Page 47 of Love to Defy You
“Hmm, what other services do you offer?”
She brings her fingers to my pants and hooks them in my belt. “One hundred euros for the lap dance, three hundred for a blow job.”
“Wow, that’s cheap.”
She smacks my abs with the back of her hand, making me chuckle. I pull out three hundred euros before sliding my wallet back into my pocket, then slip the bills under the hem of herplunging neckline. When I graze her peaked nipple, she rewards me with a breathy moan.
“Now, give me what I paid for, whore.”
The corners of her lips curl up, and she steps around me. Her gold heels are the only sound cutting through the silent room as she walks away from me, and my gaze is drawn to her round ass swaying beneath the sheer skirt, covered only by an undergarment matching the color of her flesh.
As much as I hate to admit it, that bastard Enzo was right. Willow loves to draw the male gaze to her body.
But what he doesn’t understand is that Willow has no intention of giving them what they want. Only I have the privilege of touching her.
She crosses the room toward an upholstered chair in front of the dark fireplace, then turns around to beckon me over with her finger. Loosening my tie, I obey, and as I cross the room, I drop it on the floor.
I take a seat in the chair and lean back, stretching my legs wide in front of me and letting my arms hang over the armrests.
Willow comes around the chair and stands between my knees. Her full, burgundy lips curl into that Mona Lisa smile that drew me in the night we met—the one that hinted at salacious secrets.
Tonight, it’s a wanton promise.
She places her palms on my shoulders and slides them under my suit jacket. When she pushes it down, I sit up a little to help her pull it off me, and she tosses it over the back of another chair.
Her hands find my shoulders again, but this time, she drags them down my chest, hinging forward as she brings them down to my thighs. When her fingertips brush my cock over my pants, it twitches with interest.
The little minx turns away, and her ass comes close to my face as she bends forward to rest her hands on my knees. Using themas leverage to lower herself, Willow begins to gyrate her hips in a circle, wiggling her perfect ass in my lap.
I run my fingers up her thigh, but she swats my hand away. “No touching. That’s the rule.”
But I ignore her, cupping my hand over her ass and kneading my fingers into it. “What happens if I break the rule?”
Willow straightens up and walks away, and a growl rumbles in my chest. My skin turns cold without her touch, or perhaps it’s because all the blood in my body is draining toward my dick to make it stiff. I adjust myself again, but it’s growing uncomfortable.
My gaze follows her as she bends over and picks my tie off the floor, and as she walks back toward me with slow, deliberate steps, she palms the silk. With a devilish smirk, she walks behind me and pulls my wrists behind the chair, where she ties an intricate knot to secure my arms behind my back.
Her hands rest on my shoulder as she leans over to whisper in my ear, “Then you get punished.”
I’m starting to understand why Willow loves to defy me at every chance she gets. The punishment is so worth it.
She resumes where she left off, and with her back to me, she sits down in my lap with her hands on my knees. With slow, torturous movements, she grinds her ass against my cock, which is as hard as the black diamonds hanging between her breasts.
Willow pops her ass, then drags it back down over my abs to return to my lap. When she bounces on my cock, I groan.
I want to feel the wet heat of her mouth wrap around my length.
She draws herself up to a standing position between my legs, where she runs her hands up and down her hips as she sways her buttocks in my face. When I reach to touch it, I meet resistance behind my back, and no matter how hard I try to break my restraints, it holds. She did well.
Willow reaches around to undo her zipper and drags it slowly down her back.
“Seems you didn’t need help with the zipper after all.” My voice is husky.
She throws me a wicked smirk over her shoulder. “It’s always easier to take it off than to put it on.”
Once the zipper is down, she bunches the sheer skirt in her hand, inching the hemline up her legs to reveal her smooth skin underneath.
At last, she draws the dress up and over her head, then lets it fall to the floor beside her. All that’s left is her flesh-toned underwear, which sits on her hips. But her back is bare.
