Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Feenix Blaylock

I stand next to the bedroom we’ll be using, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe as I wait for Charlie to climb the stairs in the heels she’s definitely not used to wearing. I noticed that when she walked into the kitchen; her ankles wobbled ever-so-slightly. It was then and there, before I even looked at her body, her strikingly familiar face, that I knew she didn’t belong here.

Charlie . The name sounds as if she’s just the girl next door. The good girl. The obedient girl. She has no place in my world, and though I tried to get her to change her mind, she refused to walk back out that door.

If Andre hadn’t been there, I would have shown her out myself, but he looked at her like she was a fucking snack. Either before or after she was dead, the things he would do to her or would have done to her made me want to beat the shit out of him because, even though I don’t know Charlie, she’s like a kitten needing protection from the nocturnal predators. For some odd reason, I stepped in to be just that protector even though I’m a predator myself.

Her heel lands on the top step, and my attention shoots to it. Slowly, my gaze roams up her slender ankle, her thick thighs that disappear under a form-fitting tight dress. Perfect hourglass hips. Shaped but plump waist. The kind of tits that any guy could bury his face between and happily suffocate. Her hair curls around those breasts, and I have the deepest urge to grab ahold of one of those strands and bring it to my nose.

I smelled her when I leaned in close at the table. She wasn’t wearing perfume like most women do when they come here. She smelled exactly like my aunt’s home: cloves from the clover patch in her backyard we’d play in. Maybe that’s what kickstarted the protective instincts I try to bury so deep. Old habits die hard, and having her scent around could be a habit I can’t afford.

Still, I raise my gaze to her face, features that are so familiar that I cannot quite place it. Her eyebrows are perfectly arched to shape her oval face. They hover above soft, dark blue eyes and lashes that are long but surprisingly not fake. Her jaw isn’t strong, but it’s not weak either. It’s somewhere in between, and it slopes to a neck I want to bite. I know without a doubt that she’d moan, that there’s a sensitive place somewhere along that olive skin that I could coax to make that beautiful sound.

Her lips part when I lock eyes with hers, and she stops a few feet away from the stairs, both heels resting on the floor and her arms loosely wrapped around her middle.

She’s nervous. Good. She should be. Maybe after tonight, she’ll rethink her decision and walk away from this. From me. Because, even though I saved her from Andre, she’s no better with me, and someone like her…

Andre wasn’t lying when he said that there’s a market for women of her shape. She’s got the looks. She’s got the innocence. I’d bet my last dollar that she’d come in high demand, and for some odd reason, that doesn’t settle well with me. The men in my side of the business will want to partner up with her once she takes off her clothes, and I fight back a snarl at the very thought.

But I can’t keep her to myself. I don’t participate in the porn, not since I rose. Now, instead of doing the fucking, I approve the fucking from behind my desk in my home.

The sounds of the sex happening in the room next to this one draw her attention toward that shut door. They’ll be at it for a while, but I’m more interested in reading her face than listening to tomorrow’s money.

I give her credit. Her eyes don’t widen any more than they already are, but her lips part, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear or if she’s turned on. Maybe it’s both.

“Do you want to back out now?” I ask after filling my greedy mind with watching her nipples harden. She’s definitely turned on.

She drops her arms back to her sides as if realizing she appeared vulnerable. “Not a chance.”

I raise an eyebrow to her, push off my resting position against the wall, and turn the handle. The door swings open with a gentle shove, and I wait for her to cross the threshold into the dark room lit only by purple neon lights that wrap around the edges of the ceiling.

She shuffles up to the door and observes what’s within. It’s just a bed under the purple hues of the lights. It’s set up like a true bedroom: soft white comforter, modern nightstands, and a dresser with absolutely no clothes in it. The only thing that doesn’t belong is the camera waiting to record on a tripod at the end of the bed.

“Does anyone live here?” she asks softly .

“No,” I answer gruffly, watching as goosebumps rise over her arms and across her shoulders.

I hover behind her, letting my heat warm her skin, and wordlessly urge her inside. Even though I don’t want her here, I want her here. I want to see what she looks like under that skimpy dress, what color her nipples are, if her pussy glistens. I want to see if her olive skin is throughout her body or if it’s still lingering from summer fun under a hot sun.

Her scent stuffs its way up my nose, and I inhale deeply before blowing it out across her skin with a rumble of contentment. God , she smells good. It shouldn’t shock me that she leans a little back into the kiss of air, but it only serves to turn me on more than I already am.

My cock stiffens as she shivers slightly. “What’s going to happen in here?” Her voice is so quiet it’s almost a whimper.

I have the urge to lean a few inches and bite to see if that sensitive spot is in the crook of her neck. “Step in and find out.”

She glances over at me, and we hold each other’s stare, a silent challenge. It’s a wordless game of chicken, one I won’t lose. She has no idea what I’ve done, what I’ve seen, what I do.

“Step inside, Charlie. Find out who you are.”

She gulps a little, but she turns forward and takes a step inside, and then another, until she’s fully in the room. I follow her in and shut the door. “Good girl,” I whisper.

Slowly, she swivels, taking in the full room and lingering on the camera waiting to tape her. Eventually, she faces me. “I’m not your girl,” she proclaims, but there’s no jut to her chin, no squaring of her shoulders. But you want to be.

I’m used to it. I have good looks, even I know that, and normally I’d ignore that heat in a woman’s eyes, but this time I don’t. Huskily, uncharacteristically, I can’t keep the desire from my voice as I say, “Did I say you were?”

Her lips twitch to the side, and she peers down at my shoes. “You implied it.”

I stride to her, hands itching to touch her to see if she’s as soft as she looks, but I curl my fingers into fists and stand a few inches away from her. “Everyone under my employment is mine. You better get used to belonging to someone else.” Belonging to me .

She fights another shiver, but her shoulders shake from it anyway. Bravely, she raises her gaze to mine, and she doesn’t challenge me further. “What now?”

Her lips are so close that all it would take is a fraction of bending forward to see if she tastes as good as she smells. But I don’t touch; I know better because, not only is it my job not to, but I know she’d be impossible to resist from that point on. No. No, we didn’t come in here so I could touch. We came in here so I could watch.

And damn if I’m not looking forward to it.

“Get undressed,” I order.

“Where?” she asks, looking for what she surely thinks is a dressing room somewhere hidden in the shadows of the room.

I take a step back and then another because her chest is starting to heave from adrenaline, and her pebbled nipples are just an inch away from grazing my chest.

To busy myself, I head to the camera and adjust its angle as I say, “There.”

“Right here?” Her voice squeaks.

Again, I raise an eyebrow at her, telling her she’s about to be naked in front of me anyway. If she’s that scared to undress in front of me, then her telling me that she’s only had one partner before has to be true. The thought thrills me that she’s so inexperienced.

I should convince her to leave, I really should, but I’m not a good man, and at this point and the probability of what’s to come, I can’t help myself.

There are two things I love when it comes to this business: To watch and to teach. Though both have started to get boring now that I’m this far deep in the business, I know they won’t be boring with her.

Releasing a shaky breath, she starts to pull the straps down from her shoulders. I ignore the camera entirely, unable to take my eyes off of what will surely be one hell of a show. She stares at the floor as she reaches around and unzips from the back. The sound of the zipper fills the room, and my cock stiffens further in my jeans.

The black dress slithers down her skin like a silk ribbon, revealing everything underneath. It pools around her heels like a shadow, and my mouth waters at what I see. She’s wearing a black lace bra and a matching thong, and the thong’s straps rise high, accentuating her round ass.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches around her back once more and unclasps her bra. My heart hammers a little harder as the straps slide down her arms, and she drops it beside her. Her tits are full, and I swear to God she doesn’t even need the bra. And those nipples? A perfect dusty pink. I can tell even in the dark. They’re tight little peaks that tighten further in the slight chill of the room.

My lips part at the sight of them. Thought after thought of what it’d feel like to drive my cock between her tits fill my mind, and I clench my jaw to dispel the imagery and, instead, focus on her pushing down her thong.

When she stands fully upright, she steps out of the dress, and I get a good look at what she offers. Her curls rope around her breasts as if they need to be hidden from view now that her clothes are gone. She doesn’t tan – there are no tan lines. That olive skin is all her own. And that pussy? It’s perfectly waxed.

I’m impressed; she takes good care of what she looks like when she’s naked. Or maybe she did that for this job. Either could be true, but I don’t give a shit what the answer is.

She whirls to face me, hands trembling at her sides, and asks, “Heels?”

It takes me a minute to figure out what she’s asking, but when I come back to reality, I give a little shake of my head. “Take them off. And the glasses.”

“Why? I thought –”

I know what she thought. Heels are common in these videos. I turn back to the camera and flick it on. “You’re raw in this business. I want to exploit that. Take off your heels, and remove your glasses.”

Her heels thunk to the floor, and I pivot toward the dresser. Opening it, I gesture for her to come over. She pads across the floor quietly and comes to stand beside me. God help me, it takes all my self-restraint to not put my palms on her.

Sliding out of my jacket, I nod toward the inside of the dresser. I don’t miss the way she scans my torso, my exposed arms, before I murmur, “Pick one.”

“What?” she asks, and then her attention returns to the open dresser drawer. Inside are various sex tools and toys, anything that’ll get a woman off. “Oh,” she adds in her next breath.

I lay my jacket on top of the dresser and repeat, “Pick one.”

“We’re not…” She glances up at me questioningly, letting her voice trail off .

I slowly shake my head. “You and I are not fucking, mama.”

“Oh.” She dips her hand into the dresser and pulls out a blue vibrator. She swallows thickly. “I’m doing this myself?”

“Yes,” I answer quietly, waiting anxiously to see if she backs out now. This would be the moment to say no, to run from this room, but instead, she turns on the vibrator, and the buzzing sound goes straight to my cock. “Still want to be here?”

Entranced by the sex toy, she nods, and without having to be told, she heads toward the bed and climbs on top. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits as she settles in a cross-legged sitting position on the bed. The angle exposes her pussy, and I can’t help but peek. Pretty. Pink. Petite. And damn it, it glistens.

Is there lust in my eyes as I look back at her? Probably. But instead of acting on that lust, I do my fucking job and step up to the camera, rumbling deeply, “I’ll walk you through it.”