Page 42 of Beautiful Secrets
I almost laugh.Almost. It’s plausible that she’s loaded, but highly unlikely. Yeah, she’s the daughter of one of the most lucrative Bratva families in Scotland, but there’s no way she’d have direct access to so much cash.
“Oddly specific,” I tell her. “This all the pocket money you’ve been saving up?” I shift my weight, grimacing when my cock seems to take this as a cue that it might get sprung from its prison soon.
“Something like that,” she murmurs.
And then her gaze shifts to my crotch. Her eyelashes flutter before she squeezes them shut. “It is all yours if you let me go,” she whispers.
“How much?” I ask again.
“Seven million, five hundred, and twenty thousand.” Her eyes are glued to me. Her face could have been carved from pale stone. “All yours, Cole Hendry.”
And then she licks her lips again.
My thoughts scatter. I can’t see anything but her gleaming rosebud mouth.
“How do I know you’re not lying?” I manage, my voice as thick as my rock hard cock.
I’ll play her silly little game…but only to see how she thinks it’s supposed to end. It’s easier than chopping off her toe and sending it to her father, that’s for sure.
“I…do not know.” She searches my face. “I suppose you will have to trust me.”
“Trust works both ways,” I tell her.
Confusion creases the skin between her sandy brows.
I release her, step back, and point to the floor at my feet. “Kneel.”
A shudder courses visibly through her curvy little body. But she does what I ask—bound wrists and all.
She sits up on her knees, hands dangling in front of her. And then she just stares at me.
“You don’t want me to change my mind, do you?”
But all she does is lick her lips. What is she playing at? There’s only one reason I could possibly demand she gets on her knees—why is she being all coy about it?
There’s none of that on her face though. She’s watching, expectant…but as if for instruction, not to see how I’ll react.
My chest grows a little tighter.
My cock even harder.
“Take it out.” My voice is low and deep.
Her bound hands tremble when she lifts them. She glances at my jeans, but then back up at me, almost as if to make sure she’s doing it right.
Lust stirs inside me like the air just before a tornado forms. Right now, I don’t want anything more than to have those sweet, wet lips wrapped around my shaft.
But she’s so careful to unbutton my pants, to draw down the zipper, that my desire has ramped up exponentially by the time she finally slides a hand into my trunks and touches my cock.
I wasn’t kidding about the trust bit. If she has my cock in her mouth, she could decide to clamp down and sever it with her teeth.
Or at least try.
But then she’s not getting her freedom—something she so desperately wants that she’s willing to do anything to get it.
That’s what this should feel like. A barter. Tit for tat.
But it doesn’t.
