Sold to the Billionaire

I got into a bandit SUV.

“Then how will you pay, красавицa?” the man growls and smirks. He smashed my window and got into my car—freely. Without a hint of doubt. Clearly he believes that any lawlessness is allowed to him. He never respects rules.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I burst out in outrage.

“Everything I want.”

“You parked incorrectly,” I mutter.

“But I’m willing to pay for the repairs, and…”

“Forget it. I’ll buy a new one.”

“Fine. So what compensation do you need?”

“You crashed into the back of my car.”

“And what?” His palm drops over my waist like he owns the place, then slides down and, with intent, traces me below the belt.

“Guess,”