Page 43 of Wild

With my money and whiskey in hand, I head over to the curved lounge and sit, putting the bottle down and dumping the money with deliberate carelessness.

The room is edged with a heavy awareness, pure fucking sleaze.

Her gaze hits the money, and a blush flares on her cheeks. She gets it; the slap in the face, the wrongness of the cash. It pleases me more than it should, this game of treating Rose like something to be paid for, like she’s someone who’ll flash her wares for a buck, maybe blow me for five.

That razor line between right and wrong is fucking exquisite. She looks at me, and the look I give her back is pure, obnoxious, smutty heat.

Beneath her shirt, the sharp points of her nipples appear.

I bet she’s fucking wet.

I bet she’s thinking of revenge.

I bet she’s thinking of riding me.

She’s going to play in the mud and dirt of depravity with me.

I nod at the pole and smooth a hand down the side of my dick so she can see that I’m hard. My Rose swallows, her greedy gaze on me. Then, she licks her lips like she’s looking at dessert, and she’s lucky I have discipline, or else I’d bust a nut, here and now.

Fuck. She’s dangerous.

Rose starts to move, hesitant at first, a little too self-conscious, and the heels I got her—the super tacky stripper heels I’ve taken a liking to on her—are so high, they threaten to trip her, which is the fucking point. They’re made for crawling, pointing to the sky, not walking.

They’re dirty, filthy hot on her. The dichotomy of those heels on the feet of sweet Rose is the kind of hell-bound deliciousness I crave.

My cock aches as Rose finds the beat, even with her clothes still on.

I smile and pick up some of the ones, fives, and tens. Small bills only, humiliation in green. “Want to earn some of this? You better move that ass and lose that skirt.”

A flash of dark annoyance hits her features, and it lights up a buoyancy in me.

After a fumble, the skirt comes off, with efficiency rather than any form of teasing, and it hits me in the face as she throws it. I let it, taking in how her jerky movements start to give way to fluidity.

I’m stroking myself—how the fuck can I not? As I do, she loosens up more.

First, her tie comes undone, and then the buttons, and the red lace underwear, the kind that covers a lot without hiding a thing, are revealed. Pure lace. Pure decadence. Pure torture.

She takes the pole and twirls, wiggling her fine ass. Rose drops, and oh fuck, that view should be fine fucking art, the way the panties—no, gusset—show me glimpses of her pink cunt, the material a little darker from her slick.

I move my hand from my rock hard, aching cock and grab my drink. She looks at me through her legs, teasing me before she tosses her glossy dark hair, slides her hand up her leg, and slips her panties to one side, giving me a view of swollen, unfettered, wet flower.

My cock twitches, and it’s a good thing I’m not touching it. As it is, I grit my teeth and wait.

Rose dips into herself with her fingers, sighing as she goes deep. Above the thump and grind of the music, she moans as she bangs herself with her finger. Then she pulls out, slowly, and uses two fingers to spread that cunt for me.

No way on this fucking planet could Rose bore me.

I might not want to beat her ass daily, but I could. Rose is always giving something new, painting everything with her own brand of red-hot glitter.

She rolls her body up and leans forward, putting her finger in her mouth and sucking hard.

My fucking cock twitches again. I want to bury myself in her, to fuck her mouth until she’s drooling and struggling and begging for more. I want to plug her holes and then push in next to one of the plugs, stretching her to the limits. I want to paint her from head to toe in my cum, mark her skin with me.

God help me, I want to make the kind of slow, dreamy love she sometimes wants.

With Rose, I want to do it all.

“Come here.” I throw a few crumpled dollars at her and pat my thighs, spreading them wide, and then grab my cock in a move that leaves no room for doubt about what I want. “Give me a lap dance. Make it good, with a real fucking happy ending. If you do, you might earn a few more bucks.”

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