Page 7 of Voyeur
The girl was a new entity, something I had to be careful with. The glint in those eyes, she reminded me of a stray cat; you never knew if it wanted to be loved or fed, or if it would bite you if you got too close to it.
Carter’s muscular body had Crystal by the hips, his fingers digging into her skin hard. He fucked her until he came, and he all but roared out his pleasure. An animal indeed, a hunter, a lion claiming his lamb.
Was Zoey a lamb, or was she a lion in disguise? I guess we would find out, because if I had my way, I’d be seeing her again.
Pulling out of her, Carter grabbed his pants and stuffed himself away, leaving Crystal bent over the couch, her dripping cunt visible to everyone in the room. Crystal knew what was good for her; she didn’t move. She remained exposed, breathing unevenly. Carter, on the other hand, strode to my side, eyeing Zoey up.
Though his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, he looked like he could kill. “What should I do with her?”
Zoey’s back straightened, and she locked eyes with him. I sat there for a few moments, watching their quiet pissing contest. Who was the bigger person? Carter, definitely, in more ways than one, but Zoey did have some backbone in her.
That could be fun.
Though I knew it would be the last thing Carter would want to do, I said, “Take Crystal and leave. I want to talk to Zoey alone.” Carter moved to Crystal’s side, picking up her skimpy clothes off the floor and shoving them at her. “Oh, and Crystal?”
Those big baby blues, so unlike Zoey’s, met mine, questioning.
“Grab us some drinks, will you?”
As soon as she was dressed, she and Carter left the room. The door closed, leaving me with Zoey. I motioned to the couch, and Zoey made no moves to go to it. She, clearly, did not understand that the things I told her to do were orders and not suggestions.
“Sit,” I spat out, frowning. Zoey would learn that I could be either a king or an executioner. Sometimes, I was both on the same day. Whichever one she got would depend on how she acted, and right now she was obstinate.
Something must’ve registered, for Zoey held back a sigh, going to sit down on the couch across from me. “Nothing like sitting on your sex couch,” she said, staring right at me, begging me to say something smart back.
I forced a smirk, knowing suddenly this girl and I were going to have a lot of fun together. If she believed tonight would be the only night I’d grace her life, she was wrong. So very, very wrong.
“To be fair, the Dollhouse owns the couch,” I said.
She shifted her weight, crossing her legs like mine, mimicking how I sat. Zoey said nothing, even when Carter entered, carrying a tray with two drinks on it. He handed me the first one, and the second to her, leaving shortly after.
“That’s Carter,” I said, taking a sip of the drink. Fruity drinks weren’t my favorite, but I would make do. “He does anything I tell him to.”
“Including the workers here, I see,” she deadpanned, setting down the glass on the floor near her heeled feet.
I narrowed my eyes. “Drink.”
“I’m not twenty-one yet.”
If that wasn’t a challenge, I didn’t know what was. Not yet twenty-one and working at a place like this. Why? Was she so down on her luck that she had nowhere else to turn, no family to help pick herself back up?
“I won’t tell,” I whispered, hardly blinking as I stared at her. She and I were alone in this room, no windows, no cameras. The things I could do to her here were unspeakable, and I’d be a liar if I said my cock wilted at the thought.
Silence took over the room, and I did nothing but continue to sip my drink while Zoey acted unimpressed.
She broke the silence, saying, “Can I ask you something?”
I shrugged my shoulders, figuring she would regardless of what I said.
“Who are you?”
The corner of my lip quirked. Who was I? Such a complicated question with an even more complicated answer, one I knew many women here wondered, especially when I paid so well. The truth, boiled down to the bare bones of it, was this: “I’m the man a lot of people call when they want someone out of the picture.”
Finally, that got a reaction from her. “An assassin?”
I had to hand it to her; she got me to chuckle. The word assassin was so… political. I much preferred the term enforcer, if any term had to be used at all. Hell, I’d even take the label of hitman over assassin.
“In a way, yes,” I relented, figuring it would be easier to let her believe that. It wasn’t like I went around killing everyone who anyone wanted dead; only people who went against my family and their business. I used the term family loosely, of course, because my closest blood relatives were deader than doornails.
