a flaming red and a body made of sin. There are girls of all body types working here, even some enhanced by the surgeon’s knife, but this one is just the way I prefer my women—natural and soft in all the right places. I slouch in my chair and watch her, wondering if getting laid might not be the cure for my bad mood after all.
My dick is certainly interested, swelling against the fly of my pants. With a frustrated huff, I remember that I had the chance to get balls-deep into Ariel, the woman who sent me her sexy selfie in the red lingerie. She always answers when I call and has very few limits. With the way I’ve been feeling lately, and the stress of this merger with the Yezhovs, I should be eager at the chance to get her naked and on her knees for me. Tie her up. Spank her ass until it’s cherry red. Fuck her hard and fast, while my hand is wrapped around her throat.
Fuck.
Why didn’t I go to her? Ariel served herself up on a silver platter, but I wasn’t tempted enough to follow through.
The dancer gyrating against the pole six feet in front of me isn’t doing much for me, either, and I know exactly why.
It’s Elena. Fucking Elena with her long legs and perky tits. Elena thrashing beneath me, her curves pressing against parts of my body that sent all the blood straight to my cock.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, fantasizing about lying on top of her like I did this afternoon. Only this time, I’m grinding against the soft mound of her pussy through sexy-as-hell yoga pants, letting her feel just how hard she makes me. I wonder if she felt me getting aroused when I pinned her down, turned on by the fear in her eyes. If so, she was probably disgusted, thinking me a sick fuck.
I am a sick fuck, but in my head Elena doesn’t care. She responds when I bite her neck hard enough to leave a mark, moaning and arching her back until a nipple slips free of a shirt that’s at least two sizes too small. I lick that nipple, then bite it, making her moan even louder. She doesn’t fight me when I release her hands; she uses them to hold me closer as I run my tongue over every inch of bare skin I can find while yanking at her pants. They slip down and I find the treasure between her legs … waxed bare … no, covered in wisps of silky curls … no, decorated with a landing strip like an arrow straight down to where I want to bury my dick.
I open my eyes, breathing so hard you’d think I just ran a marathon. My erection is prominent now, protruding against the fabric at my crotch.
Goddamn it, I can’t do this. I can’t even think about fucking Elena. This agreement with her father is already complicated enough. Fucking her would make it even messier, especially if I end up having to kill her. Aside from that, I don’t want her to think she can use sex to manipulate her way into my warm, gooey places.
If she tried, she would learn a very painful lesson.
I don’t have any warm and gooey places left.
9
Elena
An unexpected knock on my door after breakfast brings me face-to-face with the woman from the pool. I’m shocked to find her standing there with a bottle of champagne and a carafe of orange juice, wearing a wide smile.
“Hi!” she chirps before bouncing into the room. “You’re Elena, right? Sorry there wasn’t time for us to properly introduce ourselves the other day. I’m Marcella, but you can call me Marcie.”
Standing near the door—which is still hanging open—I stare at her with a dropped jaw. Marcella sets her bottles down and then reveals that she carried two champagne flutes in the back pockets of her jeans.
Lifting them up, she gives me a sympathetic look. “I figured you might need a drink right about now.”
I push the door closed and tentatively approach, getting my first good, up-close look at her. Today she has her short hair pushed back from her forehead with a headband, and her face is enhanced with minimal makeup. Not that she needs it. She’s as striking as Diego is, with a heart-shaped face, full lips, and an adorable bump of a nose.
Some strange feeling rises in me at the sight of her.