Chapter 6

Chris's POV

I cannot even begin to explain how terrified I am right now.

I’m standing alone at a crosswalk on Tenth Avenue waiting for a complete stranger to pick me up for sex.

Like…

When exactly did my life become this insane?

Esteban had only given me one instruction over the phone:

Wait there.

That was it.

No description.

No details.

No reassurance that I wasn’t about to get kidnapped and harvested for organs.

The sky was getting darker by the minute, and every passing car made my anxiety worse. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried not to look like a nervous prostitute waiting to be collected.

Which, unfortunately, was exactly what I was.

Then an engine slowed in front of me.

A sleek black car rolled to a stop by the curb.

Now, I don’t know much about expensive cars, but even I could tell this thing cost more than my entire existence. Black paint. Tinted windows. The kind of vehicle politicians or criminals probably got murdered inside.

A man stepped out from the front seat wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses.

At night.

I almost laughed.

Sir… what exactly are you protecting your eyes from? The moon?

Still, something about the entire situation immediately made my nerves spike. The silence. The tinted windows. The way the man barely looked at me before speaking.

“Get in.”

No greeting.

No smile.

Nothing.

Very serial-killer energy.

But I forced myself to breathe.

Esteban trusted these people enough to send girls to them regularly, so logically, I probably wasn’t about to die tonight.

Probably.

The suited man opened the back door for me.

“The Don is expecting you.”

The Don?

Okay, great.

So my first client was apparently either a mafia boss or a vampire.

Fantastic.

I slid into the backseat, and the first thing I noticed was how cold it was inside. The air-conditioning completely erased the heat from outside, wrapping the interior in this eerie expensive silence.

No music.

No radio.

Nothing.

The windows were so heavily tinted I couldn’t even tell where we were going. There was even a divider separating me from the driver’s seat, which somehow made everything feel worse.

A knot slowly formed in my throat.

All I could do was sit there fiddling with my fingers while praying to every spiritual being willing to listen that I survived the night.

I just wanted to pay my tuition, man.

After what felt like forever, the car finally stopped.

The driver got out first before opening my door.

The moment I stepped outside, my jaw nearly dropped.

The house was enormous.

Not rich-rich.

Movie rich.

The place looked like some cathedral built for billionaires — towering windows, massive fountains, trimmed greenery everywhere, lights glowing across the estate like something out of a damn vampire film.

How did places like this even exist in California?

Before I could admire it longer, the suited man lightly shoved my shoulder forward.

Rude.

I followed him inside and eventually into a bedroom drenched in deep red décor. Red curtains. Red sheets. Red accents everywhere.

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. “Whoever lives here really loves red.”

I sat nervously at the edge of the bed with my hands clasped together while the suited man turned toward me.

“The Don will be with you shortly.”

He paused.

His gaze slowly traveled over me in a way that suddenly made me self-conscious.

“In the meantime…” he drawled carefully, “…make yourself more presentable.”

Then he left.

Presentable?

I stared at the closed door for a second before awkwardly starting to undress anyway.

First my shirt.

Then my jeans.

Soon I was left standing there in only my briefs wondering what exactly counted as “presentable” in rich-people sex etiquette.

I checked my breath.

Okay.

Checked myself for sweat.

Still okay.

Then footsteps echoed outside the room.

Heavy footsteps.

Commanding ones.

Voices murmured briefly beyond the door before it finally opened.

And then he walked in.

For a second, my brain genuinely stopped functioning.

The man was huge.

Not just tall — imposing.

Like the kind of man who entered a room and made the entire atmosphere change with him.

This had to be the Don.

His dark hair was slicked neatly back, his beard perfectly groomed, tattoos disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt and curling around his hands like inked warnings. Even fully dressed, he looked dangerous.

Terrifyingly dangerous.

And annoyingly attractive.

Which made no sense.

I’d never really spent time thinking about men like that before. Honestly, I barely had time to think about romance at all growing up. Survival came first.

But something about this man made my heartbeat stutter in a way I couldn’t explain.

Fear.

Curiosity.

Something worse.

He begins to remove his suit jacket, then his shirt, and I'm almost dead. This man is ripped. Tattoos crawl across his massive, defined chest, ink dark against olive skin. His abs are cut so deep they look carved — granite ridges that flex with each breath. His V-line traces down his stomach, cutting a sharp path toward a region that makes me gulp at what dangerous monster could be hiding there, because he gives off that kind of energy.

I'm not curious for long.

He drops his pants. And from the shape of his briefs, I almost choke on my own saliva. Nothing in the anatomy I know can classify what's packed beneath that fabric as normal. It's like a fucking plus-size baguette in his pants. And the worst part? He's not even hard yet.

He steps in front of me, his imposing figure casting a shadow that swallows me whole. I can smell him. Fuck. He smells so good — like money, but something more expensive. Dark. Calm. Intoxicating. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back until I'm staring up at him. He holds me there for a long moment, eyes raking over me like he's assessing a new toy.

"Kneel."

His voice is so deep I swear my insides tremor at the vibration. My knees hit the floor. I'm face-to-face with his cock, still trapped behind that thin layer of fabric.

"Take it out."

Another command, low and lethal. The kind that says: “fuck this up, and I'll fuck you up.” My hands reach for the waistband of his briefs. My fingers graze his warm pelvis before brushing against the length of him. Still soft. Still massive. Oh Lord. I'm already regretting this ten times over.

Pulling it out of his briefs feels like carrying a vase out of a bag — I need both hands just to manage it. I ease the fabric down, and his cock springs free, thick and heavy, already beginning to stir. Then I see his balls. Fucking massive. What genes does this man have? He must come from a line of giants.

His scent hits me — masculine, sweet, cut with salt and musk. My eyes roll back before I can stop them. My own cock throbs in my briefs. I can't believe this is really happening.

I've done it. I've brought it out.

I look up at him, waiting. His jaw tightens.

"Suck."