Page 81 of Subbing For Santa

“Can you suppress the urge to squirt?” he asks as he frees his hard cock, and I nod.

“Avoid my g-spot and we should be all good. It’s not foolproof, though.” I admit, and he shrugs.

“Good enough for me.”

Griffin doesn’t wait another second, sinking his dick inside me, causing my back to arch off the stage. “Fuuuck, you feel so good.”

It’s a compliment I love to hear, and I give myself over to him as he fucks me on the edge of the stage while I’m sure some of the staff are watching on from somewhere.

I don’t care though. Fucking Griffin Marx should be a public display each and every time.

Griffin slams into me over and over in punishing thrusts as he fucks me, building my pleasure deep inside. He uses his thumb to circle my clit, something he obviously knows will help me get over the line quicker, and before I know it, I’m clamping around his dick, squeezing it to send Griffin over the edge too as he fills me with his cum.

Griffin collapses forward to brace himself above me, and I swear I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight with him hovering over me.

“You’re hired.” He pants, grinning at me. “To be my private dancer.”

Giggling, I nod, happy with that arrangement before he slides out of me and grabs some napkins off the nearby table to clean himself up before cleaning me up too.

When I’ve redressed, Griffin calls his staff back in, and they don’t even bat an eyelid at knowing what just went down, and I only blush for a few minutes until my skin cools.

Griffin gives me a tour of the rest of the establishment then, showing me the private rooms and the lap dance lounge before leading me to his office. Once inside, he shuts the door and watches me as I assess everything.

His desk here is older and more worn out than the one at his house, but looks sturdy, so I make my way over and sit my arse on it as he takes a seat in front of me in his office chair.

“So, Mr Marx.” I grin, spreading my legs, resting my feet on each arm of his seat. “Do you have a gun?”

“Yes.” He grins, running his hands up and down my bare legs.

“How many?” I ask, shooting him a smile, and he chuckles.

“Many.”

“Do you have one here now?” I ask, and he nods.

“Yes.”

My brows shoot up. “Show me.” I urge, and again, he chuckles before leaning to the side to open the second drawer down, revealing a tin with a keypad on it. I watch as he presses a pin into the keypad before the lid clicks open, and then he pulls out a black and silver gun.

I lean forward to touch it, but he holds it back out of my way.

“Uh-uh. Not for you, little elf.”

I frown. “Shouldn’t I have a gun if I’m to be part of your world?”

He eyes me for a few beats before responding. “Yes. But not today, and notthisgun.”

“Why not that gun?” I eye the gun in question curiously.

“I don’t want your prints on this gun. It’s ended too many lives already. When you hold a gun, it will be clean and guilt free.”

My brows shoot up at his admission, and I nod. “Ok.”

His shoulders relax at my agreement, and I study him for a moment.

“How many people have you killed?”

“You don’t need to know that.” He frowns and I frown back.

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