The Billionaire's Kitten(8)

By: Cassandra Dee

And like he could read my mind, the billionaire grinned wolfishly.

“Well, if you want to keep your job, then you’re gonna dance,” he tossed off casually, like it was no big deal. “You can do it.”

I shook my head slowly.

“But I don’t know how,” I whispered, eyes pleading. “Please don’t make me do this.”

The gleam in his eyes deepened.

“You wanna keep your job?” he asked.

I nodded silently. Oh god, was he going to fire me unless I obeyed? Oh god, oh god.

“You wanna make good money?” he asked again.

I nodded, brown curls bobbling up and down. Yes, I needed the money, I needed this job so that I could stay in school.

“Please Mr. Channing, please,” I whispered. “Don’t fire me.”

The man grinned again, this time his hand reaching down. My eyes were immediately drawn to the bulge in his pants, that big, fat tent. Oh shit, he was huge. Even in the dim light, I could see a ridge, a thick hose that wrapped around his waist, and my mouth went dry.

Seeing my gaze, the big man chuckled deeply, this time a hoarse rasp. And he grinned again, pulling something out from his pocket.

“How much do you need?” he asked casually, opening the money clip.

I gasped. There were so many bills that I could hardly believe my eyes. The roll of cash was as fat as my fist, making my heart race. I could live off that money for six months minimum, if not a year. But there was no sense in giving it all away, so I pretended to be cool.

“I’m sorry?” I murmured. “I’m sorry?”

The alpha shot me another glance.

“Like I said, Katherine, how much do you need?”

My eyes met those blue ones from across the way. Because holy cow, this was beyond my wildest dreams. A rich man was offering to pay me to dance, offering to give me cash if I shimmied in front of him. But the thing was, could I do it? My choices ran before my eyes.

On the one hand, I could refuse. I could say again that I was a cocktail waitress, hired only to serve drinks. For sure, I’d be booted back downstairs and fired immediately.

On the other, I could say yes. I could prance a little, wiggle my ass and then this gorgeous man would pay me. And after it was all over, I could go downstairs and keep my job, complete with big tips.

The choice was clear. Actually, it wasn’t even a choice. If I wanted to stay in school, if I wanted to keep going to college, I was going to have to dance. Tuition was due next week, the fifteen thousand dollar statement taunting me from the top of my dresser.

So I took a deep breath.

“How much are you offering?”

The big man smiled wolfishly then.

“How much do you need?”

I decided to go for it.

“More than what you got there,” I purred. “Lots more.”

His eyebrows rose, amused.

“Try me,” he growled. “I’m a rich man.”

I took another deep breath.

“Fifteen thousand. I need fifteen thousand to dance, otherwise it’s not worth my time.”

As soon as the words came out, I regretted them. The truth was that I’d dance for a lot less, maybe two hundred, three hundred bucks. Even one hundred was a lot to me, I could buy books, maybe pay my electricity bill which was currently four months late.

But Mr. Channing didn’t hesitate. He flicked open the money clip and began counting, shuffling the cash until fifteen green ones were lined up on the table.

“There you go,” he rumbled. “Fifteen g’s, isn’t that what you wanted?”

My eyes almost shot out of my head. Oh my god. Those weren’t twenties, they weren’t even one hundred dollar bills. They were thousand dollar bills, and now there were fifteen of them lined up on the glass table, beckoning to me, almost calling my name. Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, the money chanted. You need us.

Taking a deep breath, I met Mr. Channing’s eyes.

“You promise?” I breathed. “You promise those are mine if I dance for you?”

He nodded nonchalantly.

“It’s all yours. Make this big boy happy and it’s all yours.”

Suddenly, I realized what he meant by dance. Everything clicked into place like puzzle pieces fitting together. Because sure, Grayson wanted me to gyrate around this space, to shimmy and wiggle. But no man pays fifteen thousand to see a curvy girl prance around. The money was to get him hot and bothered, to make him aroused until he spurted.

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