Since the first time I laid eyes on Arcadia, I had no doubt that she would become mine. She was just drop dead stunning.
I am well aware that it is only a question of waiting for her to become mine. Because of my chiseled face, 8-pack abs, biceps, and tats, I've never seen a woman whose pantyhose didn't melt simply by looking at me.
If she takes down her trousers, there is no way that Paul Caspar will let her live through this. Nothing in the world will rescue her.

She is free to say anything she wants in order to give the impression that she has a choice.

She is able to boast that she does not go for terrible males.

She may make me back away from the deal by claiming that she has a hefty price tag attached to her.


Because I've already developed a crush on that hourglass figure of hers. because of that stunning face and those velvety lips. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to ravish her. Even if it means I have to consent to paying the highest possible price...for my heart.

Fuck With Call Girl

Isn't it? She doesn't know what I do. All this money's source.


Arcadia's eyes widen as I inform her, "I own the strip club you used to work at." "I own the club where we met in the taxi."


"Besides," I say. "My dad was big in sex"


"If you owned the club," she says, approaching. Why didn't I dance?


Arcadia softly pulls me back and I settle in the leather chair next to the video call display.


At 7:47 am, the sexiest lady I've ever encountered is giving me a lap dance.


Arcadia turns her back to me and removes my shirt, exposing her back.


Her toned behind jumps as she shifts weight.


She's not a stripper. Her tanned skin doesn't show neon evenings, and her face is fresh and honest. She doesn't appear like a product designed to seduce. She appears genuine, but not as innocent as the girl next door.


Chapter ９