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.
When I finally get the zipper pulled down, I shimmy out of the tight dress and let it fall to the floor. Gulping down the lump that formed in my throat, I stand before this stranger in nothing but my bra, thong, and high heels.
He rakes his gaze up and down my body slowly, almost like he is mapping every square inch of me. Even in the dim light and with his eyes hooded, I don’t miss how his pupils are dilated and his hands twitch with anticipation.
Reaching back once more, I unclasp my bra. My boobs spill out, and I can’t help but gasp at the way they feel heavier than usual. My nipples are tight, and there is an odd tingling sensation.
“Keep moving,” he orders, making me realize I had stopped in the first place.
I continue rolling my hips, hyper aware of how my unrestrained tits sway with every small move I make.
My mouth goes dry, and a knot forms in the depth of my stomach as I lower my eyes briefly and catch sight of the massive bulge in his slacks.
A low chuckle fills the space, and I drag my eyes back up to his. Amusement flickers in his dark gaze, but is quickly lost in the sea of desire… desire for me.
Working at Purgatory meant I quickly got used to men ogling me with lustful eyes. But nothing has ever felt like this. Something is different about this guy. A darkness surrounds him like a thick cloak hiding him in the shadows.
He is an enigma, and something about that mystery has me intrigued. Maybe that’s why I decided to take him up on his offer when I’ve turned so many down. That or the fact that I really need that money more than ever.
“I’m losing patience. Get rid of your panties, and let me see that pussy you’re hiding.”
Taking a deep breath, I dip my fingers into the waistband and push down the thin material. Cool air washes over my shaved pussy while my face feels like it has turned fifty shades of red.
My thong joins my dress and bra on the floor, leaving me standing in front of this stranger completely bare. No guy has ever seen me naked before. No one except him—a man I don’t know.
I fight the urges to cover up while forcing myself to keep dancing. Uncertainty worms its way through my body. This was a mistake. I have no idea what I am doing here since I’ve never done anything like it.
I’m about to tell him the truth, but the thought of not getting the money has me pressing my lips together tightly.
“Remember what I want you to do next?” he suddenly asks.
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip nervously before opening my mouth. “I want you…” I start with good intentions but choke on the last few words.
“Go on, beg for my cock. Say the words, sugar.”
“I want your… cock.”
“I like how you play innocent”—he smirks—“as if you never had a cock in your mouth before.”