Chapter Seven
Skye
Okay, this is crazy.
“There’s a man who calls himself The Great Dipper,” Agent Philips says. “He’s shown interest in you. We need you to lure him out of hiding.”
“What did he do?” I ask instead of telling the FBI agents I couldn’t lure a man to water in a desert.
“That’s classified information, but to reiterate, he’s a wicked man. We need to get him out of hiding. You can help us, Skye.”
My breath tumbles from my mouth at the sound of my name falling from his lips. My panties, what little there is of them, are unquestionably wet. I don’t understand this one bit. What is going on with me?
“You want me to do this now?” I ask hesitantly, feeling stupid. Sir, it’s my first day on the job, and you want me to lure a dangerous man out of hiding?
“Preferably. May I?” He asks, going to my laptop. He doesn’t wait for an answer and effortlessly opens the site and pulls up my video feed. He moves my chair back and then gestures for me to sit.
I’m sure I’m dreaming this up. This really isn’t happening. Hot FBI man and his partner in my apartment on the pretense of me smoking out a dangerous man with my feminine wiles. Yep, definitely a dream.
I take a seat, keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll wake up from this strange dream any minute now, my hands poised over the keyboard like I know what I’m doing.
“You always chat to your clients in your robe, Ms. Jennings?”
Crap. The robe I’m wearing stopped being a robe three years ago. Now it’s just a shapeless ensemble of terry cloth worn smooth, yes, smooth, and sprinkled with holes.
Rookie mistake. Even though Agent Philips’ features remain stoic, his gaze tells me he’s laughing at me. There is no way I’m completely removing my robe. I’m wearing a G-string for panties, for goodness’ sake.
With my chin tilted up, I shrug the robe off my shoulders and remove my arms from the sleeves. All they can see are my boobs trying to escape the corset. But not my butt.
“What do I have to do?” Even if I were a professional, it’s a legitimate question. Normal digital sex workers don’t go around catching dangerous men for the FBI daily.
“Just make sure you don’t give him any hint that we’re in the room with you.” Agent Montgomery says. Right. Because they’re not sticking out like neon grenades.
“Just engage him in some light talk at first. See where he takes it,” Agent Philips says lazily, while my whole being is in disarray.
TheGreatDipper is online. My finger trembles as I activate the video call. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I—
A man in a ski mask appears on my screen, and my heart does a triple somersault.
Shivers spark off my spine. My nipples, already hard, harden even more and now ache inside the corset.
The wetness clinging to my folds, thanks to Agent Philips, thickens, and the bundle of nerves at the center throbs so hard, I hold my breath to stop myself from clenching my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.
All I can see are his eyes, a shade of green so dark they’re almost black. His lips are full, strong, demanding. Am I listening to myself? How can his lips be demanding ?
The upper part of his body is huge and broad, so broad the black T-shirt he’s wearing seems to strain across his pecs and over his biceps. He could crush me to death and—
I realize I’m staring and inadvertently look up at the agents standing opposite me, behind my laptop. Agent Montgomery gestures for me to carry on. But I’m unequivocally, overpoweringly aware of only two people in the world right now. The man on my screen and the man standing behind my laptop.
“Hey… hello, Great Dipper,” I say, stuttering first, then awkwardly trying to sass my voice up. Oh god.
He’s booked me for ten minutes. The minimum amount is two hundred dollars. A notification springs up in the corner of my laptop. The Great Dipper has made a payment. Three thousand dollars light up my screen.
Three thousand dollars.
I try so hard not to gasp. Lily was right. This is easy money. And I’m keeping it. I don’t care what these agents say. Lily is also right about the other thing. I need to titty up. I can do this.
Okay, first I need to tempt this big guy out of hiding, get the FBI off my back, and then I can get serious and end all my problems in less than a week. My mother pops into my head and what I’m going to do about her, but I surreptitiously shake my head, warding her off.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, except now and again, he pops a candy into his mouth and sucks. The sight of his hand, equally huge and littered with tattoos, will probably remain etched into my memory forever. Just like the way Agent Philips’ hand will as well.
“Can I call you GD?” I ask softly, flirtatiously, reciting the notes Lily had given me. Shift in your seat, raise your shoulder, but do it so it comes off unconsciously, but that will draw their attention to your boobs.
I do all that, and then I hear a snap. The hook and eye fasteners at the back of the corset go their separate ways. I gasp, then hold the bodice to my breasts with my hands.
A wardrobe malfunction? I knew I was going to screw this up.
“Take it off.” I startle at the rough, rugged, intensely dark voice of the masked man on my screen. My body takes another hit of erotic duress, and I don’t know what to do. I have that deer-electric fence look on my face at his command, despite the fire burning under my skin.
Pleadingly, my gaze goes up to the two agents standing there.
Um…
Agent Alex Philips holds up a wipe board that his female partner must have stowed in her bag. His handwriting is neat, and goosebumps rise from my skin as I’m looking at it, like it’s something intimate. Until I read the words.
Do as he says, Skye. Failure to comply with this operation will be regarded as a criminal offense.