Page 31 of Black Velvet

I stop adjusting the light as soon as I can see the smile on her face.

"That it?" she asks. "You can try other colors, too."

"No," I say. "This is fine."

"You're the boss."

She makes a move to walk toward me, her smile transforming into a seductive smirk.

I raise my hand to stop her.

"I didn't tell you to move," I snarl. "Stay where you are, directly under the light."

A hint of confusion crosses her face, but she nods, tipping her head back to spot the light above her. She positions herself right under it, never losing control of her movements. They're too perfect, too practiced. Nothing about the way she's moving since we got up here seems natural.

She's still looking at me with that professional allure when I approach her. Curiosity curls inside me, asking to test her, to see what it is like to be served by her. For the moment, I decide to listen to that inquisitive voice.

I come to a halt right in front of her, burying my hands inside my pants pockets while my eyes rest upon her. Even with her height and the ridiculous heels she's wearing, she has to tilt her head back a little to meet my gaze. Yet I don't think I've been as close to eye level with a girl standing before me as I am with her now.

I'm standing close enough for her to feel the hardness growing inside my pants. I deliberately lean my hips forward, touching her leg, just to see how she will react.

Her face looks so innocent, so pure, even with all the makeup and black lace adorning her sinful body. But her actions reveal her professionalism. She doesn't shy away from my growing bulge, but instead moves her leg to return the touch, as if we were greeting each other this way.

I don't give her any commands or any kind of reaction, but just study her, observing her routine. She bites her lower lip, but not like she did before. This time she does it knowingly, putting her entire expression into it as her lashes flutter in sync. Her hands reach forward, skillfully opening the button of my suit jacket before she reaches underneath it, stroking along the side of my torso. She inhales audibly when she can feel the muscles underneath the thin fabric.

"Damn, you must work out a lot."

Even her compliment sounds fake, despite being honest. I know what I look like, and I know the effect a ripped chest has on women. She likes it, and her adoration is not a lie, but the way she expresses it doesn't feel natural.

She's too impatient, too. As soon as she got a first feel of my upper body through the fabric of my shirt, she decides to travel upward, bypassing my strong pecs, my collarbone, and going right for the tie around my neck. She’s about to loosen the knot, and that’s when I stop her. I reach up and grab her wrists, shaking my head to signal her no. We exchange a quick look, before she nods with understanding. However, her next move is no less blatant.

Her hands trail down across my chest, cherishing the sculptured body I don't allow her to see just yet. She doesn't stop at the waistband of my pants, but continues further, placing her palm on top of my steely readiness. My cock twitches at her touch, especially when she tries to wrap her fingers around me, only stopped by the fabric separating us.

"Wow," she breathes. Her eyes follow to where her hands are as she takes a step back, holding onto my leg with one hand, while the other still cups my growing bulge.

She's just about to go down on her knees when I hold her back by placing my hands on her shoulders.

"Stop."

She freezes, not moving even an inch while I keep her in place, my hands closing around her small shoulders. Slowly I retreat from her, taking a step back and putting some distance between us. I can tell that she wants to follow me, but she manages to refrain from doing so.

"You said I could make this room whatever I want," I say, my voice eerily low.

She nods.

"Well, here's what I want," I continue, crossing my arms in front of my chest while I lock her in place just with my gaze. "I don't want you to act as if you're on a job. I don't want you to go through your routine, simply intent on pleasuring me."

She inhales, about to say something, but I stop her by simply raising a finger.

"I know you will say that's not what you're doing," I tell her. "But that would be a lie, and you know how much I hate being lied to. It would be an insult, and you don't want to insult me, am I right?"

She shakes her head. "No, si— Damon."

"Good girl," I praise. "Now listen, here's what I want you to do. It's quite simple, really. I want you to undress in front of me. Get naked, completely naked."

I take another two steps back, my arms still crossed and my cock still pushing against its fabric cage, yearning to be inside her. There's nothing I would rather do right now. I want to bury myself between her legs, have her warmth wrapped around me while I fuck the living hell out of her—but I want to do it right. I couldn't enjoy her if she insists on continuing her act, as if she's nothing more than another whore, faking, acting, and lying. I want the real her.

She looks at me with a puzzled look, but starts obeying when I jut my chin forward.

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