If You Dare: An Erotic Sequel

Oh, Pretty Woman

"Hold still," Marina said as she tilted your head in her direction. "I'm not finished with you yet."

Marina, one of Domino's devout supporters, added the finishing touches to your mascara, using the wand to curl the ends of your eyelashes in an enticing fashion. She slipped the wand back into the tube and applied a dark red lipstick to your soft lips. Meanwhile, Imogene knelt before you, her fingers making quick work of the microphone she attached to your lacy bra. When Imogene finished, Ayesha helped you slip into a hot pink pin-up dress that hugged every curve. A diamond-shaped cutout beneath the bust added to the sexiness of the revealing sweetheart neckline.

"He won't be able to take his eyes off you once he sees you," Marina winked as she eased the long, wavy white-blonde wig onto your head.

"Have you ever met this man before?" you ventured.

"No," the three women shook their heads in unison. "Sometimes we hear Domino talk about him. Angelo Amato has been on his hit list for some time now."

"I heard once that he beat a prostitute to death," Ayesha offered with a shrug. "I've heard he's a real misogynist, that Angelo Amato."

Good, you allowed yourself a soft smile, careful not to smudge your makeup. Misogynists are exactly my cup of tea.

"You should consider it a great honor that Domino has chosen you for this task," Marina added.

Even if my only job is to act as the bait, you mentally finished her sentence.

Domino had told her that Angelo Amato was the only son of Salvatore Amato, one of New York City's socialite darlings and the president of Amato National Bank. As an only child, Angelo was ridiculously spoiled and languished in the wealth he had inherited upon his twenty-first birthday.

"This bank enables money laundering and is linked to sketchy insider-trading on Wall Street," Domino had informed you with a contemptuous air. "The bank caters to the wealthy, spoiled upper echelons of society that oppress all those below. Angelo is a sniveling weasel that can't resist a bombshell the likes of Marilyn Monroe. I trust you with the task of luring him in, of seducing him into believing that he can trust you implicitly. When the time is right, handcuff him to the desk. Restrain him. Make him beg for more in that way I know you are fully capable of. When the time is right, the rest of us will strike."

"Won't you get jealous?" you had asked, the skepticism of his plan evident in your tone.

Domino's eyes had narrowed to slits as he stared at some distant point on the horizon, his mouth slowly twisting into a wicked grin.

"Don't worry, darling," he had assured you with a tender caress. "I have a plan to drive the point home of who precisely you belong to. Together, we will show him who is truly in control."

Now here you were, hidden behind a makeshift curtain in the back of a storage truck that lumbered through New York City's cluttered streets. Every turn pulled your body this way and that, and every bump in the road jolted through your body. Marina pulled back the curtain and allowed you to tentatively step forward. The sweet-faced girl regarded the cluster of male supporters lounging at the back of the storage truck, their semi-automatic weapons resting in their laps.

"What do you think of my handiwork?" Marina waved her hands in presentation.

Alfonso, a youthful, handsome Spaniard with a sharp, curved nose and a thick mop of black hair, whistled.

"Looks good enough to eat," he arched a thick, suggestive brow, black eyes smoldering with heat. "As always, I might add."

"I heard that," Domino dryly intoned in your ear.