Friday nights at the casino are the worst. At least when I'm seeing a client, I know exactly what's expected of me. But out here on the floor, all bets are off.

  I lean casually against the craps table, my practiced smile firmly in pce as I scan the room. When I don't have appointments, Lara puts me to work like this, mingling with high rollers, keeping them happy, keeping them spending. Trying to sell myself.

  "You're my lucky charm," slurs the woman beside me for what must be the fifteenth time tonight. Her hand is wrapped around my waist, fingers digging in just a little too tight. "My gorgeous, gorgeous lucky charm."

  She's strong, even by today's standards, with a crisp white suit that probably cost more than my monthly house payment. Mirror shades hide her eyes. It's a power move, not being able to see where she's looking while she can see everything.

  "I think your luck might be turning around soon," I lie smoothly, even as she tosses another stack of chips onto the table. Five thousand dolrs gone in seconds. She's already down nearly fifty grand since I've been standing here.

  "You think so?" She leans in closer, her breath hot against my ear. The smell of expensive whiskey washes over me. "Maybe I should rub you for luck."

  Her hand starts to slide down my back, and I'm about to deliver my standard "not without booking properly" line when I feel a sharp tug from behind. The woman's grip breaks as I'm yanked backward.

  I'm ready to snap at whoever interrupted my work but the words die in my throat when I turn around and find myself staring into the hypnotic blue eyes of Stephanie Bckwood.

  She's wearing a bck polo that's unbuttoned just enough to see she’s hiding something fierce, paired with cream-colored pants that hug her curves in all the right pces. Her blue hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few curls escaping to frame her face. She must have come straight from work.

  "Victor," she says, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. "I see you're hanging on to some..."

  Her eyes flick dismissively over the woman in the white suit, giving her a once-over that could freeze hell. "Whatever the hell that is."

  The woman in white bristles visibly, but even drunk, she seems to recognize Stephanie's status.

  "How are you, Stephanie?"

  "I've had an awful day." Her fingers tighten around my wrist like a vise. "Come on."

  Without waiting for my response, she pulls me toward the elevator, her grip powerful. I gnce back at the woman in white, who's staring after us with her mouth slightly open. Poor dy. You just got outbid.

  The elevator doors slide open immediately and she tugs me inside. As soon as the doors close, she releases my wrist and turns to me, those blue eyes narrowing.

  "I don't pay what I pay to see you pawed at by some desperate tourist," she says, her voice low and dangerous.

  "You don't have an appointment tonight," I say, trying to keep my voice professional despite the way her eyes are boring into me.

  "Well, I do now."

  Before I can respond, she's on me, pressing me against the elevator wall. Her mouth captures mine in a hungry kiss that knocks the air from my lungs.

  The elevator dings and she pulls back just enough to drag me down the hallway toward the presidential suite. My feet move automatically, following her lead like they always do. She swipes a keycard and pulls me inside.

  As soon as the door clicks shut, she's kissing me again, more desperately this time. Her hands are everywhere, unbuttoning my bzer, sliding beneath my shirt to touch bare skin. I'm supposed to be the professional here, but she's always had this effect on me, making me feel like I'm the one being consumed.

  When we break for air, I manage to ask, "Why are you having such a bad day?"

  Instead of answering, she drops to her knees and wrenches at my belt. My pants pool around my ankles, and I step out of them automatically.

  She stands and guides me backward toward the massive bed, her eyes never leaving mine. When my legs hit the mattress, she spins me around and sits me down, climbing up behind me so my back presses against her chest. Her arms wrap around me, one hand sliding down to grip me firmly.

  "Just family drama," she finally answers as she begins to stroke me slowly. Her touch is perfect. Not too tight, not too loose, and I can't help but lean back into her, my head falling against her shoulder.

  "I didn't know you had family," I say, trying to maintain some sembnce of conversation despite what her hand is doing to me. "You're not married, though?"

  Her rhythm falters for just a moment. "I used to be," she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Twenty years ago."

  Curiosity gets the better of me, even as pleasure builds with each stroke of her hand. "What happened?"

  Her grasp tightens just enough to make me gasp. "If I wanted to talk about that," she says, her voice hardening again, "I wouldn't have your cock in my hand, would I?"

  "I'm sorry," I say quickly, feeling her hand tighten around me.

  "That's right," she purrs as her fingers rex just enough to be pleasurable again. "Now, to show how sorry you are to me, Victor... let me buy you. Permanently."

  My body responds to her touch even as her words send ice through my veins. "I'm not for sale, Stephanie."

  Her ugh is soft and lethal as her hand picks up speed. "You are a whore, Victor. By definition, you are for sale."

  I close my eyes. "Only during work hours," I manage to say as her pace increases, her thumb circling the tip with expert precision.

  She leans in closer, her lips brushing against my ear. "I could make you so happy," she whispers, her voice like a promise and a threat all at once. "I could give you everything you've ever wanted."

  "You don't even know me," I say, my voice catching as she twists her wrist in that way that makes my toes curl.

  Her expression twists into something dark and dangerous. She yanks her hand away like I've burned her.

  "No one in this world will ever want you as badly as I do," she hisses, her voice trembling with rage. "Not your clients, not that pathetic woman downstairs, no one. I would tear this city apart for you."

  I look up at her, meeting those wild eyes. "I don't care how badly you want me, Stephanie."

  Her nostrils fre, and for a moment, I think she might actually hit me. Instead, she wraps her hand around me again, working me with ruthless efficiency until I'm right at the edge, my hips jerking involuntarily, breath coming in short gasps.

  And then she stops.

  I colpse back against her chest, breathing heavily, my body aching for release. The sudden absence of her touch is almost painful, but I've been here before. This is her favorite game.

  "Be mine," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear, "and I'll let you cum."

  Despite everything, I can't help but smile. "No."

  Her reaction is immediate. One hand shoots up to my throat, fingers pressing into my windpipe as her other hand frantically works at the buttons of her pants. I feel the pressure building in my head as she maintains her grip, sliding her pants down her legs with surprising agility.

  Once they're off, she swings around to straddle me, both hands now wrapped around my neck. Her thumbs press into my carotid arteries, her weight pinning me to the bed as spots dance at the edges of my vision.

  I let out a small chuckle, which sounds strained even to my ears. "Not too rough, Stephanie," I rasp out. "Wouldn't want Lara to get pissed."

  The effect is instantaneous. Her grip loosens dramatically, though her hands remain at my throat. The wild fury in her eyes dims, repced by something closer to caution.

  "Lara doesn't scare me," she says, but there's a hesitation in her voice that tells me otherwise.

  I don't argue with her. There's no point. Lara scares everyone who knows her, though she'd rather die than admit it. The fear fshes across her face for just a moment before her mask of confidence slips back into pce.

  Without warning, she positions herself over me and sinks down, taking me inside her in one fluid motion. We both moan as she settles fully onto me, her inner muscles squeezing me like she's trying to pull me deeper.

  "God, Victor," she gasps, starting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her hands move from my neck to my chest, nails digging into my skin just enough to leave temporary marks. "This is where you belong."

  I grab her hips, guiding her movements as she rides me.

  "You know what I could do for you?" she pants, her blue curls bouncing with each thrust. "I could bring you around with me all day. Take you to the office, keep you close."

  Her pace quickens, her breathing becoming more ragged. "Between meetings, I could py with you," she continues, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "After work, I'd shower you with gifts. New bags, fur coats. Anything your pretty little head desires."

  I let her talk, let her paint this picture of a life that would be my personal hell. Being kept like a pet, paraded around for her colleagues to see, existing solely for her pleasure and as a status symbol. My hands tighten on her hips as disgust and arousal war within me.

  "You can't give me what I want," I say finally, my voice steady despite the pleasure building inside me.

  She falters for just a moment, her rhythm breaking. "What? Money? Status? Protection? I can give you everything."

  The truth burns in my throat. I can't give her what she wants to hear, but I'm not stupid enough to tell her the real reason. She doesn't know about my family, about Shane and Diane, and I'll be damned if I ever let her find out.

  "Shhh," I whisper, pcing my finger against her lips as she grinds down harder. "Not everything's about what you can give me."

  Her eyes fsh dangerously, but she keeps moving, her pace becoming almost punishing. I grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements while keeping my expression carefully neutral.

  She studies my face with those piercing blue eyes, then something shifts in her expression.

  "Oh," she says, slowing her movements to an agonizing crawl. "I get it now. You're a hopeless romantic, aren't you? You're waiting to find true love in this job? Like some fairy tale?"

  "That's not…"

  "It is," she cuts me off, her voice dripping with amusement. "The great Victor Sugartooth, making women fall at his feet, is secretly waiting for his princess in shining armor to rescue him."

  She's so far off the mark it's almost funny, but I can work with this.

  "You caught me," I whisper, letting a hint of vulnerability creep into my voice. "I guess I am a little old-fashioned that way."

  Stephanie's eyes light up with triumph. Her hips begin moving faster again, grinding down on me with renewed purpose. She thinks she's figured me out, and I'm happy to let her believe it.

  "And what if I told you I loved you, Victor?" she purrs as she leans down until her lips brush against mine. Her blue eyes search my face, looking for any sign that her words have hit their mark.

  I can't help the small ugh that escapes me. "Isn't rule number one 'don't fall in love with a hooker'?" I counter, raising an eyebrow at her.

  She rolls her eyes so hard I think they might fall out of her head. "For Christ's sake, Victor, take this seriously."

  But it's too te. The combination of her movements, her words, and that look of disdain pushes me over the edge. The pleasure hits me like a freight train, my body tensing beneath her.

  "Fuck... Stephanie..." I manage to gasp out as waves of intense sensation crash through me.

  "Don't you dare," she hisses, but her warning comes too te.

  My hips buck upward involuntarily as I empty myself inside her, fingers digging into her thighs. I can't hold back the groan that tears from my throat.

  Stephanie freezes above me, her expression shifting from surprise to something darker, more possessive. She doesn't climb off me like I expect. Instead, she grinds down harder, squeezing me with her inner muscles as if determined to milk every st drop.

  "I didn't give you permission," she says, her voice low and angry as she watches me come down from my high.

  I struggle to catch my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Sorry," I mutter, not feeling sorry at all. "Got carried away."

  Her expression darkens further as she shifts her weight, still keeping me pinned beneath her. "I should punish you for that."

  She narrows her eyes, studying me for another moment before her lips curl into a predatory smile. "You're lucky I didn't bring my tools today, Mr. Sugartooth."

  A cold shiver runs down my spine as I think about what's in that bck leather bag she sometimes brings.

  "I know."

  Stephanie