My Stepbrother's Dirty Little Secret novel Chapter 162

Chapter 162

“I don’t touch,” I whispered. I tried to make my voice sound different, “I dance. I don’t touch the customers.”

Raphael let out a short, dry sound that might have been a laugh. He didn’t look offended, he looked amused.

“I’m not a customer, and you’re here because you need money,” he said. His dark eyes tracked the way my throat moved when I swallowed. “And everyone has a number. A number that makes them do things they said they wouldn’t.” He trailed off, his eyes darkening. “Tell me yours. I’ll double it.”

I shook my head, “There isn’t a number in the world that will change my mind.”

He leaned forward just a fraction. The scent of him, the smoke, the woods, and the expensive bourbon and blood hit me like a physical blow.

He looked so fucking good it hurt to breathe.

“How about this,” he said, “You can touch me. You can put your hands anywhere you want. But I won’t touch you I’ll keep my hands right here.”

He raised his hands for a second, then dropped them to the sides of the velvet couch. He spread his legs even wider, opening himself up to me.

“Ten thousand,” he offered.

He watched me, a slow grin pulling at his lips. Ten thousand dollars. I thought of the ticking clock. I only had a twenty-four-hour window to save my life. He let out a dark chuckle when he saw the hesitation in my eyes

“Fine. Twenty thousand for one dance. Does that sound better, or are you going to keep pretending you don’t like the money?”

Twenty thousand.

The number hit my brain and stayed there. I thought of Morgan. I thought of Cole and the hundred thousand dollars he wanted. Twenty thousand wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start. It was a step out of the dark. For Morgan, I could do this. For Morgan, I could sit on the lap of a monster and pray to a God, that he wouldn’t recognize me.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling dry. I gave him a small, slow nod.

Raphael leaned back into the couch, his big shoulders sinking into the velvet. He looked completely relaxed, yet he felt like a bomb about to go off. He opened his legs even more, taking up every inch of space, inviting me into the heat of his body.

“Good girl,” he rumbled.

I stepped off the table. My legs felt like they were moving through deep water. I walked into the space between his knees. I could feel the warmth coming off his pants.

I reached out, my fingers trembling as I placed them on his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was soft, but the muscle underneath was like stone. My heart was screaming, but I forced my hips to move.

I turned my back to him, hiding my face, and lowered myself into the space between his thighs, gripping his thighs, almost sitting on his lap and I felt a shiver run down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

I started to move.

It was a slow grind. I pushed my hips forward, feeling the hard, thick ridge of him through his cargo pants. Holy

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Chapter 162

+15 Banys

shit. Oh God, he was huge. He was monstrous. I swallowed hard, keeping my back to him, praying the silver wig and the mask were enough to keep him blind. I moved my hips in a slow circle, my skin sliding and burning against the rough texture of his clothes.

Raphael’s head snapped back against the velvet. A low, vibrating sound started in his chest, a moan so deep it felt like it was coming from the floor.

“Fuck,” he choked out.

I leaned back, my head resting over his shoulder, my lace mask almost touching his ear. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. I arched my back, pushing my chest out, and let my hands travel down to his waist. I gripped his belt loops and pulled myself tighter against him. I was moving my hips like I was trying to melt into him, a press that made my own blood catch fire.

The scent of him was everywhere now, the wild scent of whatever he had done in those woods mixed with the smell of a man who knew he was being worshiped.

I slid upward, then dropped back down with a heavy thud of my weight, never breaking the contact. I heard his breath hitch. He kept his hands flat on the couch, just like he promised, but his fingers were digging into the velvet so hard I thought he’d rip the fabric. His knuckles were white, and the muscles in his arms were bulging, thick and hard.

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