nervous a glass slips from her hand and shatters on the floor.
"Fuck," she whispers, leaning down to pick it up.
"Leave it."
"No, but I—"
"Leave it."
She obeys, and it pleases me. My cock is as hard as a goddamn rock right now, picturing her doing more for me, submitting to me. I wonder how fucking often she does this. How many times has she let a stranger pay for a kiss, a blow job, a fuck? I don't give a shit about any of the others before me. Tonight, Monroe is my property.
I hand her another glass. "Drink, please."
She takes a deep breath and mixes another old-fashioned. She hands me the drink, and our fingers brush as I take it from her. I sit down on a leather armchair and watch her nervously fidgeting with the hem of her tight little dress.
"Don't you want to...?" She flushes at the sound of her own words. "You know..."
I shake my head. "Not yet. First, you're going to do something for me."
Taking out my wallet, I place it on my knee. It's bulging from the number of bills inside, and Monroe eyes it hungrily.
"What do you want me to do?" she asks in a soft whisper.
"I want you to dance," I say firmly. "I want you to look me right in the eyes, strip off your clothes, and dance for me. If you're a good girl, I'll give you more money. And other things, too. But you'll have to ask for it."
Her eyes flash with anger. "You want me to beg for money?"
"No, sugar." I smirk. "I want you to beg for my cock."
2
Monroe
I’ve lost count of the number of times Lucian has asked me to work upstairs, to sell my body so someone could live out their fantasies. I’ve told him no, time and time again, insisting I’d never be that desperate.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I’ve never condemned the other girls from doing it, never thought less of them, but not in a million years did I think I’d be here.
“Don’t let me wait, Monroe.” He says my name as though he owns it, then leans back into the chair as if it were custom-made for him. He exudes confidence in everything he does and every word he speaks. A confidence that I envy and admire deeply, especially right now as I am desperately trying to find my own.
Swallowing down my anxiety, I let my fingertip dance over the hem of my dress and start swaying my hips gently to the rhythm of the music.
While I do my little dance, I take a moment to check him out. He is tall with a handsome, rugged kind of face. From what I can tell with his clothes on, he stays in shape. He looks to be in his late thirties, maybe early forties judging by the few strands of gray hair. The rest of it is black, just like the clothes he is wearing.
The sleeves of his expensive-looking shirt are rolled up, black ink tattoos wrap around both of his forearms, making a single red ribbon on his wrist stand out. I’ve seen a few people with the red ribbon before, but I could never figure out what it means.
His eyes never leave mine as I let my hands glide up my body, tracing the outside of my breasts. Hooking my fingers under the thin straps, I slowly slide them down my shoulders one by one. Then I push them down my arms until they’re hanging by my side without a purpose.
Reaching back, I fumble with the zipper of my dress, only then realizing how my hands are shaking. I keep a sensual smile plastered on my face, not giving away how nervous I actually am.