by Stella Stone
I’m none of those things.
I’m happy.
Excited.
Turned on.
WHITAKER
Leaving Stassia on edge, and soaking in a hot tub, I make my way downstairs. Hurrying into my bedroom, I quickly shower, again then change for the day. I have some business to take care of, plus a meeting with my agent. Though I’m not exactly sure why he wants to meet with me. I haven’t modeled in years.
I meet with my staff, letting them know of Stassia’s presence. I give them a rundown of her direct orders. She’s allowed to roam around the house, though I’d honestly prefer if she stayed in her room at this point. Then I inform them that she is not to leave the house, not even to roam the grounds.
Though, I feel as if our relationship is growing, I don’t know her or trust her enough to allow her those types of freedoms yet. My phone rings, just as I reach my car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I allow the blue tooth to connect then answer the call.
“I saw her,” Sterling’s voice announces through the speakers. Aldrich must have called him last night.
Chuckling, I shift the car into reverse as I back down the drive. “Thoughts?” I ask.
“You requested her, didn’t you?”
I don’t need to explain shit to him. Not ever. He knows enough though, he knows enough about my life, about my past to guess at why I wanted a woman like Stassia.
“You aren’t the only one with specific tastes, Sterling. I have my own, they just aren’t as kinky as yours. Dinner tonight, the club. Organize it with the others. I’ll make reservations and text you the time,” I state before I end the call.
CHAPTER NINE
STASSIA
I stay hidden in the bathtub, long after the water is cold just to avoid the maid who is cleaning the bedroom. I don’t want to come face-to-face with her, ever. I know what the sheets must look like, and my ripped up outfit from last night. I can’t face her. Not now, not ever. I’ll just hide the rest of my life.
When the bedroom door closes, I assume she’s left. Shivering, I step out of the tub and dry off. Gathering the breakfast dishes from the tray, I walk them over to the table and set them down. I’ll take them down to the kitchen, eventually.
Walking into the closet, I look around at the items hanging up. There isn’t much, but what is there is beautiful. I don’t know who they belonged to, or if they were always meant to be mine, or rather whoever Whitaker decided to purchase from my father.
I find a t-shirt that is a size small and pull it on over my head, sans bra. I don’t wear a bra often, I’m so flat chested that it’s pointless.
I search through the drawers in the dresser and look for a pair of panties, but it’s fruitless. There are none.
Tugging the shirt down, I look for a pair of pants, but there aren’t any of those either. I find a pair of short satin shorts and tug them on. They feel cool, sexy and smooth against my aching center, so I’m glad they’re here. I just find it odd there are no panties and no pants anywhere in this closet.
The door opens just as I step out of the closet and I find myself face-to-face with a woman. “You are just the tiniest thing. I don’t even know where I’ll find anything that will fit you,” she sighs.
I blink, unsure of what to say back to this woman. She’s standing in front of me, her eyes roaming over my body but she’s not seeing me, not really.
“He says a dress, but honestly I don’t know any designer that makes anything so small. He won’t allow you to be swimming in it either,” she groans and takes a step toward me. “Do you talk?” she asks.
I watch as she brings a tape measure out of her pocket. “I do, I’m not sure you needed me to,” I admit.
She lifts her gaze to mine and smirks. “Okay. I’m going to take your measurements then I can go to a couple boutiques that may have something. You need a dress for dinner tonight first off, then next week you’ll meet the parents before the premiere. Then we’ll need a dress for the red carpet. Shit. I’m glad Whitty pays me well,” she winks.
Reaching for her hand, I wrap my fingers around her wrist halting her movements. “I didn’t understand half of that. Premiere? Red Carpet? Parents?”
She nods, shaking her wrist from my grip. “Yeah. Mrs. Sullivan’s new movie premiere’s next week. You’ll be heading to Hollywood to attend.” She explains.
I don’t understand her, still. I feel stupid, because she obviously thinks I should know exactly what she’s talking about. I don’t. Then something hits me, rams into me light a freight train.
“Do you mean Margot Sullivan? The movie star?” I breathe.
The woman freezes, lifting her gaze to me as she measures my inseam. “Yes, Whitaker’s mother. Who did you think I meant?” she asks.
The breath leaves my body. Whitaker Sullivan. I never put two and two together. I should have. He told me his name last night. I should have realized. He’s famous. Not just a little famous, he’s tabloid, he’s on TMZ, famous.
“Okay I have everything down. You okay, honey you look a little sick,” she mutters as she stands straight.
Shaking my head, I mumble that I’m fine and she leaves me alone, but not before she gives me a curious glance. Once she’s gone, I sink down on the edge of the bed. A bed where Whitaker took my virginity, without telling me who he really was.
Granted, I knew that I didn’t know much about him, but something that big he should have told me. I should know those things, especially when the paparazzi were at his gates last night. Oh God, what if they got pictures of me in that lace nightie. I’ll die.
WHITAKER
My phone rings just as I’m pulling into the driveway. I have some things to think about, my mind is occupied with what my agent just told me. What he brought to the table as an offer, anyway. I’m not sure it’s something I want, yet I’m not sure I can really turn it down either.
I’m going to need to talk to my friends tonight, see what they think about the whole thing. “Hello,” I say when my phone continues to ring.
“I dropped by three dresses, but Whitaker, she’s so small I don’t know that any of them will fit. Also, I’m going to have to have that premiere gown, custom made, for her body. What color do you want?”
Suzette is my assistant, she’s fabulous, straight to the point and a lesbian so there’s no worries about her ever wanting more from me, the main reason my three assistants before her were let go.
“I prefer dark blue, but emerald will probably look better with her hair and eyes,” I state.
She grunts. “She’s gorgeous, I’ll talk to the designer about blue. The next issue is something larger though. I’m just not sure we’ll be able to overcome it, and I’m afraid there could be backlash.”
I’m sure, I already know what she’s going to say, but I want to hear it from her. “She looks like a child, Whitaker. You know I don’t judge, especially not when the person is writing my paycheck, but Whitty,” I can practically see her brow arching to prove that she is indeed judging me.
“Stassia was a professional ballerina until she moved in with me. She’s also nineteen,” I explain.
Suzette snorts. “So she is a child. Well that’s good to know that I wasn’t wrong on that front. She looks twelve, Whitty. How am I going to make her look older? If I cake on makeup she’ll just look worse,” she sighs.
Shifting my car into park, in front of my home, I look up and my eye catches the turret of Stassia’s room. She’s standing at the window, I can see her shadow even from this distance. She doesn’t look like a child to me, to me she looks fucking perfect.
“I don’t want her to look older. She’s perfect the way she is, Suzie. I chose her because I like her, for her,” I semi-lie. “I’m attracted to the woman she is, inside and out. Dress her age appropriately.”
I end the call, then power down my phone before climbing out of the car and shoving it into my pocket. Ignoring everyone around me, I climb the stairs toward Stassia’s space.
; I honestly don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep her up here alone. I already want to integrate her into every part of my life. I just need to know that I can trust her one-hundred percent before I bring on full-intimacy with her.
Walking into her room, I don’t bother knocking. Maybe I should have, but I have seen and tasted every square inch of her, there’s nothing to hide. Her back is to me, she’s completely naked and all I can think about is bending her over the bed and fucking the absolute shit out of her.
CHAPTER TEN
STASSIA
The door opens, but I don’t bother covering up. I know who it is. I can tell just by the way the air around me crackles and changes. It’s him. Whitaker. I have three dresses laid out in front of me and I’m trying to choose between them. With him in the room my focus is completely gone now.
“Bend over a bit, let me see you,” he quietly commands. Without question, I do as he asks. Placing my hands on the edge of the bed, I bend over. “Are you sore?” he asks, his voice rough.
I don’t want to tell him yes, I’m excruciatingly sore. I’m also craving more of his touch. Sucking in a deep breath, I turn my head to look over my shoulder. “I am. I want you though,” I admit.
His beautiful face turns up into a smile, it lights up and takes my breath away. God, how did I not see who he was before? His gorgeous face has been on billboards, television commercials, and in magazines.
“Suzette thinks you look too young for me,” he announces as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt to expose his muscled torso. “Did she say anything to you today?” he asks.
“She told me who you were. That we were going to your mother’s premiere,” I admit, licking my lips at the sight of his body, then watching his hands work his pants open.
He stops, his eyes meeting mine and he waits a beat. “Did she? What do you think about that?” he asks tilting his head to the side.
I try not to beg for his touch, or throw a tantrum that he’s stopped undressing. Instead, I suck in a breath and I answer him. “I was surprised. I wished you would have told me yourself,” I admit.
“And?”
I shrug. “No, and… except…” He waits and I inhale deeply. “I wish I didn’t have to go with you anywhere,” I admit.
Whitaker tilts his head to the side, his brows furrowed in confusion at my words. Bringing my shoulders up, I roll them back. “Being in the spotlight on the stage with choreography is one thing. Having paparazzi, being in the constant glow of the neon lights. That’s not for me. I would rather stay up here in my tower.”
His eyes widen, his mouth opens then closes a couple of times before it snaps shut. I watch as he shoves his pants down, leaving them with his shoes in the center of the floor then marches over to me. I’m convinced he’s angry, and I pinch my eyes closed, afraid of what is to come when his mouth is suddenly on my center.
His hands wrap around the cheeks of my ass and spread me wide. “Oh God,” I moan, shifting backward and pressing against his face a bit more. He eats me. It isn’t rough, but it isn’t soft either.
It’s perfect.
His tongue flicks my clit, his nose nuzzles me and I’m seconds from imploding when he pulls away. His hands span my hips and he forces me to turn around. I look down at him, on his knees, his mouth wet from my pussy and I almost melt.
Whitaker applies pressure forcing me down to straddle his thighs. “Take me if you can, I want to feel you,” he rasps.
I’d take him inside even if I couldn’t, I’d make it happen. He aligns his cock with my center and slowly I sink down on his waiting dick. I hiss as I stretch around him. It burns, but I welcome it, all of it, because it’s him and it’s us.
He wraps his hands around my waist and helps guide me until I’m completely seated, my hands holding onto his shoulders.
“You can stay in your tower for as long, and as often as you’d like, little girl. Sometimes you’ll need to come out with me. I’ll always protect you out in the real world, always. Fuck, you are perfect aren’t you?”
WHITAKER
Stassia shimmies the little burgundy dress down her body. The sleeves are long and the back almost non-existent. It’s short, tight, and fucking sexy. Suzette deserves a raise.
Standing in the doorway, showered and my clothes fresh for dinner, I watch her. She slips into a pair of nude high heels and runs her fingers through her loosely curled hair.
I expect her face to be heavily made up with makeup, but when she turns around I’m pleasantly surprised. Her face is bare and she gives me a small smile.
“Whitaker,” she exhales.
I grin keeping my eyes on her, enjoying the way her neck line shows off a large expanse of her chest. “Come to me,” I order.
She does, her feet moving quickly along the hard wood flooring. Reaching out for her, feeling the need to hold her against me, I dip my chin and brush my mouth along hers. “I’m nervous,” she exhales.
“They will love you,” I mutter.
She shakes her head, her strawberry blonde hair moving around her shoulders. “Not of your friends. I’m nervous about everyone else. About being at your side and their eyes on me.”
Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek. Looking down into her light green eyes, I wonder how it happened. How I ended up with her. She was sold to me when I’d completely lost all hope of finding anyone. Then she was there, looking vulnerable and sweet—looking perfect.
“Trust me, Stassi,” I practically plead. I shouldn’t be asking her, demanding, or even suggesting that she trusts me, especially since I don’t trust her, yet.
Her eyes search mine, both of us staying silent. Then she nods once, her tongue peeking out to taste her lips. “I trust you, Whitaker,” she states.
She shouldn’t. Not yet. I should have to earn it, but I’m not giving her that option. Not now, not ever. She’s mine. I’m keeping her and I’m taking every single thing she gives me, without question.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STASSIA
The club is fancy. Fancier than any place I’ve been in my life, other than Whitaker’s home. He pulls up to the front and a man appears, opening my door. Slipping my palm in his, I shift out of the car as ladylike as possible.
Before I can even straighten, Whitaker is there at my side. I watch as he hands the man his keys as he slides his hand along the bare skin at my back.
“Ready,” he rasps against my ear.
My entire body breaks out into goosebumps. I wonder if I am, indeed, ready? I don’t feel like I am. In fact, I want to run back to my turret. Instead of saying that, I only nod.
Together, we walk up to the main doors. Whitaker opens the door for me, and then follows closely behind, as we walk inside. I suck in a breath, keeping my eyes focused on the carpeting in front of me.
“Mr. Sullivan,” a soft voice purrs.
Looking up I see the girl behind the podium give Whitaker a wink. “Will you have Barney call me to add an authorized person on my account?” he asks.
My head snaps over to him and the girl’s eyes widen. “Um, yes, sir. Who do you need added?” she asks.
Whitaker’s hand wraps all the way around my waist and he gently pulls me closer to his side. My breath hitches when his lips touch the top of my head. “My girlfriend, Stassia.”
“Last name?” the woman asks.
Her eyes narrow slightly for just a moment, before she wipes the look off of her face, and replaces it with her fake smile. Whitaker’s hand flexes against my side.
Clearing my throat, I meet her gaze with my own. “Mason,” I state.
“Stacey Mason?” she asks, knowing damn well that Whitaker said my name correctly.
“S.t.a.s.s.i.a., I spell.”
She nods her head, writing it down. “Is our party here?” Whitaker asks. Her head pops up, her eyes finding his, her smile returns bright and fake as hell.
“They are, please follow me,” she offers.
I watch her hips sway as she guides us toward our table. She
’s built, round and curvy like a woman should be. She looks absolutely nothing like me, her body is the exact opposite and I can’t help but feel self-conscious. Whitaker can have anyone, any single person on earth, why does he want me?
He stops walking, murmuring a thanks to the girl, then his hand slides down to my ass and he gently squeezes. I gasp, surprised he’d touch me that way in a room full of people. Turning my head, I look up at him.
He’s smiling down at me, then winks. “Sit, little girl,” he murmurs.
I can feel my face heat as I dip my chin and slowly sit in the offered chair. When I’m finally seated, only then do I lift my face. There are six people staring back at me. All three of the men are smirking and all three of the women are smiling.
“This is Stassia. Stassi, meet everyone,” Whitaker chuckles.
A petite blonde, tilts her head to the side. “I know you,” she says.
Shaking my head, I bring my hand to my throat. “I don’t think so,” I whisper.
She smiles, reaching for my hand and gives me a squeeze. “I’m Tilly. I really do recognize you from somewhere,” she says, her eyes searching mine.
“Stassia was a ballerina, we’ve gone to her performances before,” he announces.
I turn my head, looking up to him. He winks, sliding his hand onto the top of my thigh and grips me gently. Tilly lifts her hand, snapping.
“That’s it. I knew you looked familiar. Oh no, did you quit?” she asks, her eyes glancing to Whitaker, then coming back to mine.
Whitaker clears his throat. “Not now, Tilly,” he grunts.
She lowers her gaze, and presses her lips together for a moment, before she plasters on a smile and changes the subject. I don’t pay attention to their conversation, wondering if I did indeed truly quit ballet.