Page 8 of Snowed in with the Villains

This is about The Sledge Hammer. Is this our way out of paying him the money? Does that mean I get to keep my virginity? God, I sound like a spinster. Keep my virginity? Why would I want to keep it?

“We understand you started a profile on a site called Babes, Babes, and Babes as SummerBabe69?” Agent Philips continues.

Embarrassment bombards every inch of my skin. I’m immediately flustered. He knows about SummerBabe69?

Chapter Seven

Skye

Okay, this is crazy.

I stop myself before I deny I’m SummerBabe69. Saying I don’t know what they’re talking about. But then I think about Lily’s words.No greater commodity than a woman and her body. Why should I be embarrassed?

“Yes,” I say succinctly, raising my head, refusing to be judged by this gorgeous man and his partner, not that she’s judging me in any way. It’s all in my head. “I’m her. I’m SummerBabe69. I don’t understand why that matters.”

“There’s a man who calls himself The Great Dipper,” Agent Philips says. “He’s shown interest in you. We need you to lure him out of hiding.”

“What did he do?” I ask instead of telling the FBI agents I couldn’t lure a man to water in a desert.

“That’s classified information, but to reiterate, he’s a wicked man. We need to get him out of hiding. You can help us, Skye.”

My breath tumbles from my mouth at the sound of my name falling from his lips. My panties, what little there is of them, are unquestionably wet. I don’t understand this one bit. What is going on with me?

“You want me to do this now?” I ask hesitantly, feeling stupid.Sir, it’s my first day on the job, and you want me to lure a dangerous man out of hiding?

“Preferably. May I?” He asks, going to my laptop. He doesn’t wait for an answer and effortlessly opens the site and pulls up my video feed. He moves my chair back and then gestures for me to sit.

I’m sure I’m dreaming this up. This really isn’t happening. Hot FBI man and his partner in my apartment on the pretense of me smoking out a dangerous man with my feminine wiles. Yep, definitely a dream.

I take a seat, keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll wake up from this strange dream any minute now, my hands poised over the keyboard like I know what I’m doing.

“You always chat to yourclientsin your robe, Ms. Jennings?”

Crap. The robe I’m wearing stopped being a robe three years ago. Now it’s just a shapeless ensemble of terry cloth worn smooth, yes, smooth, and sprinkled with holes.

Rookie mistake. Even though Agent Philips’ features remain stoic, his gaze tells me he’s laughing at me. There is no way I’m completely removing my robe. I’m wearing a G-string for panties, for goodness’ sake.

With my chin tilted up, I shrug the robe off my shoulders and remove my arms from the sleeves. All they can see are my boobs trying to escape the corset. But not my butt.

“What do I have to do?” Even if I were a professional, it’s a legitimate question. Normal digital sex workers don’t go around catching dangerous men for the FBI daily.

“Just make sure you don’t give him any hint that we’re in the room with you.” Agent Montgomery says. Right. Because they’re not sticking out like neon grenades.

“Just engage him in some light talk at first. See where he takes it,” Agent Philips says lazily, while my whole being is in disarray.

TheGreatDipperis online. My finger trembles as I activate the video call. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I—

A man in a ski mask appears on my screen, and my heart does a triple somersault. Shivers spark off my spine. My nipples, already hard, harden even more and now ache inside the corset. The wetness clinging to my folds, thanks to Agent Philips, thickens, and the bundle of nerves at the center throbs so hard, I hold my breath to stop myself from clenching my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

All I can see are his eyes, a shade of green so dark they’re almost black. His lips are full, strong, demanding. Am I listening to myself? How can his lips bedemanding?

The upper part of his body is huge and broad, so broad the black T-shirt he’s wearing seems to strain across his pecs and over his biceps. He could crush me to death and—

I realize I’m staring and inadvertently look up at the agents standing opposite me, behind my laptop. Agent Montgomery gestures for me to carry on. But I’m unequivocally, overpoweringly aware of only two people in the world right now. The man on my screen and the man standing behind my laptop.

“Hey… hello, Great Dipper,” I say, stuttering first, then awkwardly trying to sass my voice up. Oh god.

He’s booked me for ten minutes. The minimum amount is two hundred dollars. A notification springs up in the corner of my laptop. The Great Dipper has made a payment. Three thousand dollars light up my screen.

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