Page 45 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

“A lap dance…” I trail off, and she nods with a smile before I add, “for free?”

I can’t help but laugh. This girl entranced me so deeply with her iron will that I allowed her age to fade into the background. But with that naïve offer, the veil lifts, and her youth shines.

“Nothing is ever free, lisichka,” I growl, jerking her against me.

“I prefer to call it pro bono.”

My grip tightens at the familiar words. Ones spoken in a corrupt politician’s office.

“Unfortunately for you, Nort, I took this pro bono.”

It has to be a coincidence. No one knows about my connection to the headlines saturating every newsfeed. Especially a Miami stripper.

My sudden shift in demeanor causes a vertical line to sink between her eyebrows, so I vault from killer to customer, keeping her off balance. “Pro bono. For the public good, huh?” I settle my gaze on the perfect view she’s offering—round breasts my tongue aches to tease.

“Russian, English, and Latin. You’re quite the catch, Mikhail.”

I freeze. “I never said my name was Mikhail.”

I expect trembling lips and a pathetic backtrack. What I get is a lifted chin and a straight shot of confidence. “I assumed,” she says flatly. “The only other option was Michael, and with an accent like that, I played the odds.”

Bullshit.

“Why me?”

Bebe lets out a frustrated sigh. “You know, most men wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. They’d just take the reins and run.”

“I am looking at you, lisichka, not a horse.”

She presses her lips together. “It’s an expression.”

“About a horse?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, forget the horse.” Wrenching her arm from my grip, she crosses another line and places both hands on my shoulders. My traitorous skin burns under her touch. “I’m offering because I haven't been able to take my eyes off you since you walked in the door. I’m a realist, Mik. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in lust at first glance. At our core, we’re all animals. We see. We want.” She closes the final few inches of distance between us, her lips a whisper away from mine. “We take.”

My black heart thumps as my cock swells.

This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, sitting at this table for another hour will do nothing but raise suspicion.

Fuck it.

If some over-friendly stripper wants to shove her tits in my face while grinding on my dick, who the hell am I to say no? Besides, everything about this woman has me twisted up. It’s more than her striking beauty. It’s her boldness. It’s her indifference to my darkness. The ease with which I speak of death and murder would horrify most girls. But Bebe never flinched. In fact, I could’ve sworn her eyes dilated at the thought.

“All right, lisichka. You have thirty minutes.” I want to sink my teeth into the victorious smile spreading across her face. “But use them wisely. I am not easily impressed.”

I expect her to back down. Instead, she takes my hand. “Oh, Iceman…” Snaking her other hand between us, she cups my straining cock. “I only need five.”

Bebe is a woman of her word. Five minutes into her performance and I’m sitting on a blood-red couch making desperate deals with my dick so as not to come in my pants.

“The red room?” I ask, fighting for control as this temptress grinds against me while her bare breasts bounce in my face.

A conspiratorial smile tips the corner of her mouth. “You don’t like it?”

What’s not to like?

Red tinted lights. Red painted walls.

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