（Untitled）
The dress I had on was far too revealing for my liking, but since Mr. Harlan had paid me ten grand to put it on, I was not complaining.
It clung where it shouldn’t and stopped inches before it should have — to add, the fabric was so thin I couldn’t wear anything underneath but a flimsy thong that hardly passed for underwear.
Mr. Harlan was my oldest patron who had, indeed, found me through OnlyFans, but he had never requested anything custom or treated me in a way that would suggest he was interested in me in the slightest — which was an odd combination, but I didn’t think too much of it.
He said he was an admirer of my work, that my body was art, which was why he was the only man (apart from Cross) whom I had been brave enough to meet outside OnlyFans.
He was in town for some oil tycoon thing and had wanted me to accompany him to dinner — nothing sexual, just company. It had been a no-brainer.
I had left a note on the kitchen island telling Milo I had some errands to run, which wasn’t necessarily a lie.
The black town car dropped me off at the building a little after ten.
My feet were killing me, but the stack of crisp hundreds in my clutch made it worth it.
Harlan had been a perfect gentleman — mostly.
Just a hand on my lower back when we posed for a couple of photos.
I was pretty certain he was gay, which, hey — you do you.
I was still riding the adrenaline high when the elevator doors opened into the penthouse.
Milo was on the couch, legs spread, a glass dangling from his fingers. The bottle of rum on the coffee table was half empty. His eyes lifted to me slowly, taking in the dress, the heels — the everything.
“Where were you?”
I paused in the foyer, setting my clutch on the side table next to a gilded vase of white roses.
“Had errands,” I told him, not missing a beat. “I left you a note.”
He nodded, turning his gaze back to the TV. The glass found its way to his mouth.
The vibe felt off.
I crossed the living room, my heels clicking against the floor before getting muffled by the carpet.
I stopped to stand behind him, leaning forward, and ran my nails across his chest. “Miss me?”
His hand shot up and caught my wrist, grip tight enough to make me suck in a breath. He didn’t look at me.
“Milo—"
He finally turned his head. Those grey eyes were dark, storm-cloud furious. “You smell like cologne that isn’t mine.”
I pulled my wrist free — or tried to. He didn’t let go. “A client from OnlyFans. He needed arm candy for dinner. Ten grand, no sex, no touching beyond polite escort — Milo, what is this?”
“Client.” The word came out like a curse. He stood up so fast the couch scraped backward. He was taller than me even when I wore these heels, and right now he looked twice his size. “You quit the club so some rich fuck could still parade you around like his personal whore?”
The slap of his words stung more than I expected. I stared at him for a long moment before saying, “You’re fucking drunk.”
“Drunk?” Milo laughed. His breath was sharp with rum, but his eyes were clear enough — burning even. “I came home with wine, thinking we’d celebrate you quitting that shithole, and you’re out playing escort in a dress that barely covers your cunt.”
I straightened my spine, refusing to shrink. “So where the fuck is it?” I held my hands out, looking around. “This celebratory bottle, hmm?”
He stood there, with the glass still in his hand, seething. He wasn’t sober, but he wasn’t exactly drunk either. I knew I was provoking him, but he made me feel cheap, and fuck if I’d let that slide.
“You’re a sloppy fucking drunk, Milo,” I continued. “Admit it.”
He moved faster than I expected for someone who’d been drinking.
One second he was across from me, the next, his hand was fisted in the front of my dress, yanking me forward until our faces were inches apart.
The fabric strained, the neckline dug into my skin.
Well… if I said that didn’t make me feel a particular way, I’d be a liar.
“And you’re an expensive whore — guess we’re a match.”
I slapped him.
It echoed like a gunshot in the penthouse.
Milo’s head snapped to the side, the sharp crack of my palm cutting through his bravado.
My hand stung, but the heat flooding my body wasn’t just anger.
His grip on the front of my dress tightened, the expensive fabric straining. One more tug and it would rip.
He slowly turned back to face me. A red handprint bloomed on his cheek, but his eyes were molten.
The glass slipped from his hand, and I flinched when it shattered against the ground by our feet. It was a matter of seconds before he had me bent over the back of the leather couch, the cool material pressing into my stomach as he shoved my dress up and over my ass in one brutal yank.
“I hope you enjoyed your evening,” he said, kicking my heels wider apart. “’Cause your night is about to be very long.” His belt buckle clinked.
“Milo—wait—” I twisted, reaching back to push at his thigh, but he caught my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back with one hand.
“You smell like him,” he hissed against my ear. His free hand shoved the thong aside, fingers plunging roughly between my legs. I was already soaked, and he groaned at the discovery. “Fucking dripping. Is this for him?”
I bucked against him, half trying to get away, half grinding back. “Don’t you dare—”
He didn’t dare. He did. The thick, pierced head of his cock dragged through my slick lips — up, then down — then slammed into me in a vicious thrust.
I cried out. He was so deep like this — no mercy, no warmup.
Fuck, I enjoyed it more than I should’ve.
I didn’t dare utter a sound because two things would’ve left my mouth then — a moan or a curse. And both would’ve only riled him on.
I tried to push up on the couch, but he had me pinned — one wrist twisted behind my back, his heavy body draped over mine, the weight of him pressing me into the leather.
“Stay,” he ordered, pulling out almost to the tip before slamming back in so hard the couch scraped across the floor.
Shit. My legs trembled. Jesus Christ, he felt so good.
Every thrust shoved my hips into the back of the couch, my breasts spilling out of the low neckline and dragging against the leather.
“I told you—” I gasped as I felt his piercing moving within, “—nothing happened. It was just dinner—”
“Stop talking,” he demanded.
“The hell I will! You’re acting insane—”
His free hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so his mouth was at my ear.
“Your mouth wants to work so much? Then work it on my fucking dick.” He pulled out abruptly and spun me around.
The world tilted, my heels scraping against the floor as he shoved me down onto my knees.
Shards of the broken glass glittered dangerously close to my bare skin, but Milo didn’t seem to give a fuck.
His hand stayed in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look up at him.
His cock was right there — wet from fucking me. Milo looked feral. Cheek still red from my slap, eyes black with rage and hunger.
“Open,” he growled.
I wouldn’t.
He slapped the heavy head of his cock against my cheek, then pushed past my lips without waiting. I choked as he thrust in, hitting the back of my throat immediately.
“That’s it,” he rasped, hips snapping forward. “You can take it.”
Tears pricked my eyes instantly. He was rough — rougher than I had ever seen him. Spit dripped down my chin, over the neckline of the dark dress. This was punishment, and God — I deserved it.
I dug my nails into his thighs, and he hissed, and pushed even deeper, stretching my jaw impossibly wide. Every time I gagged, he groaned.
Yes, baby. Keep going.
He pulled out long enough for me to suck in a gasping breath, drool running down my chin.
“Come on my face,” I begged, leaning in to kiss his thigh.
My voice came out hoarse, raw — needy.
His grip in my hair tightened until it burned. For a second, I thought he might deny me just to be cruel, but then that dark, possessive smirk twisted his lips.
“Greedy little whore,” he muttered, stroking himself hard and fast right in front of my face.
The wet sound of his fist filled the penthouse, the hottest thing I’d heard in a while.
His pierced cock glistened with my spit, the veins standing out.
“You come home smelling like another man and still want my cum all over you?”
“Yes,” I breathed, tilting my head back. “Mark me. Remind me who I belong to.”
He cursed under his breath, hips jerking.
The first thick rope of cum hit my cheek, then my lips, then painted across my tongue.
I moaned at the taste of him — salty and familiar — and kept my eyes locked on his while he came all over my face.
Some of it landed on my lashes, my forehead, dripping down into the valley of my breasts.
When he finally stopped shuddering, he rubbed the head of his cock across my red lips, pushing the last drops into my mouth.
“Swallow.”
My throat bobbed, followed by my tongue moving against the tip of his cock, trying to get more.
He pressed his thumb to my lower lip. “Mary was a greedy little lamb,” he half-whispered, half sang.
I caught his thumb with my lips. “Yes,” I muttered, against the pad of his finger. “Mary’s your greedy little lamb.”
Milo managed to fuck the jealousy out of his system in a reasonable amount of time — three hours and forty-six minutes. All in all, not too shabby. And I decided that he owed me a credit card with no limit for it. It was only fair.
I padded out of the bathroom with my hair in a loose topknot, face slathered in moisturized, the hem of the nightgown brushing my thighs. The penthouse was dark except for the blue glow of his phone screen and the dim yellow light of the night lamp.
Milo was sprawled on his back in the middle of the king-sized bed, one arm tucked behind his head.
“What’s so interesting?” I climbed onto the bed and crawled over to him, straddling his thighs. He didn’t look up from his phone, but his free hand immediately settled on my ass.
“Nothing,” he muttered, but didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Just scrolling,” he said and yawned.
I rocked my hips once, trying to get his attention.
“Not tonight, doll. I physically can’t anymore,” Milo said, locking his phone and tossing it onto the nightstand. Both hands gripped my waist now, sliding up under the nightgown and then back down.
“That’s a shame,” I said, even though I wouldn’t be able to take him if he could. He had actually fucked me raw and that wasn’t a figure of speech.
“The most I can offer is you to ride my face.” His thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts.
I shook my head. “I want something else.”
“And what is that?”
“A card with no limit.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Brats don’t get to set the rules.” His thigh pushed me forward and I landed against his chest, my hands bracing on either side of his head.
I leaned down until my face hovered just above his, my topknot slipping loose so strands of hair fell around us like a curtain. “This brat just let you fuck her like a blowup-doll for almost four hours. I think I earned it.”
Milo’s hands slid down to grip my ass, squeezing. “You earned a sore pussy and a face full of cum for the stunt you pulled.”
I rolled my hips slowly against his stomach, letting him feel how wet I still was. “I’ll be real fucking good from now on.” My mouth found the crook of his neck, and I whispered, “Like real fucking good, daddy.”
Milo’s grip on my ass tightened, fingers digging into bruised skin there. He let out a low, tired laugh that vibrated through his chest and into mine.
“Is this a negotiation?” he murmured, one hand sliding up my spine until his fingers tangled in my messy topknot. He gave it a light tug, forcing me to look at him.
“It could be.” I smiled sweetly, brushing my lips against his.
“Ten K monthly limit,” he said.
I pouted, “Twenty,” and countered, brushing my lips against his again, softer this time, almost sweet.
Milo’s fingers tightened in my hair. His other hand stayed possessively on my ass, kneading the sore flesh like he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re fucking greedy, Baby Doll,” he murmured, voice laced with exhaustion and amusement. “I just gave you thirty-five grand a month ago.”
“No. You paid thirty-five to bury your face in my cunt,” I reminded him. I rolled my hips again, my pussy rubbing against his abs. “Now you’re buying good behavior.”
Milo’s eyes narrowed. His hand left my ass and slid between my thighs from behind, two fingers tracing my tender labia. I hissed at the contact — but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Good behavior?” He let out a rough chuckle.
“I can be very good.” I leaned down and caught his bottom lip between my teeth, tugging gently before kissing him. He still had the taste of rum on his tongue — I could feel it through the mint of the toothpaste.
He groaned as I kissed along his jaw, my nipples brushing against his chest through the thin nightgown. His fingers kept stroking me lazily.
“Fifteen,” he countered, voice rougher now. “And you send me pictures of everything you buy. Every single thing.”
I smiled against his neck. “Twenty, and I’ll model the lingerie for you in person.”
Milo’s fingers stilled. He grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me higher up his body until I was straddling his chest instead of his stomach.
“You drive a hard bargain for someone whose pussy is currently too sore to take another round,” he said, looking up at me with that lazy, predatory rockstar smirk.
I braced my hands on the headboard and looked down at him, hair falling around my face. “Then maybe I should get something pretty while my pussy recovers. Retail therapy, baby.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re going to bleed me dry, woman.”
“Probably,” I admitted.
Milo stared at me for a long moment, grey eyes searching my face. His hands roamed up my thighs, over my hips, then settled possessively on my waist.
“Twenty thousand a month,” he finally said. “On one condition.”
I raised an eyebrow, trying not to look too victorious. “What condition?”
“You sleep in my bed every night. No more late nights playing escort for rich fucks, even if it’s ‘just dinner.’ You want to make money on OnlyFans? Fine. But the rest of you belongs to me.”
I smiled. “Deal,” I said and he pushed me even higher up, lining my pussy with his mouth. “Still hungry?”
Milo didn’t answer with words. He yanked me down, burying his face between my thighs and went at it.
Early breakfast — or late dinner — didn’t matter. For twenty thousand, he could eat me out whenever the fuck he wanted.