Riot

“You won’t need to do that.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, grimaces. “Listen...how about going slow? Talk first, take half an hour to relax. I won’t charge you for it. First half hour is on me. We could—”

“No need.” I have to do this fast, before I lose my nerve. Get it over with. “Seriously.”

He watches me for a long moment, his mouth downturned. He doesn’t like this. Maybe he has a feeling this isn’t all what it seems.

But in the end, he shrugs, a light roll of his big shoulders. He even manages a tiny smile.

“Fine by me.” He gestures at the bed and takes a funny little bow. “After you, miss. Let the games begin.”

Chapter Two

Riot

Games.

That’s how I try to picture my profession in my head, how I frame it so I don’t react when clients ask about my price and what I can or can’t do, when they look me over like I’m a racehorse they wanna buy, or when they act like I’m gonna grab their money and run.

I’m a professional. I take this seriously. Not exactly what I imagined myself doing when I grew up, but what the hell. Not like I had any big dreams when I was a kid, and besides. Payments are due, the pay is good, and it’s an honest gig, at least.

And she’s pretty. Not so common in my line of work. I mean, sure, sometimes I get attractive women, but young and pretty like this one? Not in a million years.

She’s unzipping her dress. It has one of those funny zippers on the side, and I can’t help but stare at the lush curve of her ass as she turns away from me. The material of the dress is soft and it slides off her body like water, pooling around her ankles. She steps clear of the black material, the high heels she’s wearing making her long legs look endless. Her underwear is black lace with red bows at her hips. It’s not a thong, but it hugs her ass cheeks in a very distracting way.

She is very distracting. I lick my lips, waiting for her to turn around, and I can’t remember the last time I was so damn excited.

First she reaches up, pulls a pin and lets her dark hair cascade over her back. Then she turns around, and my breath hitches.

Holy fucking shit. What a girl.

Her black lacy bra cups her perfect tits, lifting them just enough so I can imagine how they’ll spill into my hands if I tug down the flimsy lace. Her nipples show through, dark areolae, winking at me. Asking me to touch them, lick them.

My gaze follows her curves, and damn, I’m so out of my depth here. I should pinch myself to check that I’m not dreaming. She’s gorgeous. With her dark chocolate eyes and that full mouth, that shiny black hair falling past her shoulders, she’s a wet dream.

Hell, I’m so hard it actually fucking hurts.

Normally at this stage, I’m not even hard. I’d have to concentrate to get into a sexy mindset, picture myself with a girl I want, picture her going on her knees for me, sucking my dick, before I can even get it up.

Well, not this time, junior.

I shove my hand into my briefs and straighten my dick before it breaks, as it’s caught sideways under the elastic. Her eyes dip down, following my movement, and something dark flares in them.

Jesus, this girl.

Then she’s climbing on the bed, and I follow as if pulled by a thread, a goddamn rope, after her.

“Do it,” she says, leaning back against the iron headboard, her chest heaving, her tits threatening to spill over the bra.

“What?” Can’t think. All the blood’s rushed south. My dick throbs.

“Tie me up.” She lifts her hands, grips the bars of the headboard. Stretches those long legs in front of her, still with the black high heels on.

Black seems to be the theme of the evening. Dark. Lace. Ropes.

Okay, focus, Riot.

I reach for my jacket. From the pockets I pull out two small cases I carry with me whenever I’m out on a job. One contains condoms, lube and a vibrator. The other contains some bondage rope, soft cuffs, a foldable suede flogger, and a blindfold.

You’d be surprised how much use these items have seen. I’ve been told I should add a paddle to the set, but that’s not my scene.