Seven Pounds Of Pleasure

"You kept me waiting." Miguel's voice was cold and dangerously quiet. "Over an hour, Red. Should I expect Uncle Clifford to refund my wasted time?"

He sat on the black leather couch, legs spread, one arm draped along the back. And his dark and hungry eyes tracked Red's every movement as she entered the room.

Red closed the door behind her and locked it with a soft click. She turned to face him, her hips swaying as she moved into the center of the room. The red wig ran down her back. Her mask glittered under the lights. Her black bra and tiny G-string left almost nothing to the imagination.

"No refunds, sir." She ran her hands slowly down her sides, following the curves of her body. "But I promise to make your wait worthwhile.”

She began to move. Slow. Deliberate. Her hips rolled with the music. Her hands traced patterns on her skin, up her ribs, across her breasts. She didn't look at him directly. Not yet. She wanted him to watch. To hunger. To break first. Making him wonder if she'd ever give him what he so desperately needed.

Miguel's jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the leather couch.

Red smiled with secret satisfaction and turned, bending forward slowly. She looked at him over her shoulder as she ran her hands down her thighs, down to her ankles, giving him the perfect view of her barely-covered pussy, then back up. When she reached the curve of her ass, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her G-string and pulled it just slightly, letting it snap back against her skin.

The sharp snap of elastic against skin made Miguel's breathing hitch audibly.

She turned to face him again and walked closer holding his gaze. When she was just a few feet away, she stopped. Then she slowly spread her legs wide, balancing perfectly in her heels. The tiny strip of fabric between her thighs was barely there. He could see the outline of her lips through the sheer material. Could probably see that she was already wet.

"You see something you like, sir?" Her voice was a purr.

Miguel's eyes were locked on her. His hands gripped the edge of the couch like he was fighting to keep them there, fighting the urge to grab her, bend her over, and take what he wanted. 

Red had never seen him like this. At home, Miguel was ice cold. Controlled and untouchable. But here, watching her, he looked like a man on the edge of breaking.

And she liked it.

She'd seen plenty of men lose control in this room. Rich men, powerful men, men who thought they owned the world. But seeing Miguel lose control? That was different. That was power she'd never felt before.

She noticed the thick bulge in his trousers straining against the expensive fabric. He tried to adjust his position, crossing one leg over the other, but it was too late.

She'd already seen it.

"Fuck," Miguel muttered under his breath, his accent thicker than usual when he cursed.

Red smiled wider. He was rock hard, and trying desperately to hide it.

Good.

She needed him desperate. Needed him so lost in her that he'd empty his wallet without thinking. Because this week's payment to Nacho was due tomorrow, and she was still two thousand dollars short. 

She had to make him pay more tonight. Whatever it took. 

So she made a dangerous decision. Without breaking eye contact, Red reached behind her back and unhooked her bra.

The clasp released with a soft snap.

The straps slid down her shoulders.

And then the bra fell to the floor.

Her breasts were bare. Full. Round. Her nipples hardened in the cool air of the room.

She stood there, topless except for the tiny G-string and her heels, and watched Miguel's reaction.

His eyes went dark and hungry. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed.

Red's heart was pounding. This was the furthest she'd ever gone with any client. Uncle Clifford's rules were clear: everything goes in private sessions, but she had intentionally avoided doing such with these men. 

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

And Red was very, very desperate.

She moved closer, her hips swaying with the music. When she was right in front of him, she ran her hands over her own body. Down her neck, over her breasts, down her stomach. Touching herself the way she wanted him to touch her.

Miguel licked his lips.

That was her cue.

Red climbed onto his lap, straddling him. She rocked her hips slowly, grinding against the thick bulge in his trousers. Her breasts were level with his face. Close enough that if he leaned forward just an inch, he could suckle on them.

His big strong hands grabbed her waist.

"Touch me," she whispered.

Miguel didn't hesitate. His hands slid up her sides, over her ribs, and finally covered her breasts. His palms were rough. His touch was firm. He squeezed, his thumbs brushing over her nipples until they were hard.

Red gasped. It wasn't fake. The sound came from somewhere real, somewhere she didn't want to examine too closely.

"Perfect," Miguel muttered against her skin, his hot breath making her shiver. "You're so fucking perfect."

Red's trembling fingers found the buttons of his shirt. She needed something to do with her hands before she lost what remained of her sanity. 

"It's suddenly hot in here," she breathed into his ear, her lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

Miguel looked up at her, his eyes black with lust. "You're on fire tonight, Red."

She pressed a finger to his lips, feeling them hot and firm under her touch. "No talking. Just enjoy this. Let me lead."

Then she began riding him. Slowly at first, rolling her hips in deep, grinding circles that dragged her pussy along the thick ridge of his cock through layers of fabric. Up and down. 

Miguel groaned. His head fell back against the couch. His hands tightened on her waist.

Red moved faster. Harder. Her breasts bounced with every movement, dangling in his face. She could feel how hard he was beneath her, could feel him straining against his zipper, desperate for release.

Miguel's hands guided her, helping her move up and down, faster and faster. His breathing was ragged. His grip was almost painful.

"Red..." he choked out.

"Don't stop," she commanded, riding him harder. "Don't you dare fucking stop!”

Their moans filled the room. And Red felt powerful. In control and desired. This was her world, not his. Here at P-Valley, she was the one in charge.

Miguel's body went rigid beneath her. His hands clamped down on her waist, pinning her against him. And when he moaned, it was low and masculine and so sexy that Red felt it all the way down to her toes.

His body shuddered. His hips jerked up into hers. And she felt the warmth spreading beneath her as he came in his trousers, fully clothed, completely undone.

Red smiled against his neck, satisfied.

She'd done that. Made untouchable Miguel Alvarez lose control so completely he came in his pants like a desperate teenager.

"Good boy," she purred wickedly.

Then she climbed off his lap and sat on the couch opposite him. She grabbed the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, tipped her head back, and drank straight from it. She let the champagne spill from her lips, dripping down her chin, down her neck, trailing between her breasts.

Miguel watched her with dark, dangerous eyes. "If you keep doing that," he said, his voice rough, "I'm going to throw all of Uncle Clifford's rules out the window and fuck you hard all over this room.”

The words sent heat flooding through Red's body. Her thighs clenched as she imagine his hands on her hips. His cock driving into her. Her back against the wall, legs wrapped around him, screaming his name.

"Damn Uncle Clifford's rules then," she heard herself say breathlessly. "So what's stopping you, sir?"

*Oh God.*

She bit her tongue the second the words left her mouth.

*No. No. No.*

This was the second time tonight she'd slipped up and said too much. 

Yes, the sexual tension was unbearable. Yes, her body ached for him in ways that terrified her. But she could NOT have sex with her stepbrother. A man ten years older. A man whose house she lived in and despised half of her.

She wasn't going to become like her mother. She wasn't.

Before she could backtrack, Miguel reached for the tissue box on the side table and began unzipping his trousers.

Red's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?" She covered her eyes with her hands and spun around, turning her back to him.

Miguel's dark laughter filled the room. "You can strip naked and grind on me until I come, but you're scared to watch me clean up the mess?"

"I'm not scared..."

"Are you really a bad bitch, Red?" His voice was teasing now, cruel in that way only Miguel could be. "Or are you just putting on an act?"

Red's face burned behind her hands. 

"Just... just clean up. I'm not watching you."

"Relax sexy Red." There was the sound of fabric rustling, tissues being pulled. "Besides, I doubt you could even take the size of my dick. It would have you paralyzed for days."

Red chuckled nervously, still facing away. She was suddenly very aware of how far things had gone between them. Two sessions, that's all it had been. And already they'd crossed lines that shouldn't exist.

"Done," Miguel said.

She heard his zipper go back up. Heard him settle back against the couch.

"Come here," he ordered.

Red turned around slowly. He was dressed again, and he looked almost normal. Except for the darkness in his eyes.

"Come sit close," he said again.

She obeyed, moving back toward the couch. She thought he wanted another dance. They still had twenty minutes left in their session after all.

She sat next to him and began running her hands up his thighs, heading toward the bulge that was already stirring again in his trousers. "Ready for round two?"

His hand caught her wrist in a swift, firm grip.

Red looked up, startled.

Miguel's eyes locked onto hers. Dark. Intense. Serious in a way that made her stomach flip.

"I want something else," he said.