Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
"What do you want, Lyra?"
"To come upstairs with you," she begged. "Please, Sir..."
She attempted to touch me again, but thought better of it when she saw my annoyed expression. Quickly, she retrieved her perfectly manicured hands, bottom lip trembling with barely held back desire.
"You'll be a good girl for me?" I wondered out loud. "You'll do anything I fucking want, Lyra?"
"Of course, Sir," she purred. "Please... let me show you how sorry I am. Let me give you everything... Let me offer my body for you to take. You can do whatever you want. Kiss me, fuck me, hurt me... I won't say no to anything tonight, Sir."
I pondered her words, wondering whether I should give in. A long night stretched ahead of me, promising hours of solitude I would surely spend thinking about Lyra and what could have been. The thoughts about finding a perfect submissive would fill my subconscious yet again. I'd be wondering about whether a woman who could satisfy me even existed long into the night.
The girl misconstrued my silence as denial, and her bottom lip wobbled as she moved in closer, never quite touching me. Our eyes locked and she leaned in to whisper in my ear.
"I'll do anything you want, Sir... You can fuck all my holes. My pussy, my ass, my mouth—they're all yours, all for you... Please?"
"Fine," I said firmly, moving back and motioning for her to follow me to the lift that would take us directly to my penthouse. "Come on then. I'm not waiting up for you."
Finding my perfect woman would have to wait a while longer. I'd already made up my mind—that night was going to be all about pleasure.
My pleasure.
Chapter 1
Amicia
"It's just not good enough."
The words echoed in my mind as I made my way down the wintry street. Not good enough, for how many times in a row? At times it felt like I'd never make it. And normally, I managed to lift my head higher and make the best of it. But that day—just that day—I was letting it get to me.
Every single time, the same answer. Every week, another rejection. It didn’t matter where I went. Nobody was going to give me a job as a dancer without me having done any dance training. And I couldn’t afford training.
At twenty-two, I was nearing the wrong end of my prime shot. I wanted to be a dancer. I’d dreamed of it my entire life, but my foster parents never had any money to pay for traditional lessons. I learned by myself, watching videos, reading books. I danced to music the way I wanted to. But to succeed in the highly competitive world of cutthroat ballerinas, I didn’t have the education I should’ve started building early on. I brought raw passion to an artform that required precision and years of training.
I needed to do this. Especially now that Margaret was gone.
Currently, there was only one job that was hiring dancers like me, and while it wasn’t the classiest place to work at, it paid well, and at least I got to do what I loved.
I pushed the door of Le Cabaret open, sliding into the room unnoticed. They never noticed me. Not until I started dancing. When I twirled, every pair of eyes in the room followed me.
As I entered, a figure bumped into me from behind, making me stumble forward and crash to the floor. Before I managed to get a look at him, I’d caught the attention of my least favorite person in the place.
“Amicia, get the hell up.” Two bouncers stood by the front door, all broad shoulders and overstretched muscle. One of them, Skull, was calling me over. He had a neck tattoo of his namesake reaching from his chest to his chin, his neck covered in tinted ink. It only made him look more frightening. All the girls were terrified of him.
I approached even though my instincts were telling me to run. But you didn’t say no to Skull. He was known for roughing up girls in the back when the boss wasn’t looking. And I wasn’t trying to get myself hurt.
“Yes?” I asked as I came near enough. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah.” Skull beamed at me, the disco light on the ceiling reflecting from his shaved head. “My friend’s new here, and he wants to see some tits. I told him, Amicia’s got the best pair in the damn house. And he didn’t fuckin’ believe it. So, you gotta settle a bet between us, darlin’. Shirt up.”
I stared at his friend, a good-looking, brooding guy in his twenties. He smirked at me, not bothering to tell Skull to stop it. These guys were all the same. Testosterone filled monsters who thought they got Le Cabaret and the boss by the balls because they were tougher than us.