Page 15 of Good Girl Gone Bad

A round, oversize mirror hung on the light purple wall, in front of a white vanity table. A wide range of curling irons, makeup items and—wait, was that body glitter?—crowded the surface.

Dusty folded her arms, tapping the toe of her high heels on the floor. “Are we ready?”

Was she? Apprehension clogged her throat, and she had to swallow to speak. “This is my first visit. What’s the deal?”

“You can pick whatever costume or pieces of clothing you want to wear. Your boyfriend bought the platinum package, so you get to keep them, too. Then, feel free to use what you need to play the part. When you’re ready, open that door,” Dusty said, pointing at a door on the opposite side of the room. “He’ll be waiting for you on the other side. It’s a soundproof room.”

Soundproof.The word rang in her head. A pang of relief loosened her limbs. At least no one would overhear them if, well, things escalated. She assumed if she stripped for him, he wouldn’t let her leave with just a smile and a handshake.

“Do you have any questions?” Dusty asked.

“No.” Of course, she had tons of questions, but obviously not enough time to ask them.

Dusty nodded. “You have a good body and a nice pair of tits. When you’re done with him, consider coming back. We have a few regular strippers. They make a lot of money.”

“Thanks,” she said, making an effort to smile. The thought of any man’s eyes or hands on her other than Marco’s didn’t appeal to her one bit.

Dusty left, closing the door behind her.

Lily approached the rack and skimmed the clothes, sliding her fingers on the material—some felt scratchy to the touch, like cheap Halloween getups. Others were silkier and softer. Each costume looked new or recently dry-cleaned. She picked the cheerleader one, chuckling. She searched for a Cat Woman or Harley Quinn outfit but didn’t find either.

Gosh, she’d be here forever. She went through the other ones: the dominatrix, the vampire, the schoolgirl, the devil, the angel, the Playboy Bunny. She snorted. Not in this world would she squeeze herself into that glorified Spanx.

A baby-blue outfit got her attention. Labeled on the tag as “Sexy Nymph,” it consisted of a cropped top with a golden trim, and a miniskirt in the same colors, with a sparkly sheer fabric in addition to the skirt. That’s how Marco made her feel—like a Sexy Nymph.

She could choose something outrageous like Lady Gaga, but she preferred to be someone closer to herself, someone he, devil that he was, had created, or at least triggered.

Squealing with excitement, she removed her clothes and folded them into a pile. She kept her G-string and bra, slid the top over her, then pulled on the skirt.

One look at the round mirror confirmed she’d made the right choice. While she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this ensemble in public—unless she wanted to be arrested—it certainly worked for what she had in mind.

She clasped the doorknob and twisted it. Her heart raced wildly when she stepped into the mysterious place. A sexy song caught her attention. “Slow Hands” by Niall Horan. A few different rays of colored light moved inside, all focused on the center stage. This room seemed a bit bigger than the one she’d just left, but still quite intimate. Even though a few chairs occupied the area under the podium, only one of them was occupied.

Her pulse skittered.

Marco sat in the chair like he owned the place. He shot her a look filled with desire and awe. She sashayed toward the small stage, keeping her gaze locked with his. A hot stirring shook her, and if she had no willpower, she’d run to him now and fuck him right away. But this little game turned out to be a great lesson for self-control.

She slid her hand on the metal pole, the surface clean and shiny. She fisted it, like she wanted to do to his cock, moving up and down. It became hard to command her body to dance and make strategic movements when her insides roared for the man grinning at her. The man who had bought her.

…

I’m a bastard.

Marco shouldn’t have brought Lily to this place, but hell, that made him a lucky bastard. He rocked back in his chair, fidgeting to keep from slapping out his dick and punishing it in front of her while he watched her dance.

He had no idea what her costume was—didn’t matter. It could be an angel without wings, or a slutty Renaissance homage. The blue brought out her sparkling eyes, and the way the clothes fit her body drove him over the edge. Then she began to move, curling her leg around the pole, her delectable ass wiggling in tune with the song, and his cock strained in his pants.

Dio. This woman was the sexiest, most fuckable one he’d ever met. Maybe she read his thoughts, or simply peered at his painful erection, for she added some pep to her dance, caressing her top. His gut clenched, and a bolt of lust pounded his veins.

“Take it off,” he said curtly, disappointed by his lack of discipline. This should also be about giving her some control, showing her how hot she was, and how she should be proud of every inch of her body.

She licked her lips seductively and writhed her hips against the pole, undulating them from side to side as she slowly slid down the length to the floor. “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you, big boy? But you’ll have to wait for everything you want to see, to touch, to fuck.”

He cleared his throat. He almost parted his lips to apologize, but his desire for her upped his internal temperature so badly, he was afraid he’d just growl. Lily Jenkins brought out the caveman in him.

“I’ll give you a little something,” she said, then took off the top.

He wished she’d gotten rid of her bra, too, but the piece of lingerie barely contained her perfect breasts. She cupped them, pinching her nipples until they pebbled against the silky fabric, moaning. Oh, yes. He liked seeing her pleasure herself, touch herself as if he were doing it to her.

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