Chapter 4. - Jason Brown
741 Words
“I should’ve left her alone. But I don’t do should.”
She wasn’t supposed to matter.
Just another pretty face at The Ruby Room. Another body on a stage. Another woman chasing men with wallets fatter than their morals.
But the second she straddled me, everything shifted.
Her scent. Her mouth. The weight of her on my lap — all soft curves and bold eyes and alcohol-soaked bravado. She kissed me like she didn’t care who I was. Like she wanted to ruin me.
And when I got hard?
I knew I was f****d.
Because I hadn’t been hard in almost two years.
Not once.
Not for any of the escorts who tried. Not for the discreet massage therapists. Not even for my own hand in the dark when I tried to force it.
It wasn’t physical. It was mental. Emotional. Whatever word therapists use for trauma you bury so deep you forget it’s still bleeding.
But then Clara Asbet danced into my lap like temptation wrapped in satin, and my c**k responded like it had been waiting for her all along.
And that made me furious.
I don’t like being out of control.
So I walked away.
I left her dripping, wrecked, pressed up against a hallway wall like she’d been thrown into heat. And then I did what I always do when something threatens my balance — I tried to forget it.
Except I couldn’t.
I saw her every time I closed my eyes. That moan. That mouth. Those hips. The way she bit my lip like she wasn’t afraid of who I was.
And when I saw her name in the application queue for the open assistant role?
It wasn’t even a decision. My hand clicked before I thought.
Shortlist. Interview personally.
I never did my own interviews. Hadn’t in years. That job had been posted for a week and I’d ignored every résumé.
But hers?
I studied it like a blueprint. Age 22. Final year of nursing school. No mention of stripping, of course. But I didn’t need it.
I already knew what she was capable of.
The morning of the interview, I told HR to clear the room. I didn’t want witnesses. If she said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, if she tried to play games — I needed to be in control.
And when she walked in?
That was the first time I realized just how dangerous she really was.
She wasn’t just sexy. She was self-aware about it.
Hair pulled back, subtle makeup, a borrowed blazer that couldn’t hide the way her body moved. Legs long. Mouth soft. But the way she held my gaze?
Calculated.
She wasn’t here by accident.
And neither was I.
> “Clara Asbet. Right on time.”
I watched her sit, trying not to squirm. Her legs crossed too slow. Her chest rose too high when she breathed.
She was nervous. Turned on. Curious.
Good.
> “You’re… conducting the interview?”
I almost smiled. Almost.
> “I make exceptions.”
She expected the usual: job questions, résumé fluff, maybe a few tasks.
But I wasn’t here to test her qualifications.
I was here to see if she was as reckless as I remembered.
So I asked her the one thing I really cared about.
> “Why apply here?”
Her answer surprised me. It wasn’t bullshit. It wasn’t rehearsed. She was smart — sharp, even — and didn’t shrink under my stare.
> “I think you’re a man who doesn’t waste time.”
She was right.
And that scared me a little.
Because it meant she knew I wanted her. And worse — that she wasn’t afraid of it.
When I told her she wanted to finish what we started, she didn’t deny it.
And when I told her she’d be mine from 9 to 6?
She didn’t flinch.
She f*****g smiled.
She thought this was a game. Thought she could tease me, tempt me, test me.
But I’m not one of the drunk men at the club throwing money for a lap dance.
I own the room.
And now I own her hours.
She walked out of that interview thinking she had some kind of power.
But come Monday morning, when she walks into my office wearing that mouth and that attitude?
She’ll learn the truth.
I don’t want her.
I need her.
And I always take what I need.
- Writer
