Page 97 of Roulette: The Madam

“Israel.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. If you try to run off, I will chase you down and bring your ass right back where you belong.”

“Where I belong?” She chuckled.

“Right where the fuck you belong.”

“Taming a feral kitten is much harder than adopting one who was born to be a domestic cat,” she warned.

My shoulders lifted and fell. “The tamed ones are hardly any fun.”

I slammed the door and strolled to the other side of the car, ready for motion to limit her chances of fleeing. Roulette was wild and unpredictable, just like that feral kitten she spoke of. However, I was no longer a young nigga. I had time on my hands. And, the days I didn’t, I’d make time.

She was still in the same place I’d left her when I settled in the driver’s seat. I reversed my whip, avoiding the glass while simultaneously heading in the opposite direction. Raquim would handle the rest. His service was no longer required for the night. He was free to do whatever his heart desired once Roulette’s SUV made it safely toTrey’s Body Shopfor a new window.

Thirty minutes of pure silence,aside from the playlist that was automatically generated due to my music selections on the application, led us to the dock. I shut off my engine andturned to find Roulette deep in her neverending list of emails. Her work ethic was commendable, but there was no time for emails tonight.

I reached over and slid the device from between her fingers. I opened the glove compartment and tossed it inside. She remained quiet as she stared on in disbelief.

“Do you get a rise out of pissing me off?” She questioned, turning her body in my direction.

“I’m starting to think I do,” I admitted.

“For what fucking reason, exactly?” She scoffed.

“Makes your pussy wetter.”

The pregnant pause was revealing. Her eyes met her top eyelids as she rolled them. I stepped out of the car, giving her a second to cool down. I was sure her pussy was throbbing at the mention of its characteristic.

When I opened the door, Roulette took her precious time exiting. I exercised patience as I watched her in her full element. She was addictive.

She marched to the beat of her own drum with me falling in line behind her. I’d quickly forgotten that I’d been the one to make the arrangements for the night. She led so effortlessly. So masterfully. It wasn’t until she stopped at the entry of the dock that I remembered she needed me to proceed.

I took her by the hand and led her across the small bridge made of wood. We passed six yachts before stopping in front of the larger one. I lowered my body and scooped Princess into my arms. She clung to me as I stepped onto the boat, sparing her the hassle.

Back on her feet, she smoothed down the cream dress that she wore no bra and a thong underneath. I swallowed the excessive amount of saliva that pooled at the thought of pulling that motherfucker to the side so I could feast from her buffet.

“This way,” I told her, extending a hand.

The summer night was perfect for setting sail. So was the woman following me into the dining hall of the yacht. Her presence was fleeting. On water, her chances of escaping without my knowledge were limited.

“A yacht.” She chuckled, taking the seat I’d pulled out for her.

I sat across the small table that was set for two. Red roses tied in twine and encased in a large sheet of kraft paper sat in front of Roulette. Candles flickered in the center of the table.

“Less likely to vanish.” I shrugged.

“I’m a swimmer, Israel.”

“A pool and open water are very different, Princess.”

“A damn good one,” she retorted, “My entire family is. Open water or a pool.”

Fuck.

“What can’t you do?” I steered the conversation in a different direction.

“Belong to one man–intentionally.”

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