The Lion's Brood by Duffield Osborne (best reads of all time TXT) 📕

going to be for me, if not by Wreck then definitely by Patrick. So I did what I’d done countless times before and took my client’s hand and led him upstairs.

When he bought the place Patrick had the second floor of the laundromat renovated into basically one long hallway with small bedrooms on either end. There was a bathroom with a shower at the end and a tiny office next to it. My room was more of a closet with a bed than a proper room. That was fine for the rest of the girls because they all went home after work. No one actually lived here, except me.

We could hear several of the girls already working in their rooms when we got upstairs. Their exaggerated moans and cries echoed down the hall when I opened my door for him.

“Cozy,” Wreck joked taking a step inside and nearly filling the room with his presence alone. His eyes smiled with amusement at the tiny accommodations. “This is the executive suite, isn’t it?”

I blew air out of my nose which was the closest equivalent I had to an actual laugh. It was very modest, but I made the most of the small space over the last few years. We didn’t have closets so I bought a high bed and put all my clothes, shoes, sundries, and what little I had for valuables in the drawers below it. On the lone windowsill I had my sketchpad, a notebook, a few books and a folded picture of my mom and brother.

I tucked the picture away, not liking it to be out while I had a client in the room then grabbed a small notebook and pen and scribbled down a word.

“Music?” I asked.

“Got any Stevie Ray Vaughan?” He replied, shrugging off his leather vest.

I paused for a moment then realized I actually did have a greatest hits album of his. I started us off with Voodoo Child.

“No shit?” He smiled, admiring the fact that I had what he wanted, then kicked off his heavy boots and sat on the bed. “You know I can’t get a read on you. You’re much more…reserved…than the other girls.”

I raised an eyebrow and gently tapped my throat.

“No, that’s not it.” He squinted at me again. The effect seemed to hyper focus his gaze so much that I could almost physically feel it on my skin and in my own eyes. Wreck was an intense guy, not so much with his words but with his physicality. It didn’t matter that he cracked jokes his body language betrayed the hard man he really was.

I tried to shrug it off and get to work.

I didn’t have to work, at least not on the floor, every day. Only when the girls were short handed, there was some special event or Patrick felt like punishing me. Regardless I’d had enough clients to fall into a routine. All the girls did. Unless the client forced himself on you or they had a special request you pretty much fucked them all the same way.

I slipped out of my spaghetti-strap dress and stepped out of my heels to give him a little show. My underwear was lacey, uncomfortable and impractical, but that was what they expected so that was what we gave them. Showing a little skin right away kept even the impatient customers at bay. I had of course covered my bruises with makeup. We were like the produce you’d find at the grocery store. None of the guys ever wanted to see damaged goods.

Then I switched gears and worked on him.

Spreading my thighs I sat on his lap and unbuttoned his shirt. My fingers worked down his hard pecs, scratching through a tuft of dark chest hair. I slid my hands over his beefy shoulders and down his big arms to get his shirt fully off.

Wreck wasn’t one of those guys with zero body fat and a twenty-pack of abs, but it was pretty obvious he was in incredible shape. God, his arms alone were the size of my legs!

He had about as many tattoos as you’d expect and about twice as many scars. There were even a few…what looked like burns. Jesus! What kind of trouble did this guy get into

“Does this scare you?” He asked, rapping his knuckles against the wall when he caught me gawking at the alarming amount of hardware on him. A metal necklace, bracelets, wallet chain, and rings on nearly every finger. He was basically wearing brass knuckles. I could only imagine the damage he could do with those rings.

Fists alone put me in the hospital last time, those rings would probably kill me.

I shook my head. Despite being fairly certain that he saw through my lie he didn’t make any motion to take them off.

I swallowed nervously and slid backwards off his lap. Grabbing the waistband of his jeans I pulled him up off the bed to stand before me. More like tower over me. I ran a hand down his chest and turned my back to him. It was time for the next part of the show. I unclasped my bra and let the fabric fall away.

I didn’t know if it was just the room being cold, or the fact that I was terrified of the guy but my nipples became little pebbles. A tiny voice in the back of my head suggested a third option- that I found him dangerous and exciting in all the right ways too.

When he abruptly grabbed my shoulders from behind I trembled. The scratch of his beard between my scarf and my jaw followed by soft lips and sharp teeth sent my insides into back flips. He smelled like diesel fuel, gunpowder and the road. It was the scent of taking what you wanted, of living by your own rules. It was the scent of something I lost ten years ago.

Freedom

I clamped my hand over my scarf to keep from shifting down. I rarely ever got to keep it on