Page 127 of Ewan

I asked him to try to convince her. The money was good. He’d make as much as she’d make.

Hope glimmered in his eyes when he saw I knew who I was dealing with.

That’s when he asked me if there was anything else I could tell him about her so he could convince her to say yes to dancing for me.

I didn’t know much about Scarlet, but I knew how concerned she was with her reputation.

Hey, they’re not requesting my presence at any negotiation table for nothing. I know how to make people do what I want them to do.

He thought the information was useful and promised to do his best.

I asked him to do more than his best, or his place would go up in flames.

I appreciated that he got the message and assured me the woman I had asked for would dance for me in private as requested.

What can I say?

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I couldn’t watch Scarlett dance the second time around.

One glance at the stage when she got out and my jaw locked, my cock thickening in anger and dark pleasure.

Her shorts got shorter.

I never asked for that.

And she looked even more ripe. Hotter. And harder to resist. Her hair moved when she moved. Her chest looked bigger.

I felt like a savage, and while my plan had been refined, and I didn’t know what I wanted to do with her, my dick surely knew.

Frankly, I thought that by bringing her to me dressed like that, I could steer the conversation away from me being a mafia boss, gain some leverage, and maybe not talk about my affairs until we sorted this shit out.

That’s what my plan was. Sketchy but doable.

She’d be with me in a few minutes, I thought.

She could raise hell, and I might be in for some hard times with her, but I wasn’t afraid.

Had that happened, I would have considered it a much needed progress.

I just wanted to have the upper hand again and not let her slip away.

The problem was that I had an erection I couldn’t hide or tame down. I couldn’t watch her open her legs one more time and stare at the little patch of fabric concealing her pussy without hopping up on that stage and straight out removing her by force, hauling her to my truck or to some shady motel and fucking her brains out.

So I got my drink and spotted a bar stool in a dark corner. That’s where I sat. My back turned to her. When she was done, I was too. Still carrying most of my blood between my legs, I dropped cash on the counter and moved to the assigned place.

I spent a few moments shifting in my seat, trying to ease the pain between my legs and not come before she came. No pun intended.

And then I heard her heels clicking against the floors.

And saw the curtain moving.

I called her in.

And this is it.

She’s fucking here.

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