Page 18 of Prince of Vice

I can see the fear in her eyes as she removes her fingers from her pussy.

"Such a good, obedient girl," I say to her. I lean down in front of her, wrapping my arms around her thick thighs. I bring her sweet cunt to my mouth and inhale deeply. "You smell divine," I say and she moans. "I bet you taste just as good."

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Isabella snaps, her eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

I'm pulled out of my lust fueled thinking. "Of course," I reply, giving her a wry smile. "I was just imagining what I could do to keep you quiet and tamed."

Her cheeks flush with a mix of anger and something else, and for a moment, I think she'll lash out. But instead, she regains her composure, her eyes narrowing as she leans in, the scent of her perfume enveloping me like a sensual cloud.

"Let's get one thing straight, Primo," she says, her voice low and cold. "I am the attorney and you are the client. If you want any chance at winning this case, you'll listen to me."

As she speaks, I admire her strength and determination. She may be challenging my authority, but I know deep down that she has my best interests at heart. If she didn’t, she could have already sabotaged my case in a number of ways, starting with making sure I wasn’t released on bail. It seems that with the sea of treachery I’ve found myself in, she’s the one lifejacket that’s been thrown to me.

With her every word, my desire grows stronger, more intense... and more dangerous. It's too much and I find myself taking slow, measured steps toward her. Isabella's cheeks burn a deep shade of crimson, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Her chest heaves with each breath as she backs up, the outline of her breasts barely concealed beneath her thin blouse.

"Isabella," I murmur, my voice low and seductive as my hands find their way to her hips. "Don't you think it would be interesting to give in... just once?" I move her against the wall, trapping her between my body and the cold paneling. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, and I can practically taste the desire that lingers on her lips.

"Primo," she stammers, her voice quivering with every syllable. "We shouldn't do this." But her body betrays her, leaning into me as if seeking solace from her own weakness.

"Maybe you're right," I concede, feigning thoughtfulness. "But maybe, just for a moment, you should let yourself be more…submissive."

Her pupils dilate as she struggles to process my words, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. For a heartbeat, I believe she might succumb to my advances, but then her eyes blaze with indignant fire. She shoves me away with a surprising strength, her expression one of anger and defiance.

"Primo!" she snaps, her voice shaking with fury. "I am not some plaything for you to dominate! This is a serious case! You are on trial for murder!"

"Isabella, I–" I attempt to interject, but she cuts me off with a harsh wave of her hand.

"No!" she seethes, her eyes filled with tears of rage. "If you want to mess around, find someone else! I will not put my reputation on the line just for a good orgasm!"

With those final, biting words, she storms out of the mansion, slamming the door behind her. I watch her go from my office window, captivated by the sway of her hips as she stomps away. Even in anger, she is breathtakingly beautiful.

My cock aches with unfulfilled longing, and my thoughts are consumed by the memory of Isabella's flushed skin and trembling breaths. As I close my eyes, I can't help but surrender to my desires. I unzip my pants and my hand wraps around my throbbing length as I imagine thrusting into her warm, wet tightness, forcing her to submit to me.

"Isabella," I groan, my voice barely more than a whisper as I succumb to the fantasy, lost in the dangerous allure of a woman who refuses to bend to my will.

Chapter Eight

Isabella

The nerve of that man. I can't believe Primo thinks it's okay to treat me like that. I've told him countless times that I'm his attorney, not his little toy or whatever he called me. Rage bubbles up within me as I slam the door to my apartment, dropping my things inside the threshold. The sound rings through the empty space, but it does nothing to quell the fire burning in my chest.

I decide I don't want to work on his case for the rest of the day. Instead, I'm going to do things for myself since all I've been doing lately is bending over backward for other people. I make my way into the kitchen, the tempo of my thoughts frenzied.

I pour myself a drink and try and quell the anger still coursing through me. With a sigh, I glance over at the stack of documents on my small work desk, each page filled with Primo's case. It has consumed all of my time, leaving me barely able to work on the pro bono cases that once brought me a sense of fulfillment and purpose.

Just as I bring the glass to my lips, something chirps on my phone. My fingers shake slightly as I open up my messages and look through my spam filter.

I hope you're enjoying the calm while it lasts, because the storm is coming. Pay your debt, or I'll make your life a living hell.

I see you've been living the good life while owing me money. That ends now. Pay up, or I'll start taking things away, one by one.

You've been playing games for too long. The interest on your debt is growing, just like your problems. Pay now, or things will get ugly.

My heart rate spikes as I read the threatening messages. I send each of them into the trash immediately, knowing that if I don’t, I’ll end up reading them over and over again. I’m doing all I can to get the money back, so worrying more isn’t going to help anything.

I pull down my notifications and see that it wasn’t these messages that pinged my phone. I look down, irritation flaring as I see a calendar reminder informing me there's a bar association meeting in 30 minutes. Crap, I totally forgot about that. My eyes flicker between the full glass of wine and the words on the screen. I guess taking the day for myself will have to wait.

With a resigned sigh, I set the glass down and quickly change into something more professional looking: a crisp white blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, paired with a matching blazer. As I fix my hair and apply a touch of makeup, I steel myself for the meeting ahead, knowing it'll be filled with meaningless small talk and insincere smiles.

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