Dynamo looks me up and down, then reaches out and curls his hand over the button of my jeans, pulling me in. I can feel his fingers on my bare skin, almost grazing my pubes. “I hear you give pretty good head.”
I don’t pull back, even as his first finger moves back and forth against my soft skin, teasing me. I bat my lashes up at him. “Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
“I’ve got ears all over town, baby.”
“I bet you do,” I say. “And you bet I do.”
“Oh really?” Dynamo bites his lip and tries to dip his hand further into my jeans, but I twist away.
“Yeah,” I say, hardening my voice. “But I’ve never in my life been so desperate for a date that I promised a blowjob, and I’m not about to start now.”
I flash him a peace sign, turn, and walk away. It’s not that I don’t like the guy. Aside from the money and the name, he’s a lot like the other bad boys I’ve had things for. I’d probably go out with him if he asked, maybe even blow him, if I was feeling it. But I’m not bargaining blowjobs for information. That’s a slippery slope I’ve had to avoid too many times lately. Apparently, rich people see a poor girl with an ass, and that’s all they can think about. I have nothing else they want, so they ask for sexual favors.
But I’m not just an ass. A bitch, sure, but not an ass. There’s plenty more to me than my body, and if someone is worth my time, they’ll work for it. I don’t have to get information from him. I’m sure Dixie would be happy to spill the gossip for free. I just thought Dynamo was more… My people.
But I wonder where he heard that rumor about me giving good head. If Mr. D is Mr. Darling, and he knows about it, did he tell Colt?
But no. I have no proof that Mr. D knows about the pics. Or Colt. Or are they the same person?
I shake my head, pushing away all thoughts as I head into the Slaughter Pen. Now is not the time for distractions. I clear my head, and I fight well, and I get my cut.
When I walk out at the end of the night, my bag slung over my shoulder, Dynamo calls to me from across the lot. I stop and watch him toss a few empties before jogging over.
“You headed out?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“So, how about that diner you mentioned?”
“I thought you only ate if a BJ came in your Happy Meal.”
“I hope nobody cums in my Happy Meal,” he says with a grin.
“Then you’d better not ask for a BJ from me.”
He falls into step beside me as we walk out the gate of the tall, chain-link fence that surrounds the warehouse where the Slaughter Pen is housed. “Damn, girl. You are not making me want to reconsider.”
“You’ve reconsidered?”
“I’m going to get pancakes with you, aren’t I?”
“Even if there’s no BJs involved?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says, tucking his left hand into his pocket. “If you had a dick, and you knew how good it feels to have it sucked, you’d ask for one, too.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
“You don’t like your pussy sucked?”
“That escalated quickly.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say. “My hookups were much more concerned with their dicks than my pussy.”
“You’re obviously dating the wrong caliber of dudes,” he says, following as I steer us toward the all-night diner downtown, not far from the Slaughter Pen.
“And I’m sure you’re going to tell me you’re of a different caliber,” I say.