Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Nor would he report me to Selecta Arrangements, or try to get his money back, or anything like that. Christian G had just made an offer, the way I imagined he might make an offer to an actor or a director. I didn’t have to take it.
But…
No: I did have to take it. The reasonable little voice in my head recommended that I get up and go, without saying another word if necessary—seeing as I had no idea what I could possibly say. But the rest of me, mind and body, needed to stay there.
I had to see what happened next, in the story of my… my…
I bit my lip as the correct word floated into my brain.
My training.
“I can’t,” I whispered, looking at the table, at the empty champagne flute. It was true, but I didn’t know why. I wanted it to come from modesty, or maybe from common sense: a sensible, independent Midwestern girl didn’t talk about her underwear with anyone, anywhere—let alone a man she had just met, in a bar. That Christian had watched me have naughty pictures taken while I played with myself… that he had supplied the money to buy my lingerie… that seemed to make it harder, rather than easier.
But something else had come into play, a new motivation that seemed to rise in my chest. Modesty and common sense definitely had an important part to play in my refusal. This other idea, though, seemed like the real reason.
Fuck around and find out. To my distress, I realized I wanted to find out.
“You can, Leah,” Christian said softly. “You’re going to have to.”
I swallowed very hard. I tried to look up at him, but I found I couldn’t even do that, as the heat came and went in distracting little waves, my pulse pounding in my head.
Christian spoke again, his voice quiet but so firm that it made my heart race even faster.
“You can tell me here, or you can tell me when we get back to your apartment. If it’s at your apartment, though, there are going to be consequences.”
The words that sprang into my mind, What the fuck makes you think we’re going back to my apartment? died with the initial ‘Wh’ on my lips as I did look up at him, the shock of what he had said breaking through the mortification that had kept my eyes on the table.
I saw on his face, as if his eyes had cast a spell on me, that he had spoken the truth. I had no choice. I could tell myself that I wanted his money, more of it, in a steady allowance so that I could live the way I wanted. I knew that in reality I needed to see what consequences meant, as terrifying as the word sounded.
“Last chance,” Christian said, his eyes glittering in the quickly falling darkness. “Tell me about your lingerie, or we’ll go to your place and you’ll learn your lesson for keeping me waiting.”
“What kind of lesson?” I managed to say, in a voice that sounded very weak to my ears.
“The one I decide on,” Christian said, narrowing his eyes a little. “The one you need. If we go to your apartment, and you decide you want to end the date, I’ll still give you a week’s allowance, no arguments and no questions asked.”
I understood, somewhere in a part of my head not flooded with hormones, that I should examine my motivations carefully—that the money probably shouldn’t make me accept his terms. But I knew Selecta had wired my apartment for my security, first and foremost, even if the surveillance also meant that a potential sponsor like Christian might be able to watch me too. I knew I would be safe.
Safe from him, yes.
Am I safe from myself, though?
“Okay,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 12
Leah
On the short walk back to my apartment, Christian seemed content to talk about the many things he thought I would enjoy seeing and doing in LA. At first it seemed surreal, as if his words papered over a yawning chasm of fear. Then, halfway through the walk, he put his arm around my waist as he told me about Griffith Observatory, and to my amazement I almost forgot to worry about what kind of scene would unfold once we got through my door.
That lasted all the way until we stood on the threshold, the lock having clicked open when the camera recognized my face. Christian had his hand on my hip, but he moved it to my butt as I started to step forward into the apartment.
I let out a little gasp. I had kissed guys, my last year of high school after I turned eighteen, had had one or two touch my breasts and even put their hands between my legs, over my panties but under my skirt. Christian’s firm, frank cupping of my bottom through the silky fabric of the romper, where my backside had no covering thanks to the lacy thong, felt like the most intimate touch I’d ever received from a man.