7. Deals
Chapter 7
Deals
Christophe
Sunshine, innocence, and pure sweetness, that’s what she is. Her eyes widen with surprise as I grip her hair, her lips parting in a silent gasp.
The draw is strong.
She is temptation and sin wrapped in cheap clothing and desperation.
And I need a taste. Just one little taste to see if she’s still as sweet as I remember.
I lean in and press my mouth to hers, to the same spot I kissed her all those years ago. When she was nothing more than a child and I thought I still had a lifetime ahead of me.
How wrong I was.
Her eyes drift closed as she tilts her head, granting me access. Giving me more. Soft full lips that taste sweet like honey. Allowing me to explore her mouth and lose myself in everything that was before. Before I walked away from the na?ve child in the woods and entered hell on earth.
I can’t do this.
I can’t allow myself to fall into the fantasy of what could have been if I hadn’t snuck off to entertain the kid who’d had an innocent crush on me.
She was practically a baby.
I was almost a man.
Puppy love. That’s what Maman called it. She’d told me to let the girl down gently and say goodbye before stepping into my role within Le Milieu .
That was the last thing we talked about. Winnie and her crush.
Anger rolls through me and I can feel Winnie tense against me. She tries to pull back and the whimper, that sweet little whine of fear when I don’t release her, has the unexpected result of making my dick swell. I can’t get wrapped up in this—in her.
I pull back, her breath coming in desperate pants that puff warmth against my skin. I hold her perfectly still and just out of my reach.
“What’s your plan, honeybee? How are you going to make things right?” She has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to her name. Unless…
“I c-c-could d-dance.” Her eyes dart away from mine and I give my fist a little shake, tugging on her hair to get her attention back where it belongs. On me. “At the Honey Pot, I mean. I, um, I think tips might be better there than at the diner?”
Would they fucking ever.
This beautiful young thing taking her clothes off and dancing on stage…she’d be flush with cash. And the regulars at the strip club her parents ran would be beside themselves to get a glimpse of her. The thought of that has my jaw clenching hard enough to crack a tooth. I don’t like it. Not one bit. Those dirty old fuckers don’t have any right to lay eyes on her, let alone touch her while tucking their filthy cash into her G-string.
No. Just, no.
“Absolutely not. With the time that’s passed, the interest that has already accrued, you’re going to need something more.” Are my intentions pure? Not at all.
“More? I’ll give you all my tips. All of them. Please, Christophe,” she pleads, and goddamn, do I love the sound of her begging.
I fucking want more of that. I want to hear her beg from the floor, on her knees in front of me. But I can’t let her strip. I can’t handle that, sharing any part of this girl. What is she doing to me?
“Even if you supplement that income on your back, you’ll never make enough to be free and clear. The only thing that might get you enough funds is if you were still a virgin and sold that prize to the highest bidder.” The remark is flippant and completely off the cuff, but the way she steps back, red flush creeping up her delicate neck tells me I hit a mark. And I hit it hard .
Winnie wraps her arms around her middle. She hitches one foot up and places it on the far side of the other, crossing her legs. Protecting the only thing she has of value. And that is one valuable fucking commodity.
“How old are you?” I ask, swallowing the rest of the whiskey from my glass. I know…I do, but I want her confirmation.
“I’ll be twenty-two next week,” is all she says. And the way her voice breaks at that does things to me that I’m not sure I want to address.
“And what are you not telling me, honeybee?” I crowd her, obliterating the meager space she put between us. “Are you saying you’re pure? Untouched? That your sweet virgin cunt has never been breached?”
Her eyes close as she takes a shaky breath. She’s uncomfortable. She’s doing everything she can to avoid me.
“I guarantee, chère , you can’t escape me. There is no getting away from this. Answer the question—are you a virgin?”
Her nod is almost imperceptible. Almost, but I see it. I see every single move she makes. Every emotion that crosses her face. Everything.
“What have you been waiting for, honeybee? Anyone in particular?”
She bites her lower lip and tries her best to look away from me, to escape, but she is in my sights and there is no way for her to avoid me.
“Who have you been waiting for? Who were you keeping yourself pure for, sweet thing?” The flush of pink spreading up from beneath the modest neckline of her dress is mesmerizing. “Was it me? You been waiting all this time for me to bust your cherry?”
God fucking dammit…is this real? How is she a goddamn virgin? If that’s the case, I don’t know that I can hold myself in check. To be her first…her only. To show her all the things she’s been missing. To teach her what pleasure is. Coach her on how to breathe through her nose—that she won’t actually die as she gags on my dick. That her orgasm, le petit morde, can be reward enough for her efforts.
I want to guide her in her fucking sexual awakening. Fuck my life, because I sure as shit know that I cannot let anyone else claim that prize.
“Tell me you’ve been saving yourself for me.”
She takes a deep, bracing breath and sets her shoulders before responding. “No. Never. Anything I felt for you was stupid—a child’s fantasy. It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Never?” I say, my voice rumbling deep in my chest. “I call bullshit.”
I’m desperate to feel the heat radiating off of her body. The electric buzz of her excitement mixed with her fear of the unknown. The fear and trepidation of losing the one thing that she has that’s worth a fucking thing.
“Whatever I felt for you was the figment of a child’s imagination. The absolute naivety of a first crush, nothing more. And it’s gone, destroyed by the flames of humiliation of unrequited first love.”
First love? The fuck is she talking about? No twelve-year-old kid has the tiniest inkling of what love means. Hell, at almost thirty, I don’t know the first thing about it. Other than the fact that it’s a bargaining tool. Leverage to be used by my enemies. It’s nothing but a fucking weakness to be exploited by whoever wants to put me down. And there is no shortage of people with that high on their wish lists.
“That’s how you feel, huh?” I ask. “No lingering feelings here? Nothing?” I run the back of my knuckles from her cheek, down the delicate column of her throat and across the swell of her tits. “How pure are you, honeybee? Has anyone touched you here?”
She shifts, but there is nowhere for her to go, no space for her to retreat.
I trace the trail I want to lick down her flat belly and across her hips, skimming her pussy, through the thin fabric of her dress. “Has anyone tasted you?”
White, even teeth dent her plush lower lip as she tries to suppress a shudder.
“Did some pencil-dicked boy grope at you, fumbling his way across your luscious body? Whispering promises he could make you feel good but failing miserably? Is that why you’re so pristine?”
I reach inside the slit of her wrap dress and graze the useless scrap of cotton. Her panties are soaking wet. The more I talk and taunt her, digging at her obvious lack of experience, the harder my dick gets. The more I want that first taste all to myself.
I push the crotch of her panties to the side and slide my fingers through her silky, wet heat, gathering the undeniable proof that she’s aroused. That on at least the basest level, she wants me.
I move my free hand to cup her tit, dragging my thumb across her peaked nipple.
Eyes hooded.
Lips pursed.
“Christophe, please.”
“Please what?”
“Stop.”
I lift my gaze to meet hers, tears bright in her eyes threaten to spill over and tumble down her cheeks. The path my thumb traces back and forth has her mouth falling open and a breathy gasp spilling from those perfectly plump lips. “You don’t like that? Your body’s saying different,” I taunt, stuck between the heat expanding through my body and the need to keep my heart cold, distant.
“If…if this is all I have that’s worth anything, you can’t…” She presses closer to me as she verbally pushes me away. “Don’t take that from me. Please.”
She’s right. She’s so fucking spot on, and I have to fight to dial myself back. Get my dick under control.
I cup and mold her breast in my palm, pinching her nipple one more time before releasing her and putting some distance between us. Winnie smooths her dress back in place as I turn and stalk back to the crystal decanter, splashing another healthy measure of whiskey into my glass. Casual. Aloof. Unaffected, like groping a veritable stranger is my God-given right. Hell, it’s not unheard of in my world.
I slip my mask back into place and take a sip, rolling the amber spirit around on my tongue before swallowing.
Like it or not, I have to stay focused on getting what I need, not what I want. I fucking hate it when those two things don’t line up or come neatly packaged together. Some shit about having my cake and eating it too. I never really understood that saying, but now…makes perfect sense. Because I want to devour Winnie, lick her, eat her, taste the sweet perfection of her.
The scent of her arousal is subtle on my hand. Sweet. Musky. I drop my middle finger into my glass and swirl the whiskey around until it coats my finger, mixing with her essence.
The heady combination of Winnie and whiskey is intoxicating. Addicting. It’s distracting in the best possible way.
I coat my lips with her and smirk at the reflection in the window.
Winnie’s fingers rest lightly against her lips like she’s intrigued.
“Want a taste?” I ask.
Her head slowly swings left to right, but the look in her eyes is in direct opposition to that negative.
I suck my finger clean, making sure to lick the rest of her off my lips. Fucking delicious.
I expect her to blush more, to hide her eyes from me. To retreat and curl in on herself with embarrassment. So, when she closes the distance between us, I’m more than a little surprised.
She wraps her hand around the crystal glass and takes it from me, tipping it back and draining it. The bob of her delicate throat as she swallows just about has me coming undone. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth—holding the liquor in or trying to smother the burn, I don’t know.
I smirk. “You going to make it?”
Her hand is a blur launching the glass to the hearth—shattering on impact as Winnie lifts her chin defiantly. Daring me to…what? What does she think I’m going to do? Slap her? Yell? Punish her?
I’m down with spanking her pert little ass until the skin is pink and hot, but that would just lead to me fucking her. Fantastic short-term, but not going to get me what I need. Instead, I clue her in on my plan.
“There’s an auction.”