The casino lights hit differently when you're the product. I catch my reflection in one of the mirrored pilrs as I make my way across the gaming floor, dolled up in this ridiculous deep V-neck bzer that shows just enough chest to be "tasteful." The high-waisted pants I’ve squeezed into make my ass look like I'm auditioning for something far less respectable than casino escort. Not that there's much respectability in what I do anyway.

  I rub my thumb against my index finger, still feeling the waxy residue of makeup. Twenty-four years in this world and I still can't get used to the feeling of foundation on my skin. Like I'm wearing a mask that might slip at any moment. But it's what the clients expect, perfect presentation. Perfect fantasy.

  "Hey, William."

  I turn to see Lara standing near the elevator, her red hair practically glowing under the casino lights. Even in her tailored suit, there's something feral about her, like a wolf that learned to walk on two legs but never quite lost the hunger.

  "Hey, Lara."

  "I just wanted to introduce my niece." She gestures to the woman standing beside her. "This is Lilly."

  I hadn't even noticed her there, which is strange because Lilly isn't the type of woman you miss. Tall, athletic, with auburn hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. But it's her eyes that catch me, calcuting, assessing. The way she looks at me reminds me of shoppers at a butcher's counter, deciding which cut of meat is worth their money.

  I extend my hand automatically. "It's nice to meet you."

  Lilly doesn't move. Her eyes flick to my outstretched hand with something between disdain and discomfort.

  "Sorry, I'm in a retionship. I don't like to touch other men," she says, her voice clipped and professional.

  I pull my hand back, ignoring the small sting of rejection. "Fair enough."

  Lara looks between us, that manic gleam in her eye that always makes me nervous. "Starting this week, when I'm not around, Lilly's gonna run the show here."

  Great. My new boss is someone who won't even shake my hand. I keep my face neutral, years of practice hiding any real reaction.

  "Remember this one," Lara says to Lilly, pointing at me like I'm a prized racehorse. "He's one of the good ones. We treat William well."

  Lilly nods curtly. "Got it." Then she turns to Lara, her expression softening slightly. "When can I see S?"

  "S? Is that your boyfriend?"

  Lilly doesn't even acknowledge my question. Her eyes remain fixed on Lara, waiting for an answer.

  "In a minute," Lara says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She turns back to me with that smile that never quite reaches her eyes. "Well, goodbye for now, Willy. Have fun upstairs."

  The elevator doors slide open behind me, and I back into it, oddly relieved to be escaping Lilly's clinical gaze. As the doors close, I catch one st glimpse of Lara whispering something in her niece's ear.

  I press the button for the top floor and lean against the mirrored wall, watching the numbers climb. Presidential suite today. The big leagues. My stomach tightens with that familiar mix of dread and resignation.

  The elevator music pying is some generic jazz, the kind that's supposed to make you feel sophisticated but just reminds me that I'm headed to perform for one of Boston's elite. Ms. Stephanie Bckwood. The Boderna Queen herself.

  I straighten my bzer and run a hand through my hair, checking my reflection in the elevator's mirrored walls. Presentable. Professional.

  When the doors open, I step into the private hallway that leads to the presidential suite. The carpet is thick enough that my footsteps make no sound. Like I'm a ghost gliding toward my haunting.

  I take a deep breath before knocking on the door. Three gentle taps. Professional. Confident. Like I'm not terrified of the woman waiting inside.

  The door swings open almost immediately.

  Stephanie stands framed in the doorway, wrapped in a floor-length blue dress. It's rare to see women in dresses. Most prefer suits, but dresses make an appearance on special occasions.

  "Victor Sugartooth," she purrs, my escort name rolling off her tongue like she's savoring an expensive wine. "Right on time as always."

  Before I can respond, her hand darts out and grabs my wrist, pulling me into the suite. The door clicks shut behind me with the finality of a prison cell.

  "How are you, Victor?" she asks, her eyes traveling up and down my body like she's mentally undressing me. Which, to be fair, she probably is.

  "Very good," I answer, my voice sliding into that slightly higher, more eager register I use with clients. Victor's voice, not William's. "How are you, Ms. Bl…"

  Her expression hardens instantly, blue eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as she cuts me off. "No!"

  I catch myself, offering a smile instead. "How are you, Stephanie?"

  "Better," she says, the storm clouds clearing from her face as quickly as they appeared. "Yes, I've been good tely. Very good."

  She leads me further into the suite, her hand never leaving my arm. The presidential suite is bigger than my entire first floor at home, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Boston's glittering skyline. But Stephanie isn't interested in the view. She guides me directly toward the massive four-poster bed that dominates the room.

  On the cream-colored duvet lies a familiar item: a thin leather leash with a padded colr. The same one she always brings.

  "I had a very productive week," Stephanie continues conversationally as she picks up the leash, running it through her fingers like a rosary. "Closed a major acquisition. The board is finally seeing things my way."

  I stand perfectly still as she approaches me, lifting the colr to my throat. Her fingers brush against my skin as she fastens it, the leather snug but not tight. Not yet, anyway.

  "That's wonderful," I say, keeping my voice steady as I feel the weight of the colr settle against my Adam's apple. "I'm sure they're impressed with your leadership."

  She clicks the leash onto the colr's metal ring, the sound echoing in my ears. "They should be. I've increased quarterly profits by twenty-six percent."

  Stephanie gives the leash a gentle tug, her eyes never leaving mine. Her free hand rises to my chest, fingers tracing the edge of my bzer's deep V before moving to the first button.

  "You know what I want to hear about, Victor," she says, slowly unfastening the button, her fingernail deliberately grazing my skin. "Tell me about you."

  I swallow, feeling the colr shift slightly against my throat. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. You know how my life goes, Stephanie."

  She smiles, pleased with the familiarity, as she undoes the second button with excruciating precision. "I do not know, actually. I know practically nothing about you." Her fingers linger at each new inch of exposed skin, like she's unwrapping a precious gift.

  "How's your week been?" I ask, trying to maintain conversation while she methodically works her way down my shirt, her eyes drinking in every revealed patch of skin.

  "Mmm, I told you about the acquisition," she murmurs, now halfway down my chest. "But what I really want to know is if you've given any more thought to my offer."

  My heart rate picks up. Here it comes, the question she asks every time. The third button slips free.

  "Have you decided to be my husband yet, Victor?"

  I offer a practiced smile, the kind that shows just enough teeth to seem genuine without being eager. "Ah, you know that's out of the question for someone like me."

  The final button comes undone, and she pushes the fabric off me, exposing my chest completely. "Someone like you?" she repeats, her voice dropping an octave. "You mean someone beautiful? Intelligent? Desirable?"

  Before I can answer, she drops to her knees in front of me, her hands moving to my belt. The sight of Stephanie Bckwood kneeling before me should feel empowering. Instead, it makes me nervous. She just wants to buy me. Treat me like a toy.

  She unfastens my belt, then slides my pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. I step out of them automatically, years of practice kicking in. The air-conditioning raises goosebumps on my exposed thighs.

  My body responds to her touch despite my unease. I can't deny that Stephanie is attractive, tall, commanding, with those piercing azure eyes and perfectly styled hair. In another context, maybe...

  She leans forward, her face close to my erection, and runs her nose along its length like she's sampling a fine cigar. Her eyes close as she inhales deeply.

  "Ahhh," she sighs with genuine pleasure, her breath warm against my skin. When she opens her eyes again, they're dark with desire as she looks up at me. "Why be a whore when you can be the husband of one of the richest women in the state?"

  "I have responsibilities," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's not just about the money."

  She stands abruptly, a fsh of irritation crossing her face as she yanks the leash. I stumble forward, catching myself before I face-pnt into the expensive carpet. Without a word, she sits on the edge of the king-sized bed, legs spread slightly, and gives the leash another firm tug.

  "On your knees, Victor."

  I comply, sinking down in front of her. The carpet is plush against my bare knees, at least.

  "What I can offer you would solve everything," Stephanie says, her voice silky as her fingers toy with the hem of her dress. "Any debts you're running from... I can make them disappear with a single phone call."

  I keep my expression carefully neutral. She's fishing again, trying to find leverage. "I'm not running from any debts, Stephanie."

  Her eyes narrow. "Everyone's running from something, Victor."

  "Not me. And marriage just isn't in the cards for us."

  Wrong thing to say. Her face transforms, that mask of control slipping to reveal something uglier underneath. Before I can react, she snaps the leash hard enough to make me choke. With her free hand, she hikes up her blue dress, bunching the expensive fabric around her waist.

  "If you want to be a whore so badly," she hisses, pulling me forward by the colr, "then act like one."

  My face is forced between her thighs, the scent of her arousal filling my nostrils.

  Stephanie is a lot of things. Creepy. Mean. Someone I would never trust within a hundred feet of Shane. But I'll give her this. Her pussy always tastes immacute.

  I dive in with enthusiasm, my tongue finding her clit with the precision that comes from years of experience. Her grip on the leash loosens slightly as her head falls back.

  "You always make me so angry, Victor," she moans, her free hand coming to rest on the back of my head, pushing me deeper against her. "So, so angry."

  I work my tongue against her as she squeezes her thighs around my head, trapping me in pce. Her anger is palpable, a living thing between us, but it doesn't stop her hips from rocking against my mouth.

  "You think you're so special," she snarls, yanking the leash again. The colr digs into my throat, making it hard to breathe. "So above it all. Too good for me?"

  I can't answer with my mouth occupied, which is probably for the best. She pulls harder on the leash, using it to guide my movements against her. The contradiction isn't lost on me. Her words full of rage while her body responds to every flick of my tongue.

  "I could give you everything," she hisses through clenched teeth, her thighs trembling against my cheeks. "A life of luxury. Never having to work again."

  Her grip on my hair tightens painfully as she grinds herself against me. I focus on my technique, sketching with my tongue in the way I know she likes.

  "But you'd rather be on your knees servicing strangers," she continues, her voice rising with each word. "Is that what you want? To be used and discarded?"

  I don't bother answering her question. No matter how many times she asks, she'll never understand why I keep saying no. Those beautiful blue eyes might look sincere, that voice might sound caring when she talks about taking care of me, but I've seen the real Stephanie peek through those cracks. She'd be a nightmare as a stepmother to my children. The way she talks about people like they're possessions, I can just imagine how she'd treat Shane and Diane if they didn't meet her expectations. I would sooner die than put them through that.

  "Enough," she suddenly snaps, pushing me away from her. My face is still slick with her as I gasp for air, the colr digging into my neck.

  Stephanie stands in one fluid motion, her eyes locked on mine. Without ceremony, she reaches behind her back and unzips her dress, letting it pool around her feet like spilled cerulean ink. She's naked underneath.

  "On your back, dog," she commands, pointing to the center of the bed.

  "Yes, Stephanie," I reply automatically, crawling onto the mattress and positioning myself as instructed. The silk sheets feel cool against my bare skin.

  She stalks toward me like a predator, all confidence and power, before climbing onto the bed. With confident grace, she straddles my hips, her fingers wrapping around my erection to position it against her entrance.

  When she sinks down, taking me inside her with no barrier between us, I can't help the long, guttural moan that escapes my throat. The sensation is overwhelming. She's the second client I go raw with, and God knows she pays extra for the privilege.

  "Look at you," she purrs, fully seated now, her inner muscles squeezing around me. "So easy to please."

  She gives the leash a sharp tug as she begins to move, rising up until I'm almost completely withdrawn before smming back down. The colr tightens against my windpipe, restricting my breathing just enough to make my head swim.

  "This is what you prefer?" she asks, establishing a maddeningly slow rhythm. "Being my toy instead of a husband?"

  "Yes," I say, the word slipping out easily. Maybe if I give her something, she'll back off about the marriage proposal. "That's what I prefer."

  Her rhythm falters, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face. "No," she says slowly, her hips stilling completely. "I don't believe you."

  My heart rate picks up. Stephanie has always been too perceptive for comfort.

  "When we're not having sex, you have the eyes of a man who's lost a lot," she continues, her voice softer now but no less dangerous. "I see it every time."

  Before I can respond, she sms down hard, making me gasp as she takes me to the hilt. The colr tightens around my neck as she yanks the leash again.

  "That's not true," I say, forcing conviction into my voice even as my body betrays me with pleasure. Another lie to add to the pile.

  "Oh, Victor," she says, leaning down until her face hovers inches from mine. Her blue curls form a curtain around us, blocking out everything but her piercing gaze. "I'm going to make you admit it one day."

  She starts moving again, setting a punishing pace that makes it impossible to think clearly. The leash pulls with each thrust, restricting my airflow just enough to make the edges of my vision blur. It's a dangerous game she's pying, but then again, Stephanie has never been one for caution.

  "You're mine," she whispers against my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "You just haven't accepted it yet."

  Before I can form any kind of response, she crashes her mouth against mine, kissing me with a desperation that catches me off guard. Her tongue invades my mouth, demanding and possessive as she continues to ride me mercilessly. I can feel the pressure inside me.

  The leash goes sck as both her hands find my face, holding me to her as my body betrays me completely. I explode inside her, my hips bucking upward of their own accord as waves of pleasure tear through me.

  "Mmmmph!" My moan gets swallowed by her mouth as I thrash beneath her, my body jerking with each pulse. She doesn't let up, grinding down on me, milking every st drop as I empty myself into her.

  This is how it always goes with Stephanie. She doesn’t want me to ask permission of where I should finish. She just takes what she wants, when she wants it. And God help me, some primitive part of my brain responds to that certainty, that total confidence that what she's doing is exactly what should happen.

  The kiss continues long after I've finished, her tongue exploring every corner of my mouth like she's ciming territory. I can feel her breathing getting heavier against my face, her movements becoming more erratic as she chases her own release.

  When she finally breaks the kiss, her face is flushed, blue curls sticking to her forehead with sweat. She sits up straight, still impaled on me. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with a hunger that hasn't been satisfied yet.

  "We're just getting started, Victor," she says, voice husky as she rolls her hips deliberately, making me gasp at the overstimution. "Do try and keep up."