Elsa wiped down the table, her body and mind exhausted for the day she wanted to go home and have her rest. When management told her to head to the VIP room to serve drinks she had served some VIP guest and she headed to the VIP room.
Inside the VIP suite, Jordin sat waiting, his brows drawn tight. His friends had told him to give up on sleeping with Elsa, but he couldn't. With her fresh skin and quiet, natural beauty, she drew him in every single day. The plan was simple: keep her until he had his fill, then walk away. No strings attached. She was sleeping with him for his money, and he viewed her as little more than a convenient distraction.
When the door opened, Elsa stepped inside carrying a tray of drinks. Jordin glanced up from his phone, and Elsa froze.
It was Jordin.
The client she had been sleeping with. It hadn't crossed her mind that she would see him here, let alone serve him. At least it's only one person I've given my body to, she told herself, trying to find a shred of comfort. That made it better, somehow. She wasn't some woman who sold herself to everyone, even though standing in front of him with a tray, she felt entirely cheap. She had only slept with Jordin because she was foolish. Because the money helped.
And she hated it. She hated herself for it. The taste of disgust sat thick in her throat. She was tired of letting him use her, and she wanted an end to it all. She never would have brought the drinks to this room if she had known he was the guest. She wanted to walk out and never return.
Jordin stared at her, irritation already written across his face. Why was she acting so surprised? Did she miss him, or did she want something from him?
"Sit," he said, jerking his chin toward the couch.
Elsa ignored his expression, placed the drink on the table, and prepared to leave.
"I said sit."
Nervousness spiked through her. A glass of wine waited on the table, untouched.
"Have a drink."
Elsa took a hesitant seat on the edge of the couch, leaving the glass alone. The air felt heavy, wrong. Her hand hovered near the table before dropping back to her lap as a knot of anxiety tightened in her chest.
Jordin watched her, his mood curdling. He tried to think of something to annoy himself with—anything to dampen the raw attraction he felt toward her. She looked entirely innocent, as if he had never unbuttoned her clothes. The sight of her only made him want her more. His thoughts drifted to a recent business failure—a deal that had fallen through one afternoon when rivals tried to shut him out of a partnership he desperately wanted. His blood boiled at the memory. He needed to vent, and Elsa was right in front of him. She would have to do.
His scowl deepened when she refused to touch the glass.
"I should screw you out there instead," he said, his voice flat and cold. He didn't truly mean it, but he was hypnotized by the sight of her sitting there, hands folded in her lap, looking entirely vulnerable.
Annoyance flared hot in Elsa's chest. The thought of him exposing her like that—her worst fear—made her expression betray her. His eyes locked onto her like a predator sizing up its prey, and goosebumps prickled her arms. She quickly looked away.
"That's enough," he snapped, wanting compliance. Her hands were visibly shaking.
"Come here." His voice was distant, flat.
Panic surged. Elsa's heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't want this; she wanted to leave. Anxiety coiled in her stomach as she stood up. She didn't want to make him angrier, nor did she want to sleep with him. She knew she wasn't the reason for his bad mood, but she would undoubtedly be the one to pay for it.
Before she could retreat, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her down hard onto his lap. His lips grazed her cheek. He studied her honey-brown eyes, which burned with open resistance, and inhaled her familiar, sweet scent. His groin ached to possess her. He trailed kisses down her jawline until his teeth found her earlobe. Her eyes were on him.
Then, he bit down. Hard.
Pain lanced through her—sharp, deep, and entirely unexpected. She waited for him to release her, but he didn't stop. It stung, throbbing with a white-hot intensity that made her feel as though her ear might tear away entirely.
Something inside Elsa snapped. The pain bypassed her fear, clearing away her hesitation. Her hand flew up.
Pah.
Elsa's palm struck across his face with a force that nearly unseated her, her ear still ringing from the agony. She tried to scramble away, but his arms locked securely around her waist.
For a second, Jordin just stared at her, stunned, as if his brain couldn't quite process what had happened.
Then, his eyes flashed. Shock instantly twisted into savage anger. He fisted a handful of her hair and yanked backward with force as she fought to pull away from his grip.
Operating purely on adrenaline and self-preservation, Elsa drove her fist straight into his eye.
Jordin grunted, letting go instantly as his hand flew to his face.
Elsa scrambled off his lap, stumbling back as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. The harsh reality hit her all at once: she had just struck an important, powerful guest. Right in the eye. And he was going to be furious.
I should have endured it, a terrified voice whispered in her mind. I should have swallowed the pain like I always do.
The bite had been excruciating—blinding her with hurt—and she refused to let him use her body any longer. But standing there in the quiet room, watching him recover, she knew one thing with absolute certainty:
She was in big trouble.
Jordin kept his hand cupped over his eye, breathing heavily through his teeth as he glared at her. His expression flickered between raw disbelief and annoyance flared in his chest, as if he couldn't decide how to punish her.