Page 33 of The Masked King

My hackles are up, but I force a smile and say in a saccharin-sweet voice: “Can I get past please?”

He smiles, and a shudder travels down my spine. It isn’t an infectious smile; it doesn’t light up his face or get anywhere remotely near his eyes but instead mimics his lecherous appraisal of my body. “You’re learning.”

He shifts his position in the doorway, giving me barely enough room to squeeze past him. Part of me wants to press my body up against him, stand on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, and ram my knee into his groin. But it will have to wait.

Instead, I commit his features to memory, the silver scar in the right corner of his top lip, the serpent tattoo coiling around his neck, the tiny mole splitting his left eyebrow in two, storing them up for later. Then I brush past him, making sure to rub my nipples against his suit jacket as I go.

“Sorry.” I slant my eyes at him. “I should be more careful.”

I sway my hips as I walk ahead of him to the changing room, sensing his eyes on my ass all the way. I step inside, heart thumping, and close the door before he can stop me.

Brian doesn’t return the following night.

Or the night after that.

I wonder if it’s part of the game, his way of making me want him more. He said he wouldn’t touch me in his fantasies until I begged him to, but he’ll have a fucking long wait. I’m not here for the mind games; I have a job to do, and I mentally thank him for keeping me on track.

Brian doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t want me. I don’t mean anything to him.

I want you to beg me to fuck you. I want you to be afraid but still want me anyway.

It was just a game to him, one that he has probably already moved on from, and won’t even remember in a month’s time.

But my nipples harden each time I replay his words in my head. I can still hear his voice. I can still smell him, and it hurts to know that I’m not as immune to being desired as I thought I was. Brian made me feel special, just as he promised, and I lapped it up like a kitten who found a bowl of cream.

You’re fucking better than this. I don’t say the words out loud; I’m being monitored even if I don’t have any clients. And that sucks too. If no one wants Nyx, I’ll be replaced at the drop of a hat, which will mean I’ve let DI Goss and the entire department down, and who knows if he’ll want to keep me in the specialist unit.

But in the words of Billy Ocean: When the going gets tough, the tough get going.

Fuck Brian.

I’m only here until I can make a difference and take these fuckers down, and then I can get him out of my head and get back to the real world.

So, on the third night of zero clients, and boredom, and long lonely hours spent stuck in my own head waiting for the door to open, I’m ready for the bodyguard when he comes at the end of my shift.

I’m wearing a black satin corset that doesn’t cover my nipples, a tiny black thong that looks as if it is painted on and leaves little to the imagination, and sheer black stockings. I feel sexy even if no one gets to see it apart from me and the bodyguard.

His eyes widen when they travel down my body to my pussy.

“Maybe I won’t bother getting dressed tomorrow,” I say before he can bark his customary ‘Come’. “It seems like a waste of laundry.”

His expression is flat. “It is only a waste if no one gets to know about it.”

I move closer. His cologne is strong, so strong I can feel it coating my tongue, but I allow Brian into my head long enough for my nipples to stand to attention.

“Am I doing something wrong?” I try to sound vulnerable.

I’m not sure if it works when his expression doesn’t flicker. The other bodyguards don’t interact beyond telling me to hurry up or say goodbye when they close the door behind me, so I’m not sure if he knows he’s crossing a line and doesn’t care, or if he is more important than a regular member of the security team.

Either way, I’m taking a chance on his ego being the largest part of his anatomy.

Then all I need to do is pray it doesn’t backfire on me before I get him on my side.

“It’s life. Some you win, some you lose.”

I shrug. “Maybe tomorrow then.”