in here will spread the word that you’re worth the price.”
My heart seizes at the thought of it, and my cock heartily disagrees. It wants her for itself.
I need her for myself.
I twist my fingers inside of her, and she responds—God, fuck, she responds—getting wetter even as she winces.
“This is nothing,” I hiss. “You’re not even moving your hips. Fuck my fingers.”
She screws her hips forward as much as she can, given that her legs are spread over mine. Awkwardness flickers over her face, followed by hot embarrassment, but she keeps trying. It has to hurt, but I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. Her pain and her grit are too delicious. “Yes,” she whispers.
I believe her. I can fucking feel it on my fingers how she’s responding to this. Her brain might not recognize it as anything so simple as pleasure, but her body does.
“I don’t believe you.”
Brigit snaps her head forward, eyes locking on mine, and bites down hard on her lip. It’s like she’s trying to keep the sounds in, but she can’t, rocking her hips forward in a slow roll until my fingertips meet a barrier inside her. She wasn’t lying. She’s a virgin. A real, honest-to-fuck virgin, and I’m going to tear through it. I’m going to hurt her so she never forgets.
My cock strains against my pants, my vision darkening at the edges. I’m on the verge of letting them all see what happens when I let my guard down. It would be the first time it’s ever happened in a room of the club, and I pull back at the last moment, my toes hanging over a plummeting drop. My father did me a fucking favor. He made sure I could hide the reality of me behind smiles and suits.
She’s testing that resolve.
Right. Fucking. Now.
Breathy moans escape her, and the sound of glass on wood alerts me to the shifting energy in the room. They’re all leaned forward, watching intently, watching with heat in their eyes and money in their pockets. If Brigit were any other girl, I’d throw her to them right now. I’d take the profit.
It would be an admission. An admission I can’t make.
She finds herself up, higher and higher until she cries out, clapping a hand over her mouth at the last moment. The cry fuses with the air and seems to go on forever, like a ringing in my ears.
Brigit opens her eyes. She takes her other hand from my shoulder and hooks her fingers in the front of her dress. It strikes me as shockingly intimate, even for a whorehouse—her legs slung over mine, my fingers pushed against her cherry.
“Not good enough.”
Her shoulders sag a little, and then she straightens up, placing her hand back on my shoulder and digging her nails through my jacket and shirt.
I’m not a kind man.
So I’ve put my thumb against her clit and am circling it with a soft motion that could be mistaken for gentleness.
It’s not, and Brigit knows it for what it is, which is why it’s so fascinating to see the hitch in her breath and the way her pupils expand, pushing the green of her eyes to a thin line.
Exhilarating to feel her tighten again on my fingers, to feel her get wetter.
And addicting to feel the way her hips start to move in their own rhythm.
It’s almost nothing, what I’m doing to her, but it rolls over me like a boulder, flattening all feeling into one: need.
I pin one of her hips with my free hand and drive my fingers into her, testing the resistance. It’s a matter of inches, and I want it so much I can fucking taste it. It wrenches my heart in my chest and sends electric jolts down toward my abs and lower, to where my cock is hungry for her.
“Don’t do this,” she breathes.
“Do what? You’ve already come in front of all of them, like the good little slut you want to be so badly.”
“Don’t,” she begs. “Please. Wait.”
“No.”
Brigit tries to inch her hips back, away from my touch, but she can’t—I’ve trapped her. And she must know, deep down, that if she’s successful, I’ll let her fall to the floor in an embarrassed heap. The men would take that as a signal. They’d be on her before I could step away.
Her eyes go a little unfocused, moving down over my face, and this is the difference between the fake and reality—the reality is much softer. Fuck, she’ll be