Be My Babygirl

I stand from my seat beside him. If he’s paying me ten grand for this little peep show, I’m going to make it good. I do my best to sashay, swaying my ass like the girls downstairs, as I walk around the coffee table.

Facing him, I give him a sexy little grin, hopefully looking more confident than I feel. I reach behind my back, floundering for my zipper.

I can’t find it.

Tossing my hair over my shoulder in what I hope is a sexy manner, I give a little laugh. “Just a moment…” and fumble some more. Finally finding the little metal rascal, I give it a tug.

It’s stuck.

Damn.

So much for a sexy strip show. “Ah… just you wait, big boy. I’ve got this under control.”

What-the-fuck… Big boy? Where did that come from?

He gives a growl. “Another one of my many rules—you may call me sir, nothing else. With one exception once we get to know one another better.” He gives me that look again, the one that makes my nipples tighten and my core throb.

One exception?

“Yes, sir.” My fingers grab at the hem of my dress, tugging it upwards. I struggle to get the material over my hips, but I finally yank it up around my waist. I give him a wink, “Just another minute and...”

Fuck. I’m stuck.

The dress is wrapped around my ribcage. My black panties are on display, my bare legs and stomach dotting with goosebumps in the cool air. Tugging at the fabric, I twist it, trying to decide between forcing it over my breasts, or pulling it back down and trying the zipper again.

This is humiliating. Fifteen minutes of being an escort and I’m trapped in my clothing like a sausage in casing.

To further my embarrassment, tears prick at the backs of my eyes. I have no clue what I’m doing. “I-I’m not sure how to—”

“Let me help you.” He stands, moving with the grace of a panther as he crosses the room to me. Heat flashes over my skin where his fingers brush, as he maneuvers the dress back down over my hips. His lips tickle my earlobe as he whispers, “I do love to unwrap a gift.”

He pulls the zipper down slowly, barely touching me, but lighting a fire all the same.

The dress falls to the floor.

“No more touching. My turn.”

My breath catches in my throat as his fingers go to the strap of my bra. With one flick, he’s loosened it, freeing my breasts.

The black bra falls to the ground, joining the dress.

His hands go to my shoulders. The cool crinkling of his shirt, the heat of his chest, presses against my naked back. As he smooths his hands down my arms, his lips find the curve of my neck, kissing me softly.

A sigh escapes my lips.

He whispers, “Lose the panties.”

I freeze.

What am I doing?

I’m in the penthouse of a stranger, drinking wine and taking off my clothes for money.

I should leave. And yet…

He grabs my waist, turning me to face him. His hands fall and he steps back to take me in. His gaze rests heavy on my face, a look of admiration in his eyes. They lower, taking in my breasts. My nipples are already peaked like little pink berries standing at attention for him.

A dampening in my panties tells me that I want this night.

I need this night.

This dark stranger who makes me say please. Forces me to follow his rules. Tells me to strip off my clothing.

I should be scared, and maybe I am, a little. Who knew being scared could heighten arousal? Maybe it was the way he kissed my injured knee so gently, as if wanting to make it all better, or how gently he helped me with my zipper. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but something about him makes me feel safe.

And at the same time, like I’m dancing on a high wire.

My heart races in my chest as my fingers find the elastic waist of my panties. Surprised by my own boldness, I hold his gaze as I lower them down, down, down, letting them float to the floor with the rest of my clothing. Placing a hand on his shoulder for balance, I step out of them.

And stand before him fully nude.

I don’t even have to tell myself to stop my arms from trying to cover my nakedness; I know that would displease him. They hang at my sides, letting him fully take me in.

A tremble runs through me at the tightening in his jaw. He swallows hard, as if he’s trying to hold something back, an unfulfilled desire. A look I can’t quite read flashes through his eyes. His voice is gruff when he speaks. “Beautiful.”

My skin prickles. No one’s ever said that to me with such honesty. He means it.

And he’s back to all business. “Get your wine.”