spent my money well.” He smirked.
“We’re here.”
As much as the
words would normally have offended me, they didn’t coming from his
mouth. But whether Tristan was joking or not was yet to be seen.
Did he really want me to perform as a hooker tonight? Was I about
to play out a fantasy?
CHAPTER 8
We pulled into
an underground parking lot. Tristan parked by an elevator, right
beside the other four Bentleys. Each one shone with a fresh coat of
waxed pride.
Before I got a
chance to pull on the handle, he opened the car door on my side. I
squished my legs together, sliding my mini lower on my thighs, and
stepped out like a mermaid.
The exclusive
elevator opened as soon as we approached. Tristan didn’t even press
the button. Impressed with the security, I moved forward, feeling
his hand at the small of my back. Shivers ran through my body
resting deep in my belly as I reminded myself that this was my job
interview and I had to earn my position. What position was I
applying for, exactly? Sex trafficking? I’d be lying if I said I
didn’t know I’d end up in Tristan’s bed tonight, but that’s what I
needed. The sexual tension between us had to be relieved before we
could continue work.
The door
closed. In the place of buttons for the elevator was a keypad with
a retina scan. Tristan stepped up and looked into the glass
sphere.
Welcome
home, Mr. Cross, intoned the automated speaker.
We’re going to
his house?
My feet
pressed to the floor as the elevator lifted against gravity.
Tristan turned, facing me. His sultry stare bore through my body,
and I felt my back press against the mirrored wall.
It wasn’t
supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to hold power over me;
no man ever had. I was a cop. A strong cop who wasn’t swayed by
crying mothers, cute puppies, or gorgeous hunks speeding in their
Ferraris, offering everything they owned and more. But I was also a
woman – and to Tristan, my body responded of its own accord. I felt
my breasts swell and I wished I’d worn a dress with a larger top:
one that could hold the twins in better. Tristan didn’t seem to
mind.
“So, what will
two thousand dollars buy me, sweetheart?”
Even if we
were playing, I had a feeling this was going to be one hell of an
interview—one of the best ones I’d ever had.
“Whatever you
want.” I wondered how far he’d go, and how far I’d allow him to go.
I already knew what he wanted. My instincts were solid, especially
the hormonal ones. My body had secretly ached for his touch since
he’d walked into the auditorium. And that one deep kiss we’d shared
in his car was like a teasing spoonful of chocolate cake. I craved
chocolate cake; and not just a bite.
And before I
could say another word, Tristan crushed his mouth to mine,
possessing it like he owned me, spreading my lips apart with his
needy tongue. The hint of scotch still lingered in his mouth. And
at this moment, he did own me. Every. Single. Piece of me.
His grip on my
wrists above my head would have normally enraged me. But tonight I
wasn’t a cop, and his strong and demanding fingers wrapped around
my hands like cuffs, burning me with a long-forgotten yearning.
The force of
his lips devoured mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. The few
moans that escaped me, Tristan swallowed. I had no room to breathe
and found hardly enough strength to stand on my legs.
He let go of
my mouth and trailed his lips along my jaw to my cheek and ear
before lowering down my neck, pinning me against the wall. Oh, God,
he felt so good against my body. Everything inside me twisted and
tightened and released in unbearable pulses between my thighs. I
breathed him in, the oak smell of his scotch imprinted in his skin
and in his hair.
The elevator
halted and Tristan jolted up as if he’d just realized what he’d
done. He searched my eyes with his as if asking permission to go
on. And for the first time tonight, doubt crept in. He leaned his
forehead against mine.
“We
“We’re here.”
As much as the
words would normally have offended me, they didn’t coming from his
mouth. But whether Tristan was joking or not was yet to be seen.
Did he really want me to perform as a hooker tonight? Was I about
to play out a fantasy?
CHAPTER 8
We pulled into
an underground parking lot. Tristan parked by an elevator, right
beside the other four Bentleys. Each one shone with a fresh coat of
waxed pride.
Before I got a
chance to pull on the handle, he opened the car door on my side. I
squished my legs together, sliding my mini lower on my thighs, and
stepped out like a mermaid.
The exclusive
elevator opened as soon as we approached. Tristan didn’t even press
the button. Impressed with the security, I moved forward, feeling
his hand at the small of my back. Shivers ran through my body
resting deep in my belly as I reminded myself that this was my job
interview and I had to earn my position. What position was I
applying for, exactly? Sex trafficking? I’d be lying if I said I
didn’t know I’d end up in Tristan’s bed tonight, but that’s what I
needed. The sexual tension between us had to be relieved before we
could continue work.
The door
closed. In the place of buttons for the elevator was a keypad with
a retina scan. Tristan stepped up and looked into the glass
sphere.
Welcome
home, Mr. Cross, intoned the automated speaker.
We’re going to
his house?
My feet
pressed to the floor as the elevator lifted against gravity.
Tristan turned, facing me. His sultry stare bore through my body,
and I felt my back press against the mirrored wall.
It wasn’t
supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to hold power over me;
no man ever had. I was a cop. A strong cop who wasn’t swayed by
crying mothers, cute puppies, or gorgeous hunks speeding in their
Ferraris, offering everything they owned and more. But I was also a
woman – and to Tristan, my body responded of its own accord. I felt
my breasts swell and I wished I’d worn a dress with a larger top:
one that could hold the twins in better. Tristan didn’t seem to
mind.
“So, what will
two thousand dollars buy me, sweetheart?”
Even if we
were playing, I had a feeling this was going to be one hell of an
interview—one of the best ones I’d ever had.
“Whatever you
want.” I wondered how far he’d go, and how far I’d allow him to go.
I already knew what he wanted. My instincts were solid, especially
the hormonal ones. My body had secretly ached for his touch since
he’d walked into the auditorium. And that one deep kiss we’d shared
in his car was like a teasing spoonful of chocolate cake. I craved
chocolate cake; and not just a bite.
And before I
could say another word, Tristan crushed his mouth to mine,
possessing it like he owned me, spreading my lips apart with his
needy tongue. The hint of scotch still lingered in his mouth. And
at this moment, he did own me. Every. Single. Piece of me.
His grip on my
wrists above my head would have normally enraged me. But tonight I
wasn’t a cop, and his strong and demanding fingers wrapped around
my hands like cuffs, burning me with a long-forgotten yearning.
The force of
his lips devoured mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. The few
moans that escaped me, Tristan swallowed. I had no room to breathe
and found hardly enough strength to stand on my legs.
He let go of
my mouth and trailed his lips along my jaw to my cheek and ear
before lowering down my neck, pinning me against the wall. Oh, God,
he felt so good against my body. Everything inside me twisted and
tightened and released in unbearable pulses between my thighs. I
breathed him in, the oak smell of his scotch imprinted in his skin
and in his hair.
The elevator
halted and Tristan jolted up as if he’d just realized what he’d
done. He searched my eyes with his as if asking permission to go
on. And for the first time tonight, doubt crept in. He leaned his
forehead against mine.
“We
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