Page 10 of Dirty Filthy Billionaire: Part 1

“Are you frightened?”

“I’m not scared,” she says.

“Sure,” I say, sliding my hand across her skin before moving away from her. “Come on, get your drink. I’ll show you around.”

I guide her to the back of the bar where the club really begins. Just having my hand on her waist is enough to make my cock twitch in need; seeing her full-length in that tight skirt and top, her calves flexing with every step in those red high heels makes me want to press her up against the wall and feel every inch of her along my own body. But we have work to do—namely, showing her the ropes of this sex club.

At the start of a long, dark, narrow hallway with almost a dozen closed doors is Mick, who nods at us.

“Who is that?” Mia asks me, her eyes darting back to the man dressed in black.

“He’s the dungeon monitor,” I say, and she looks at me with wide eyes.

“Is that really what he’s called?”

“It is,” I say. “See these little windows on the doors?” I point to the first door we pass. The slit in the door is too high for us to see in, which is the point. “He keeps an eye on the guests to make sure all is good.”

“He looks?”

“Yes,” I say. “But just to make sure everyone is playing fair and no one is in danger.”

“People could be in danger here?” she asks.

I chuckle. She really doesn’t get it. “It’s possible, but unlikely.”

Just then we hear a pop, and then a cry of ecstasy—Mia probably interprets it as pain as she sucks in a breath at the sound.

“And people like this?” she asks.

“Very much,” I say.

As we walk slowly down the hall, more noises fill the air. I keep my hand on the waist of her skirt, a light touch to let her know I’m here. I wonder if she takes it as comforting or dominance. Or maybe she’s so rattled she doesn’t even feel my hand there.

A man’s cry of more, yes, give it to me comes out from one of the rooms. We hear what sounds like a whip snap, and then the man moans out.

Mia wraps her arms around her waist as if she’s cold, but the way her shoulders are practically raised to her ears, I’m pretty sure she’s just nervous. I give her back a slight rub—as much for her as for me.

“Do you enjoy this?” she asks. We’re outside a room in which we can hear the slapping of flesh on flesh, fast and hard.

“What I enjoy is beside the point,” I say. One thing this Mia Cassidy does not need to know is what I enjoy. She will certainly never have access to that part of me. I’m not even sure I have access anymore, it’s buried so deep. But this is pleasurable enough for now. In fact, it’s quite fun.

“Then what is the point?” she asks. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To see how you can handle yourself,” I tell her, which is partly true. I’m surprised she hasn’t run screaming out of here yet. She deserves some props for that alone. “I need someone who can write about the kinds of topics that will garner notoriety and wider readership. I want stories that get people talking, even if they’re talking in secret.”

Just then, the couple who is in the room we’re just outside of seem to explode in total ecstasy, crying out while slapping the floor, the wall, flesh…we can’t know for sure.

Mia stops suddenly. She leans back against the wall, puts her hand over her forehead and closes her eyes. For a moment, I think she’s going to pass out.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. I take her wine glass and set both our glasses on a small nearby table.

She opens her eyes, looking at me. Her eyes trail down me for a brief second. She swallows hard, nodding her head yes. I place my forearm on the wall next to her, almost boxing her in. I lean close to her ear, making no secret about purposely being close to her.

“Are you sure, Mia?” I ask so close that her hair brushes my nose.

She turns her face slightly to me, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me. My dick is beginning to strain in my pants.

“Mr. Bridges,” she says softly. “Please.”

“Please what?” I ask, and there’s no answer I’ve ever been more excited to hear. I just hope she’s asking for what I think she is.

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