Page 8 of Tempting Kat (Lust & Luxury #2)

Conrad

I 've seen men killed for less than what my cock's doing to me right now.

I walk into the room, and my entire fucking world narrows to those smooth legs extending through the ornate opening. Her small feet are in simple sandals, toenails painted black, and the perfect curve of her ass in those cutoff shorts I specifically requested.

My mouth goes dry. My brain stutters to a halt like someone cut the fucking power. I've been hard since I woke up this morning, thinking about this moment, but now that it's here, I'm practically feral with want.

“Hello, Katarina,” I growl, my voice rougher than intended.

Her body stiffens instantly. I can almost feel the shock radiating through her legs.

“Oh, I am so fucked,” she whispers, and her thighs press together in a way that makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.

“I can hear you, kitten,” I say, purposely not using the name kitty kat. “Every little whisper.”

I hear a click as she fumbles with the intercom button, turning it off. Fine by me. I don't need to hear her thoughts to know what's happening in that beautiful head of hers right now.

I move to the plush wingback chair I specifically requested, dragging it closer to where her legs extend through the wall. Close enough that if I reached out, I could run my fingers up her calf. I settle into the chair, adjusting myself.

“I've been waiting for this,” I continue, knowing she can still hear me even if I can't hear her responses anymore.

Her legs shift slightly, and I can see goosebumps rising on her skin.

“Don't move,” I command softly, leaning forward in my chair. “Just stay exactly like that.”

Her legs tense at my words, but she obeys, holding perfectly still.

I've been hard for six straight months. Six months of torture, sitting at that bar, watching her bend and stretch and laugh. Six months of imagining those thighs wrapped around my face while I taste her. And now she's here, her perfect ass just feet away from me, and all I can do is look.

For now.

“I wonder what you're thinking right now,” I say, keeping my voice low and controlled despite the fire raging through my veins. “Are you wondering who I am? Why did I choose you? Or are you just thinking about the money?”

Her legs twitch slightly at that. She's listening to every word.

“The money is just a formality, Katarina. What I really want can't be bought.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, studying the curve where her thighs meet her ass. “But I'll pay whatever it takes to make sure no one else touches what's mine.”

I settle back in my chair, content to just watch her. Memorizing every inch of skin visible to me, cataloging it for later when I'm alone with my hand and my thoughts.

Minutes tick by. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. I don't speak, don't move. Just watch. My cock throbs painfully against my zipper, but I make no move to adjust it. The discomfort keeps me sharp and focused.

She starts fidgeting more as time passes. Her feet cross at the ankles, then uncross. Her right leg bounces slightly, a nervous tic. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other.

Impatient little thing.

At the forty-five-minute mark, she stretches her legs straight out, pointing her toes like a dancer. The move pulls the fabric of her shorts tighter across her ass, and I have to grip the arms of my chair to keep from reaching out to touch.

An hour in, she's practically squirming. I can tell she's getting frustrated with my silence, with the waiting.

The intercom crackles to life suddenly, startling me out of my trance.

“So, are you just gonna sit there and stare at my ass all night without saying anything else?” Her voice fills the room, dripping with attitude. “Because I gotta say, for six figures, I expected a little more conversation.”

I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. There she is. My smart-mouthed little bartender.

“I was enjoying the view,” I reply, keeping my voice deliberately casual. “Some things are better appreciated in silence.”

“Yeah, well, my ass is getting numb, and I'm bored as fuck. So, either talk to me or I'm going to start singing show tunes to entertain myself.”

I chuckle, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. “What would you like to talk about, Katarina?”

“First off, it's Kat. Only my grandmother and assholes call me Katarina.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I say, though I have no intention of stopping. The way her full name rolls off my tongue is too satisfying. “But I paid for Katarina, so that's what you'll be tonight.”

She snorts, the sound crackling through the intercom. “Wow, real big man energy there. You paid for it, so you own it, huh?”

“I don't own you.” Yet. The word hangs unspoken between us. “But I did pay for the privilege of calling you whatever the fuck I want. Well, within reason.”

Her legs shift again, thighs pressing together in a way that makes my cock jump. I wonder if she's wet. If all this attitude is just a cover for how turned on she is.

“Fine,” she huffs. “Call me whatever you want, Mr. Gallo.”

The way she says my name—like it's a challenge, like she's daring me to correct her—sends a jolt straight to my groin.

“Tell me something, Katarina. Are you always this mouthy with people?”

“Only the ones who bore me,” she fires back immediately.

I lean forward, close enough that my breath ghosts over her skin. Not touching—not yet—but close enough that she can feel my presence.

“Am I boring you?” I ask, my voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.

Her breath hitches, audible even through the intercom. “I mean, you've been staring at my lower half for an hour without saying shit, so yeah, kind of.”

“Would you prefer I touch instead of look?” I keep my voice casual, but there's an edge to it that I know she'll catch.

“That wasn't part of the deal,” she says quickly, but her legs shift again, betraying her interest.

“The deal can be...renegotiated.” I let the words hang there, heavy with promise.

“For the right price?” She tries to sound flippant, but there's a breathiness to her voice now.

“For the right response.” I lean back in my chair, crossing one ankle over my knee. “Tell me, Katarina, are you wet right now?”

The intercom goes silent for a beat too long. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” I keep my voice steady, commanding. “Are. You. Wet?”

“That's none of your fucking business,” she snaps, but her legs twitch, answering my question better than words ever could.

“Everything about you is my fucking business now,” I growl. “Six figures buys me that much at least.”

“It buys you the right to look at my ass through a hole in the wall,” she counters. “Not a detailed report on the state of my pussy.”

My cock twitches violently at her crude language. Fuck, I want to rip those shorts off her and bury my face between her thighs until she's soaking my beard.

“That wasn't a no,” I point out, my voice dropping an octave lower. “You didn't actually deny being wet for me.”

Her legs shift again, and I can see the goosebumps rising on her skin. I'm getting to her.

“Are you picturing what I look like right now?” I ask, leaning forward until I'm just inches from her legs. “How big my hands are? How rough they are from years of work?”

I hover my palm just above her calf, close enough that she might feel the heat radiating from my skin.

“Are you imagining what they'd feel like touching your soft skin? Kneading the tension from your calves after a long shift on your feet? These hands have built empires. They’ve broken men, and they’d worship you if you let them.”

The intercom crackles as she sucks in a sharp breath.

“My hands could wrap completely around your ankle,” I continue, my voice a low rumble. “I could hold both your wrists in one grip while the other explores every inch of you.”

Her legs twitch, a movement so subtle most men would miss it. But I'm watching for it, hungry for any sign that she wants this as badly as I do.

“All you have to do is ask, kitten,” I whisper, close enough now that my breath stirs the fine hairs on her legs. “I will gladly touch you until you tell me to stop. Just say the word.”

The intercom stays silent, but her breathing has changed—faster, shallower. I can practically hear her brain working, battling between pride and desire. Her legs have stilled completely, like she's afraid any movement will betray her.

“Fine,” she says, voice dripping with feigned indifference. “If you're offering calf massages, I'll take one. My feet always kill me after a night shift.”

“As you wish,” I murmur, my lips curling into a predatory smile.

The moment my fingers wrap around her ankle, we both inhale sharply. Her skin is warm, impossibly soft under my calloused palms. I start slowly, firmly kneading the delicate bones of her ankle before moving up to her calf.

“Jesus,” she mutters through the intercom. “Your hands are fucking huge.”

“The better to hold you with,” I reply, working my thumbs into the tight muscles of her calf. I can feel the tension there.

I take my time, methodically working the knots from her muscles, feeling her gradually relax under my touch. My cock throbs painfully with each small sigh that comes through the intercom, but I keep my movements clinical and professional for now.

“You weren't kidding about the tension,” I say, pressing my thumb into a particularly tight spot that makes her leg jerk. “When was the last time someone took care of you properly?”

The intercom stays silent for a moment too long.

“That's what I thought,” I continue, working my way up to the sensitive spot behind her knee. “No one's been taking care of my girl.”

“I'm not your girl,” she protests, but there's no real heat behind it.

“No?” I let my fingers drift higher, tracing circles on the back of her thigh, just below the frayed edge of her shorts. “Then whose girl are you, Katarina?”

Her breath catches audibly. “Nobody's. I don't belong to anyone.”

“Mm.” I switch to her other leg, starting again at her ankle. “We'll see.”