Jesus Christ.
I sit up, rub a hand over my face. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s asleep. She’s not mine. She’s nothing but a job. Victor’s job. And still—I keep staring. My mind starts to wander places it shouldn’t, dark places.
I picture myself climbing onto that bed, bracing my hands either side of her head, pressing her into the mattress. I imagine her waking to my weight, the shock in those green eyes when she realizes what I’m doing, what I want. I picture my hand sliding up her thigh, tearing that tiny skirt out of the way, taking what’s underneath.
My cock throbs painfully.
Fuck.
I stand, pacing the room. I’m twenty years old. I should be able to control myself. But the truth? I can’t. Not around her. Everything about her feels designed to torture me—her smell, that cherry lip gloss, her voice that never shuts the fuck up.
I slip out of the room, careful not to wake her. Rico is snoring on the chair, head tipped back, arms folded. Useless prick. At least he’s out cold.
The bathroom is small, tiles cracked, a single bare bulb flickering above. I lean against the sink, breathing hard, my pulse a mess. I reach into my back pocket, fingers brushing fabric. Her panties. Soft. Frilly. Lace with a little pink bow. I shouldn’t have taken them, but fuck, I couldn’t stop myself.
I press them to my face. They smell faintly of her. Sweet, clean, that same fruit-scent that’s been driving me insane since she landed here. I’m shaking as I work my zipper down. My cock aches as I fist myself, slow at first, then harder, faster.
I close my eyes and she’s there. Not on the mattress this time—on her knees. Her blonde hair spilling forward, lips wrapped around me, taking me deep like she was made for it. I imagine her gagging around my length, tears streaming down those pretty cheeks, me holding her head, forcing her to swallow me whole.
I bite my fist to keep from groaning. The image of her mouth, her tongue, the way her breasts would bounce as I used her—it’s too much.
I pump harder, faster.
I picture flipping her onto her stomach, dragging that skirt up around her waist, shoving inside her before she can even gasp. The way she’d scream, the way she’d fight, the way she’d finallygive in. I imagine spanking her again, watching her ass turn pink, watching her squirm under me.
I’m so fucking close it hurts.
With a low growl, I spill into the panties, hot and thick, biting down on my knuckles to keep quiet. My whole body jerks with it, release ripping through me like I’ve been holding back for years.
I slump against the sink, chest heaving, sweat on my forehead. The panties are a mess now. So am I. I clean up quick, rinse my hands, shove the ruined lace deep into my pocket.
Shame coils in my gut, heavy and sick. What the hell am I doing? She’s just a girl. A spoiled, rich, blonde pain in the ass. And yet… she’s under my skin. Burrowed deep. I can’t fucking shake her.
My phone vibrates on the counter. I glance down. Victor.
Fuck.
I answer. “Yeah?”
His voice is low, gravelly, always carrying that edge that makes me straighten up. “How’s it going with the girl?”
“She’s fine,” I say quickly.
“Good.” A pause. “We got the money tonight. Took longer than I wanted. We have no use for her. You remember the plan? Don’t fuck it up.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“You deal with the car yet?”
“I did.”
“Good. Hurry up. I want this dealt with before morning.” His tone sharpens. “And Miles—are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
The line clicks dead.
