The Pimp


His eyes are locked on mine, even as my gaze travels the length of his massive frame. The fabric of his shirt hangs open, draping over the slabs of muscle that form his torso. His jeans hang low on his hips, revealing a beautifully sculpted V-cut. From there, my eyes are drawn to the trail of dark hair heading south to an impressive bulge that I really, really need to stop staring at.

He looks like he just woke up and threw on the first clothes he could get his hands on. The rumpled, freshly-fucked look seriously works for him.


“Diego Dias.” His deep voice pours over me and leaves waves of heat in its wake, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

“My name is Brook and, um, I’ve–”

“I know,” he interrupts softly, pushing away from the doorjamb to take several slow steps closer to me. “I’ve been waiting for you. I was worried. I had just decided to storm the castle to get to you. And yet,” he murmurs while twisting a curly lock of my hair around his finger, then letting it go, “you’ve saved me the trouble.”

A ridiculously long silence ensues as we simply take each other in. It occurs to me that we’ve been aware of each other on some level for a while now, so this is where expectations meet reality. I have to say, I’m not disappointed.

I’m suddenly aware of how I’m dressed – micro-mini skirt, cropped top and those funky boots. At least they aren’t high heels; I never would have made it here if they were.

Diego seems to have noticed my attire as well, judging by the long, assessing look he gives me from head to toe. My skin tingles everywhere his gaze lands on the way back up to my face. I tug self-consciously at the skirt’s hem in a futile attempt at modesty. The way he’s savoring every inch of visible skin tells me it’s way too late for that. I clear my throat, barely able to keep my thighs from pressing together in a response as old as time, a sexually receptive female responding to an alpha male on the hunt. Okay, none of that…

“So, okay,” I sputter helplessly. “Look, I’m out of here. I’m really sorry I snuck in like that. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And, um, it was cold outside,” I add, as if the weather explains everything.

“So you came inside to get warm?” he asks softly, his piercing, dark eyes scanning my face, taking in every feature, one by one. A frowning Maria takes a step back; perhaps she, too, feels the electricity between this man and me.

“Yes. I…didn’t know where else to go.”

That elicits a small smile from him, his lips tilting up at the corners almost imperceptibly, his head cocking to the side as he regards me with an almost bemused expression.

I take advantage of the momentary lull and make a break for it. I try to slip past him to get to the hall and freedom, but he’s way ahead of me, grabbing onto my upper arms and holding on tight. Even in my panicked state of mind, I can’t help but notice how deliciously rough his hands feel on me as his thumb traces small circles against my skin. It’s a move that feels so natural, I wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

“Did he touch you?” he asks in a low voice.

“What? No. Not really.”

At my qualified response, his eyes get a wild look and his grip tightens. I find the skin-on-skin contact with him unsettling and, well, my mind wanders a bit. I’ve always had a thing about men’s hands – big, broad, sturdy hands — and this guy’s massive, masculine hands are what dreams are made of – my dreams, anyway. Dreams where he’s chopping down a tree one minute, and holding a newborn in one hand the next and what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about babies at a time like this?! All I know is those big hands are on me. And I like it.

“Not really,” he repeats slowly.

“Well, he shoved me against a wall when he welcomed me to his warehouse. Guess he’s not one for formal introductions.”

“That was it? Nothing else I should know?”

Well, hell. This is probably where a reasonable person would tell him that I shot the guy and, yeah, I might have put a slug in one of his guards, too — but I’m just not sure of his intentions yet. Are you friend or foe, Diego?

“Maria, get out,” he says curtly, tilting his chin toward the door, dismissing her. She hesitates, her eyes big as saucers as she looks from Diego to me and back again. Judging by her pouty scowl, this is not typical behavior for this man. Her delay earns a swift glare from Diego that sends her scurrying down the hall. Diego keeps his eyes and his hands on me, taking a slight step away to kick the door closed.

“You were saying?” he purrs as he moves in closer and clasps my jaw in a big, warm hand.

“I-I didn’t know what to do.”

“You didn’t know what to do.” He closes his eyes briefly and exhales, then opens them as he rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth over my bottom lip. His deep baritone voice rumbles in his chest as he murmurs, almost absently, “You didn’t know what to do. So, you came here. To me.”

His gaze drops to my chest, which is heaving as my breathing becomes labored. My eyes widen when I feel a rush of heat between my legs. I pick up on the faintest musky scent in the air and I know it’s me. Apparently, he does too because his nostrils flare and the tip of his tongue slowly slides across his lips. I fully expect him to throw me over his shoulder and take me to his cave.

Could this guy be any sexier? Damn it. It would be so much easier to deal with him if he were plain like Santiago. This man is anything but plain. I’m sure I’ve probably overstayed my welcome by bringing trouble to his doorstep. I’m certainly in over my head; I should probably get the hell out of here before I go under completely.

“Let. Me. Go!” I hiss as I try to shake off his unbreakable grip on my arm.

He only shakes his head slowly as he pulls me toward him. “My club. My rules.”

An excerpt from ‘The Pimp’ available on Amazon:

©2016 Suzanne Steele


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