I stare at him, still not fully convinced I’m not hallucinating, and it’s really him.
Koen O’Rourke.
He reaches up to twist his hat rim back behind him; a few dirty blond locks escape out onto his forehead.
He lifts his head and eyes me expectantly.
That’s when I remember, he’d asked me a question.
“I—I work here.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel.
His expression darkens, and I swallow.
He takes a step forward and I take one back, pressing myself further into the back wall, wondering why the hell he looksso angry.
The private room is up-lit in red lighting, and the eerie red glow making him look every inch the devil he is.
I think he’s going to stop, but he keeps advancing until he’s got me trapped against the wall, his hands closing around my hips.
He leans in, and I squirm in his hold until his mouth finds my neck.
I still.
Confusion, and something else, hits me as I let him trail light kisses up my neck, and he releases one of my hips to tuck my hair behind my ear.
“What are you?—?”
“Cameras?” His deep voice, soft against my skin, sends a shiver though my body that I can feel in my core. It takes another second to register that he’s talking about the room. “Just nod once if yes,” he breathes again, his voice so low that I can only hear him because his mouth is right up against my ear.
I dip my chin in confirmation that there are, indeed, cameras.
His mouth slides further down my jaw as his hands tighten on my hips. “Microphone?”
Slowly, I shake my head.No.
He pauses, seemingly thinking something over, before he pulls away. I have to fight the urge to pull him back, my body instantly missing the warmth of his. His touch feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t. His eyes scan the room.
It’s one of the smaller rooms, dark, with only a red leather sofa against one wall, and a small stage with a pole on the other. I see him locate the camera, mounted just over the door.
Koen shifts, taking me with him until his back is fully to the camera, blocking me entirely from its view. For a moment, he says nothing, studying my face. Scanning over my eyes and dropping down to my mouth.
His own face is cold and unreadable. His eyes are more shadowed than I remember.
“Knees, now.”
He moves off me just enough to give me space, but I blink up at him stunned. “I don’t—” I start to tell him that I don’t doextras,but his hand whips out, grabbing hold of my jaw and cutting me off.
His eyes narrow into thin, cold slits. “I wasn’t asking.”
I swallow hard, and watch his eyes drop to my throat. The cameras are supposedly for the dancer’s safety, but I know for a fact club security has a habit ofoverlookingcertain things—and I’m sure he does too. Especially for a client like Koen O’Rourke. No bouncer is about to rush in here and tell the Irish King what he can and cannot do.
I’m on my own.
My glare is smoldering when I finally lower myself on shaky knees. Resolving to bite his dick off if, and when, he takes it out.
“That’s a good girl.” Koen’s smile is dark, and my eyes are murderous, when he unzips his jeans with one hand while fisting my hair in the other. He tugs me closer until I’m face level with his dick.
I stare at the bulge, hidden still by his black boxers, with my lips pressed tight. He’s already hard, but he doesn’t take it out. Instead, he tilts my chin up with his free hand, forcing me to look at him.
