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Harlow obeyed his command without question, sinking to her knees until her breasts brushed his legs.

He cupped her chin affectionately, like a lover might, and tilted her head back until she was staring into deep pools of sapphire.

He looked like a king lounging on a throne, at home in the back room of a seedy strip club while he had her at his mercy. The faint neon red even glowed behind him, making him look like a devil coming to tempt her soul. Sinister and cruel, and Harlow wondered how she hadn't noticed before.

"You look good on your knees, princess."

Whatever shy, rich boy façade he'd been wearing for her earlier was gone in an instant, replaced by a devious smirk that had Harlow realizing that she hadn't been playing him at all. Not for one single moment that she'd been in here.

He'd been playing her from the start, and the cocky look on his face was enough to make her blood boil.

She clenched her fists at her sides, contemplating on making a break for it and screaming for Raider to come throw this asshole out, just so she could have the upper-hand again.

But she stayed where he'd told her to, her body thrumming with anticipation as his fingers tightened on her chin. He stopped right before his touch could be considered truly painful, staring down at her like he couldn't decide where to go from here.

"I knew you could be a good girl for me, princess. Look at you, sitting here so prettily."

"Stop calling me that," she spat, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand from her face. She let go before the warmth of his skin seeped into hers.

She hated that nickname more than she'd ever hated anything in her life.

Well, almost. It reminded her of shit she'd prefer never to think about again. Of a life she wished never existed, and the betrayal that came with it.

He smirked, and damn him to hell, he was so sexy.

He cupped her jaw tenderly, before sliding his hand down to her throat. And then he squeezed, putting just enough pressure to make her tremble in need when his fingers flexed over where he'd bitten her.

Had he left a mark? She hoped so.

"Would you prefer being called a thief? Or maybe you want me to call you a little whore instead of a princess?"

Harlow sucked in a shallow breath before she could help herself, his deep voice touching her in all the right places.

"Ah, you would. I didn't expect you to enjoy being degraded," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, but then he leaned forward, pushing her back until the heels of her fuck-me pumps were digging into her bare ass.

She winced at the flare of pain from the unforgiving material. His free hand reached between her thighs, his fingers dipping past her thong and teasing the seam of her waxed pussy, and that flare of pain melted away to pleasure almost instantly.

Harlow loved a bite of pain with sex, and this man was giving it to her in spades without her even needing to ask. She didn't even understand what was happening- she'd just tried to steal from him so she'd expected his malice and anger. Instead her body was pulsing with life and desire from his touch, and she was helpless but to bend to that exquisite pressure.

"You're soaked already," he remarked, resting his forehead on hers. His thumb teased her clit, flicking her bundle of nerves until she moaned, rocking over his hand as her climax flared to life.

God, how embarrassing. He was barely touching her at all, and already she was on the verge of orgasming.

In her defense, she hadn't expected him to be like this. She thought he'd be boring, not casually ticking off all the boxes of her sexual needs like it was nothing. Like he had a handbook covering all of her needs and was using it ruthlessly against her.

"I told you I liked you," Harlow answered, spreading her legs a tiny bit wider just to be helpful. Rough fingers sank into her pussy, curling slightly as he began to fuck her.

The scent of his cologne wrapped around her nearly as tightly as his hand wrapped around her neck, and she drank it in. Their noses brushed as she gave a choked moan when the pads of his fingers slid over her g-spot.

Her mouth parted on a small cry, her hands finding his knees and holding onto him while he played with her.

She was probably wrinkling his immaculate suit, but she squeezed harder when he inserted another finger, stretching her to the point of delicious, sweet pain.

"It seems you do." His lips brushed hers, just enough to tease her. To have her reaching forward for more despite the chokehold he had on her body and her soul in that moment. "It was foolish of you to steal my watch."

"I gave it back," she moaned as he pumped his fingers into her pussy. The sound of her wet cunt each time he stroked her was shameful, but all it did was drive her lust higher until she was careening toward a euphoric orgasm.

"Foolish," he repeated, his deep voice caressing her nearly as pleasurably as his fingers. "I'll have to take something of yours."

"What does that mean?" she asked breathlessly, barely paying attention as her pussy fluttered around his fingers, milking him right as she began to tumble over that cliff's edge and straight into ecstasy.

"How many men have you fucked back here?" he asked casually, but his hand tightened on her throat right as he pulled his fingers free of her pussy, pinching her clit hard.

Her mouth dropped open on a harsh cry as she climaxed. Her pussy spasmed, desperately searching for the fingers he'd ripped away from her, but she was too far gone for it to matter.

Even her vision blurred, and Harlow could have sworn she saw stars as she shut her eyes, clinging to the orgasm swirling through her.

"Oh, fuc–"

Wet fingers were shoved past her lips and down her throat, and Harlow gagged at the sudden intrusion, her wail dying in her throat. She tasted herself on his fingers and he pulled his head back just enough to glare down at her.

"If you lie to me, it won't be my fingers in your mouth, it'll be my cock. Do you understand?"

Harlow whimpered in answer, her body shaking from the after effects of his handling. She wasn't sure she'd ever come so hard in her life, and he'd barely done anything to her.

What the hell was that? How was that even possible?

And why the hell did it matter if she'd screwed anyone? She didn't know this asshole, even if he'd just given her the most explosive orgasm she'd ever had.

"Suck my fingers clean, princess. I don't want the scent of your pussy staining my hand." Arousal spread through her at his harsh words. "Suck."

Harlow did, feeling both sated and eager for more as she took her time doing as he instructed.

She wanted him to know that she could have him on his knees begging for her if she wanted to take it that far, so her hands moved up his legs, massaging his upper thighs while she licked and sucked his fingers.

She looked up at him coyly, and there was something in the way his eyes flickered with lust as he watched her... she'd never seen anything like it. As if he was a lion who'd finally caught the prey he'd been stalking. He was wholly focused and hungry.

It made her want to please him any way he wanted. Any way he craved.

"Enough," he growled, and reluctantly Harlow stopped, releasing his fingers. He let go of her throat and sat back on the sofa, his face a mask of cool indifference.

He pulled a silk square cloth from the front pocket of his suit jacket, wiping his hand off before he tossed it on the ground between her knees.

Then his hand was on her chin again, bringing her gaze back to his. "Answer me, princess," he whispered. That word slid over her skin like a brand and, for a moment, it lacked the sting that it normally did.

"None," she told him immediately.

He raised a brow expectantly and Harlow cleared her throat.

"I mean, what's your definition of 'fucked'?"

His eyes hardened, but his fingers continued to cradle her face delicately as he murmured, "How many men have made you cum in here before me?"

"Oh," she said. "Definitely none." Because most men didn't know what the hell they were doing. They didn't know what she liked. What she needed.

But he did, and the knowledge in that was addicting.

"And how many men have you let fuck your pretty pussy with their fingers or their cocks while you've been working?" There was a dark edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. One that she was familiar with on an instinctual level.

She'd spent her entire life around dangerous men. Killers. Criminals. She'd learned from them since she was a child. Studied them.

And this one had just exposed himself.

She was silent for a moment, her fight or flight instincts finally deciding to kick in after enjoying a post orgasmic haze. The damn thing probably should have alerted her to danger before he'd put half of his hand inside her, but better late than never.

At least she got one hell of an orgasm out of him before their time together was up.

What a waste. She'd really started looking forward to having her way with him tonight. But there was no way in hell she was going to start shacking up with a freaking criminal.

She might be one, albeit a bit reluctantly, but she'd broken free of evil men once before. She didn't plan on falling back into that trap. Not for anything.

Men like that couldn't ever be trusted.

"I don't really think that's your business," Harlow answered, standing gracefully to her feet. She grabbed her skirt, sliding it on easily while he watched.

He smirked, eyeing her up and down slowly as she finished dressing before he responded.

"Everything about you is my business, Harlow."

She stiffened.

How the fuck did he know her name? She hadn't told him anything personal.

Harlow practically bolted from the room before he even had a chance to stand, her stilettos clacking like crazy as she sprinted straight for Raider.

He was still behind the bar, thank God, and she practically launched herself behind him.

The club looked rather empty, which was weird unless it was nearly time to close. How long had she been back there?

"Harley, what the fuck–"

"That guy knows my name," she hissed, shoving Raider forward as her client stepped into the main area of the club.

Why did he have to look so good in a damned suit? He buttoned his jacket effortlessly before straightening his sleeves, as if he didn't give a shit that she'd just run up to a biker to rat him out for– well, she wasn't quite sure for what.

Giving her a mind-blowing orgasm? Not losing his shit after she got caught stealing?

"Yeah, he knows your name because I told him I was sending you back there. Why are you acting like this? Did he try something with you? Did he hurt you?" Raider asked, his back tensing as her client began walking toward them, stealing her attention.

He oozed confidence and a lethal calm that she had no idea how she'd ever missed before as he approached.

"Not exactly," she muttered under her breath. "He caught me stealing his watch–"

Raider turned around, his eyes wide with panic. "Stealing? Harlow, I told you to show him a good time, not steal his fucking belongings–"

"You never send me back there to do anything but rob someone!"

"Not him, Harlow!" Raider never raised his voice at her, nor did he ever lose his cool. The fact that he did now worried her. And then he said something that made her heart stop and a cold dread slither down her spine. "That's Lucien fucking Thorne, Harlow. Our club is indebted to him, and you've jeopardized that with your disrespect."

She blanched, feeling like she might throw up all over the floor.

The kingpin of Chicago? She'd just come all over Lucien Thorne'shand and then licked it up after stealing from him?

She thought he'd looked like a devil earlier, and she'd been right. Lucien Thorne was as evil as they came. He was the devil.

Of course this was her cursed luck, and now she'd endangered the men that had protected her for years.

"Raider–" she began, her voice cracking.

"Quiet," Raider snapped, his usual good charm gone in an instant. "I'll fix this."

But as Lucien Thorne caught her eye again, that devilish smirk coming out for just a moment before it disappeared behind an expressionless mask, Harlow didn't think there would be any correcting her mistake.

She was doomed.