Money can buy anything. And anyone. As the head of the Constantine family, I’m used to people bowing to my will. Cruel, rigid, unyielding—I’m all those things. When I discover the one woman who doesn’t wither under my gaze, but instead smiles right back at me, I’m intrigued.
Ash Elliott needs cash, and I make her trade in crudeness and degradation for it. I crave her tears, her moans. I pay for each one. And every time, she comes back for more. When she challenges me with an offer of her own, I have to decide if I’m willing to give her far more than cold hard cash.
But love can have deadly consequences when it comes from a Constantine. At the stroke of midnight, that choice may be lost for both of us.
I stare at the two thousand dollars we agreed upon. It doesn’t feel real. Since meeting Winston, I’ve made over four thousand dollars, kicking me up to eleven grand in my college fund. It’s annoying the relief I feel. It would have taken me months to make that much at FGM Services. I know Manda offered to pay, but I’d feel much better if I could somehow pay for it myself, even if it’s just books and supplies. I hate having to be indebted to her.
I go to reach for the money, but his hand covers mine, stopping me. My heart does a nervous skip in my chest.
“Want to earn more?” His eyes flare with challenge.
I can do this.
I can endure his weird-ass fantasies because he pays well.
“Yes,” I tell him with false bravado.
“Then wrap those lips around your breadstick. Lick it and suck it. Like you wish it were my dick.” He nods at the bread on my plate. “Five hundred dollars.”
God, he is so freaking bizarre.
I’m about to tell him where to shove his breadstick when I decide to negotiate for more. It’s just a breadstick, not his dick. I can do this. Easily. I’m practically salivating for it anyway. The bread, not his dick.
“Eight,” I counter.
“A grand if you moan my name while you do it and don’t stop when Francis brings our food.” He winks at me. “Easy money.”
“Fifteen hundred and I’ll gag on it.”
He fists his hand, his jaw clenching, the first sign of a normal human reaction. Heat burns down my spine, pooling in my pelvis. I’m not turned on by him. Not a bit.
“You have yourself a deal, little girl.”
Closing my eyes, I attempt to distance myself from him as I pick up my bread. He clears his throat, earning my stare, and shakes his head.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Everything you do, I want your eyes on me.”