“Where’s Clarissa?”
“She couldn’t make it, she asked me to cover. I run my own catering company, and I’m studyin…” She trails off, biting into her bottom lip and averting her eyes.
I can hardly contain the grin. She’s too good to be true. In my world, honesty comes at a premium. Most people I know lie as a habit, but her? Honesty is her first option, lies don’t come easily to her lips. She’s having trouble stopping herself telling the truth and it’s sexy as hell to me.
“A businesswoman, huh?”
She nods, relaxing as I steer clear of pressing her for what she was about to say. “I’m just getting started,” she tells me, pride in her voice. “I don’t have the money to pay for staff yet so I’m borrowing Becca from Clarissa. Can I ask you a question?”
“My little sweet treat, you can ask whatever the fuck you want.”
“OK…” She frowns, glancing at her friend, and I know I’m being too intimate but I don’t give a fuck.
She needs to know she’s mine now, and I’ll be as intimate as I need.
“Who are you?” she asks, and I can’t hold back any longer.
The laugh bellows from my chest as I pick her up off the ground as easily as if she was a doll, lifting her in hands that look like an ogre’s fists against her perfection and dropping her into a seat at the card table. Who am I? Nobody I’ve ever met has asked me that before. If they’re in my world, they already know who I am. Or else they don’t want to know me and I don’t want to know them.
“My name’s Roman Schalk,” I tell her, dropping into the seat beside hers. It creaks, but if it’s strong enough to hold Egor Volkov’s corpulence then it’s strong enough to take the weight of my muscle. “You’re in my casino, sweet treat.”
Her eyes go wide, her pupils dilating, and my cock jumps in my pants. It’s been hard since the moment I clapped eyes on her but now it’s unstoppable. If I stood up right now, it would probably punch a hole right through my zipper.
“Oh my God…” She turns her head, looking toward the kitchen. “Becca, can you come help…Becca? I’m so sorry, Mister Sha…” She ends mid-word, her mouth still open around the vowel and all I can think is how those luscious lips would look wrapped around my shaft. “Shark?”
“Schalk. I’m German on my mother’s side.”
“Oh. I’m sure Clarissa told me… I thought she said…” She shakes her head. “I thought she said Volos. Never mind. I’ll get all this cleared up right away.”
As she starts to stand up, I grab her wrist, holding it gently but firmly, shaking my head. “No you won’t. I should be apologizing to you, the way those men treated you. They’re friends of my father’s. His name is Volos. Apollo Volos. It’s Greek. We’re kind of a cosmopolitan family. And I’ll be having words with him about the company he keeps. But for now, I’ll get all this cleared up. I’m sure you’ve worked hard enough already.”
“No, I…” She shakes her head, putting her hand to her temple as she takes a breath. “Please, let me clear up. You’re being kind but I really need this work. If I clear up the mess, perhaps you could at least pay for the food? I know I shouldn’t be asking, but I can’t afford to be out of pocket and I’m not sure if Clarissa—”
“Sorry, sweet treat, but no.”
“Please. I’ll do anything. I just really need—”
I put a finger to her lips, wondering how I’ll ever take care of something as delicate as her. Hearing her plead is doing things to me, driving me crazy, but I won’t despoil her the way I want to. She deserves silk and honey and feather pillows, not iron, salt and stone. I want to hear her plead as I lick her to a trembling crescendo, not pleading for a job she needs because the world is too cruel a place for someone like her.
“I said no. I’m sorry. I won’t pay for the food.” She looks on the verge of tears as I take her by the chin, lifting her face to gaze into those gorgeous gold-green eyes. “I’ll pay you in full, for the whole evening. Triple whatever my father agreed. And I’ll have someone else clear this all up. Becca can go home. She’ll also be paid in full. As for the food, there’s a homeless shelter and soup kitchen just down the block. If it’s OK with you, we’ll send anything we can’t eat there.”
“A soup kitchen? You…you’d do that?”
I nod, my hands slipping to her knees as I let my gaze slide down her body, memorizing every curve, every inch. She isn’t model thin and I love that. I like that food is so important to her. Her hips are wide, her tits ample. She has thighs hidden underneath that skirt, not twigs. Everything about her is perfect.