I straddle him, slow and deliberate, wrapping the silky cloth around his eyes. His voice slurs into meaningless gibberish, and I roll my eyes. A glance at the side table confirms his glass is empty—right on cue.
His hands grip my hips with certainty, pulling me flush against him.
I play along. He's still conscious enough to call security if he suspects something. So I let him run his hands over my skin—down my hips, across my thighs. I squeeze my eyes shut to dull the revulsion rising in my chest.
If sex isn't directly necessary to get the job done, I don't partake. And it rarely is. I only let them believe they can have me. That illusion—spun from flirtatious remarks and fleeting touches—is enough.
Now I do what I do best. I kiss him.
I kiss him until he's breathless and hard beneath me, chasing the high I won't give him. His fingers fumble at the hem of my top, urging me to lift it. I oblige—only to buy time.
My breasts are bare. One hand grabs at them greedily, the other clutches my ass. I feel filthy. Tainted. I want to rip his hands off me, but I don't. I can't. This is the path I chose—and too much is at stake.
"Too much" meaning my life.
I count the seconds, waiting. Then, a soft ping. His lips part as he leans toward my chest, guided by his own hands. That's my cue.
I push off his lap—too fast, too abrupt to be professional. But he mistakes it for shyness.
"What's wrong?" he mumbles, the words thick and jumbled. He reaches for the blindfold just as my phone lights up with another ping.
I punch him square in the face. His body slumps in the chair, deadweight.
My heart races, but my mind stays calm. Focused. I dial the number from the message.
"Veronica Hughes speaking. I have him—he's unconscious."
A gravelly voice answers. "Well done. The transfer's in progress."
"Pleasure doing business," I reply, checking my watch. "A punch won't keep him down for long."
A crackling chuckle echoes in my ear. "You amaze me, Veronica."
"You're not the only one," I reply, slipping into the alias like a second skin. The notification buzzes seconds later—payment confirmed. I end the call.
It's a pity, really. The men who think they hold all the power. But all it takes is a woman who knows how to challenge it—with a smile, a sway of her hips—and they crumble.
Do I get pleasure from this?
The truth is, in this life, you're either the predator or the prey. Once you understand that, everything else is just strategy.