10. Claudia

Chapter 10

Claudia

" F ifteen minutes, room 33 on the third floor. I'll be there."

The voice is muffled, but distinct. It's Angelo out there talking to someone. I think it's Rodrigo. I can't move a muscle, stuck in my panic-trance, until the lock automatically clicks shut again after three minutes of inaction.

Silence outside. Nobody comes in. I keep hearing Angelo calling out. Fifteen minutes, room 33 on the third floor. Like he knew that I was in here and what I was doing.

But how? I didn't even realize he was in the club tonight. Although I guess it doesn't matter, because whatever happened out there kept someone from coming inside. Probably Rodrigo, if I had to guess.

I grab the folder and keep it hidden under the drink tray. Then I unlock the door and slip out, glancing around to make sure there's nobody nearby. My mouth is so freaking dry it tastes like sandpaper, and I hurry away from Tommy's office over to the bar. I put the tray down, the file still under it, and start loading drinks on top. A glass of whiskey, some water for myself, a gin and tonic, two glasses of champagne. Once it's covered, I heft it up, keeping it low so the folder stays hidden, then take my time going up to the third floor.

My head's spinning. I am so freaking stupid. I was inches away from getting caught, and I didn't have a single excuse ready. If Rodrigo had walked in on me, he would've instantly known I was up to something. Maybe I could've bluffed him, but I was freaking out too much, and any moron would've realized I was acting suspicious.

Rodrigo isn't a moron.

I'm kicking myself mentally the whole walk back toward room 33. Nobody stops me—mostly everyone knows who I am, thanks to Tommy's very much unwanted attentions—and it helps that I have a tray with drinks. I hear muffled moans, some shouts of pain, some murmurs, but mostly this section of the building is quiet. The clients here are interested in much more interesting pastimes, and everyone on the third floor knows that discretion is paramount. I keep my head down, trying to steady my heart, but it's almost impossible.

Twenty minutes since the office. I pause outside of 33, wondering if this is a good idea.

But I took the risk. I got the documents. I might as well see this through.

I find Angelo sitting in a dark armchair. I stare at him, my mouth watering at the way his arms flex against his tight dress shirt. His lips pull into a tight smile and his eyes narrow as they graze along my skin, skipping over my mouth, down to my throat and my chest, and back up to my eyes. His head tilts, and for a second, he's the only person in the whole world.

Then I notice the bed. And the flowers. And the multiple sex machines, the saddle with the huge black dildo in the middle, the silk ropes and the handcuffs, and I feel my cheeks turn bright red.

"Anything interest you?" he asks casually as he gets up out of his chair.

"Uh, no, I mean, uh—" I shouldn't be such a freaking prude. I work at a sex club, but the sight of all this stuff still knocks me off balance.

He walks over, smirking now, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Are all those drinks for me? Or were they just an excuse to come up here?"

"Both." I put the tray down, covering the files. I take a deep breath and force myself to stare at him and ignore the huge rubber cocks attached to gleaming steel robot arms. "I want to negotiate."

That surprises him. He steps a few feet away from me, within arm's reach of a rubber dick. Freaking hell, I could explode right now and disintegrate into embarrassment, but I'm here for a reason. Saving Selena. Getting out of this club and this life. That's my mission and if I have to grow up and ignore some complicated fuck robots, then I'll do it.

"What do you want to negotiate for, baby girl?"

I tighten my jaw. "Don't call me that."

"Just baby then."

"I'm not your baby. I'm not your anything. You wanted me to?—"

Before I can finish, he holds up a hand, cocks his head, and puts a finger to his lips. I'm about to tell him off, but he reaches over to the fuck machine and switches it on, which completely ruins the snarky reply I had loaded up on my tongue.

The dick begins to pump. Slowly at first until he turns the speed up. Then he moves to the saddle and activates it. The dick thrusts and vibrates. He repeats the process, turning on all the machines, their big cocks slamming forward into invisible girls, and I'm just staring like he's gone fucking insane.

He walks over to me. I back away, trembling, and bump into the table. The glasses rattle together as he reaches out and grabs me by the chains around my waist and yanks me forward.

I gasp in shock. He's so freaking big and strong and he manhandles me forward like I'm nothing. His mouth moves down and my lips part, waiting for his kiss, wanting him to crush me, wanting his tongue and his taste, wanting him bad?—

Instead, he slips to my ear. "They're watching and listening," he whispers over the noise of the thrusting dickbots. "Look like you're into this."

I shiver and want to admit that I don't have to try hard because I am very, very into him touching me right now. His grip on the body chains tightens and his other hand rests on my hip. Oh, god, I want him to move it up, move it along my skin, move to my wrist, my arm, my breasts, my lips. Between my aching, trembling legs.

He smells good. Musky, spicy. His cheeks are prickly with stubble. His mouth is soft, and gorgeous, and I reach up on impulse and run my fingers through his hair.

Soft, no product. Silky and smooth.

I stifle a whimper. "What now?" I whisper.

"It might help if you took off your clothes and let me tie you to the bed. We can talk business while I let these machines turn you into a melted puddle of orgasm."

I blink rapidly. "I'd rather you did that, not the machines," I blurt out, which I regret instantly.

He stiffens. I feel him press against me tighter and a low rumble escapes his lips. "Careful, baby," he whispers. "I'm not sure Tommy would like it if he saw you begging for my cock."

I take a steadying breath and force myself to change the subject. If I don't, I really might get down on my knees and ask him to give me what I want, and that's bad. That's very bad.

"I did what you asked. I got the files."

"Good girl." His mouth grazes my neck. "Where?"

"I want more than money."

He chuckles, low and dark, before the hand on my hip dips down to the bottom of my bodysuit. His fingers graze the inside of my bare thigh.

Oh, god. Oh my freaking god.

I'm shaking with how badly I want him right now. I must be soaked because every inch of my skin is screaming for his touch. It's irrational, it's primal, the sort of deep sexual yearning that threatens to crush every logical part of my brain.

He's destroying me. He's breaking me down to bits.

And I like it. God, I love it.

"What do you want, baby?" He turns me abruptly from the table and grabs two glasses, both champagne. I follow him to the bed and we sit, only a few feet from where an enormous dildo slams into the air. I picture that entering me over and over and shiver.

He shoves the drink in my hand and gives me a look. I sip and force myself to calm down as he moves close, his palm on my thigh, our legs touching. He leans over, kisses my neck, and I moan.

I don't have to fake it.

"You want more money?" he whispers. "I can give you more money." He kisses to the corner of my mouth. I want him to keep going so much I could scream.

I turn and throw my leg across his hips until I'm straddling him. He throws his glass of champagne back then tosses it onto the floor. The glass bounces and rolls away. I do the same thing; mine shatters into a million pieces.

His hands grab my ass and he pulls me tighter into his lap.

I wrap my arms around his neck.

He's rock fucking hard between my legs.

My god, he's so hard that he's almost pulsing. And he's big, really big. I move my hips, just a tiny bit, and his eyes burn into mine with a shocking lust. He's barely holding back.

I lean forward, kissing his throat. "I want you to get my sister away from Tommy." I kiss back to his ear and run my tongue along the outer shell. "I want you to get her into rehab and help her get clean." I nibble on the lobe, my hips moving faster, grinding my pussy against his hard dick. Fuck, it feels good. His fingers grip my ass hard, moving me in a rhythm now. "And I want you to put her through college when she's ready."

I pull back so he knows that's everything. But I'm not sure he's even listening. His eyes are blissed out as I grind harder and I'm whimpering now, moaning like an idiot, dry-humping this total stranger, my boss's boss, a member of the freaking Bianco Crime Family. He's dangerous, deadly dangerous, and dripping with wealth and power. He could crush me.

He's everything I need.

And he's about to make me come.

"Is that all, baby?" he asks, grabbing my hair with one hand, moving my hips faster with the other. I'm grinding hard into his thick cock and gasping for air. I can't believe how good this feels but the tension's driving me absolutely wild. Meanwhile, the mechanical cock monsters keep on pounding at nothing, making enough noise to cover our conversation.

"That's all," I moan, my mouth hanging open.

He leans forward, his lips inches from mine. My head's in outer space as my muscles tense. I'm grinding into him faster and whimpering like a drooling idiot, all because of this gorgeous asshole.

"Then you work for me. And once Tommy's out of the picture, I'll give you everything you want. Do we have a deal?"

I know this is a mistake. Making a deal with a man like Angelo is going too far.

But I can't help myself. I feel too fucking good.

"Deal," I moan.

Then he crushes his mouth to mine in a blistering, life-changing kiss, the sort of kiss that sears itself into my memory, the kind of kiss that makes my back arch and sends me tumbling into mind-erasing bliss. I come as he kisses me, I come moaning into his mouth, I come with his gorgeous tongue invading me, I come as the best kiss of my life burns a hole in my brain. I shake, shudder, gasp into him, his grassy, champagne-sweet taste flooding my mouth, a taste like heaven, like I've never tasted before, his lips soft and firm, his cock like iron between my legs. I come and whimper, and he bites my freaking lip with a smirk, like he owns me, and right now, god, he really, really does.

"Good girl," he whispers as I collapse against him. I enjoy a few seconds of a dizzy, brain-puddle, post-orgasm haze before reality reasserts itself.

I just dry-humped a stranger and came in his lap.

And I really liked it.

"The folder's under the tray," I say as my face flushes crimson. Shame and fear slam into me and I back off his lap, hurriedly adjusting my bodysuit. He tries to keep me from escaping, but I wriggle from his grip. "Maybe we can try the machines another time," I say loudly, playing it up for the cameras.

Angelo licks his lips and leans forward, but I keep moving out of his reach.

Tommy's going to watch this.

He's going to watch me come and I'm filled with revulsion.

I don't regret it—that was the best orgasm of my life—but I hate the thought of that asshole seeing me mid-humping, my head thrown back, bliss ripping through my brain.

Angelo stares at me, his face stern and angry, like he wants to command me to stay.

But I can't now that I have Tommy's face in my stupid head.

I hate that man so much. He even manages to ruin a perfectly good orgasm with the most attractive human I've ever seen in my life.

I turn and flee the room as the mecha-dongs keep on air-humping nothing.