by Stella Stone
I pace, then stop to look out the window, forcing my feet to stay still. Lifting my hand to my mouth, I start to bite on one of my nails, then quickly pull it out, and ball it in a fist at my side.
I’m so nervous.
I’ve never done this before. I’ve never dated, so I’ve never had to meet any parents. I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Don’t look so nervous,” a deep voice murmurs from behind me.
Spinning around, I catch his gaze with mine. He looks beautiful, his dark hair is messy, his scruff more than just a few days old, but it works for him. There’s something that crosses his eyes that I can’t quite read.
“I am,” I nod.
He smirks, but doesn’t make a move toward me. “They’ll be here soon. I want to fuck you relaxed, but we really don’t have the time, little girl,” he winks.
Shaking my head once, I take a step toward him. Then another, and another, until I’m directly in front of his warm, tall body.
“They will love you,” he assures.
I don’t quite believe him, but I don’t say that. He is convinced that his parents will love me, it’s sweet. Whitaker’s hand wraps around my waist and he tugs me against him.
Placing my palms on his chest, I slide my hands up, wrapping them around his shoulders. I want to wrap my hands around his neck but I’m too short. He bends slightly, as though he knows what I want.
Whitaker’s lips brush mine, his breath is minty and hot, delicious. “Don’t hate me, Stassi,” he rasps.
I open my mouth to ask him why I would, when his tongue fills me. I moan as soon as it sweeps through my mouth. I want that tongue to travel much lower, I crave his kiss against my pussy, it’s the best feeling in the whole world.
Nibbling my lips, Whitaker breaks our kiss. “They’ll be here any minute, little girl,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I exhale.
Straightening, he slips his hand in mine, and together we walk down my staircase. I like to think of it as mine. My turret room, my staircase, my Whitaker. Mine.
Whitaker’s phone rings as soon as we step off of the last step. “Stay here, I’ll be right back I have to take this,” he grumbles.
For the first time, I’m alone in the house. I’m not locked in my room, and I’m terrified. I shouldn’t be. Whitaker has made it clear I can roam around the house as I wish, but I haven’t been brave enough to do so.
I hear the doorbell, and my entire body jerks. They’re here. “Oh shit,” breathe.
The maid appears, seemingly out of nowhere. “Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan are here, miss,” she says, her eyes focused on mine.
She’s a bit intimidating, a little frightening and the fact that she’s changed my bloody sheets has me cringing. I open my mouth to tell her that I don’t know what to do, before I snap my lips closed and suck in a deep breath.
I can do this. I need to be the woman of this house, the woman that Whitaker needs me to be. I can do it. For him. I will do it.
Inhaling, I take a shaky step forward. I hold that breath as I walk toward the front door. I freeze when I see them. The Sullivan’s are standing in the foyer in all of their luxurious glory.
Shit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHITAKER
I feel like shit leaving Stassia, but this call is important. “Talk to me,” I demand.
“What did you do?” The voice screeches on the other end of the line.
Clearing my throat, I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair. “Can you fix it?” I ask.
Roman growls. My publicist. I don’t typically need his services, so his monthly retainer is easy money. He’s about to earn his pay though. I should feel guilty, but I don’t, not really.
“I can. I think,” he grunts. “It’s being leaked tonight. It will be everywhere tomorrow. Luckily, I work nights, for a price.”
I chuckle. “Fix it, Roman,” I order.
“You keeping her?” he asks.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I think about Stassia. I think about her sweet little body, the noises she makes when she comes, her green eyes, and her strawberry blonde hair. Then, I think about her smile and the way just looking at her makes me feel.
“Yeah,” I grumble before I clear my throat. “Yeah, I am.”
“Good news, nobody knows her name. Do I even want to know how you obtained her? Is it legal?” he asks.
Sighing, I pinch my eyes closed. “It’s not. I’ll talk to her parents later tonight. Release her name, until last week she was a principal dancer for the ballet. We met when I saw her on stage. I was enamored by her,” I offer.
“Good, this is all good. How old is she? I saw the picture…”
A growl erupts. It’s loud, and I’m sure my parents have heard it, all the way in the foyer, but I don’t care. “Don’t. Do not even go there. Stassia is nineteen years old. Nineteen. She is a ballerina.”
“Fuck, okay. I had to ask, Christ man. I’ll get the publicity packet ready and email it to you for approval. Keep your phone next to you.”
Roman ends the call abruptly. I’m not offended he’s hung up so quickly. I know him, he’s completely focused on the job now. Which is a good thing. Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I head toward the foyer. Toward my parents and Stassi.
My father’s gaze meets mine first. He’s standing next to my mother, still right in front of the closed front door. He frowns, but it isn’t like him to say anything, not yet at least.
Margot Sullivan on the other hand is a goddamn wildcard. “Father, mother,” I murmur. “I see you’ve met Stassia.”
My mother lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine. I don’t look at her lips to see if she’s smiling, she can fake that better than anyone I’ve ever met. Her eyes, however, those always hold the truth, at least somewhere deep inside.
Tonight my mother’s eyes, they’re smiling. I let out a sigh of relief.
Thank fuck.
STASSIA
Kenneth and Margot sit across from me, and they seem happy as they ask non-evasive questions. It doesn’t feel like an interview, but I know that it is. They’re sizing me up, trying to decide if I’m good enough for their son. While simultaneously trying to find out if I’m some kind of gold digger.
I don’t blame them. Not in the slightest. I have a feeling that it’s hard to find genuine people when you’re as famous as Margot and Whitaker Sullivan.
“So tell us, Stassia. What is it you do?” Margot asks placing some steamed vegetables on her plate.
Clearing my throat, I jump when Whitaker’s hand wraps around the top of my thigh. “Until recently I was a principal dancer for the ballet,” I blush.
Margot’s eyes widen, and then her face breaks out into a huge smile. “Really? Oh that is lovely. Tell me is that where you met, Whit darling?”
My mouth goes dry. I should have thought of this question. I knew it was coming. I open my mouth to speak, even though I have no idea what I’m going to say. Whitaker breaks his silence, and speaks before me.
“I went to the ballet with Sterling and Tilly. She was on stage. She mesmerized me. I reached out, and the rest is history,” he shrugs.
“But you’re not dancing anymore?” Kenneth asks arching a brow.
Gulping, I open my mouth again to speak when Whitaker beats me to it, again. “I’ve asked her to retire. With the new film I would like Stassi to travel with me. It’s hard to build a relationship with the grueling hours and demand of the company, plus a movie.”
I inhale deeply, my hand finding his on my thigh and I squeeze his fingers. When neither Kenneth or Margot say anything, I lift my gaze to them. They’re both smiling, but they seem almost, speechless.
The rest of dinner is filled with conversation of both Whitaker and Margot’s movies. I don’t have much to add, so I stay quiet and lost inside of my own head. This is not the world for me, I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Movies, premiere’s, actresses, actors. My father sold me as a sexual slave for goodness
sakes. He raised me for one purpose and one purpose only, to generate a large amount of income—and he did. I have no doubt that he sold me to Whitaker for millions of dollars.
Once our dinner is consumed, Kenneth and Whitaker make their way out of the room and into Whitaker’s office. Whitaker claims he has some paperwork to go over with his dad, unfortunately that means that I’m left alone with Margot.
“You love him, I can see it,” she says softly.
Lifting my gaze to hers, I let out a sigh and I nod. “I do,” I say, giving her the truth.
I haven’t told him yet, and I may never, but I do. I love him. I wasn’t supposed to, not ever. He is supposed to be this horrible person who bought me, and yet, he’s not horrible at all—he’s wonderful.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHITAKER
“Talk,” my father grunts, as soon as we walk through the doors that lead out of my office to a balcony.
I chuckle, knowing my father has been dying to get me alone. “You don’t want to know, not really,” I shrug.
Looking out at the expansive moonlit grounds, I wonder what he would think of me if he knew the truth. “I’m your father. I want to know, because that story that you two came up with, everyone else may buy it but I sure as fuck don’t.”
Chuckling, I shake my head as I let out a heavy exhale. My father comes from money, but he wasn’t raised with the elite.
Before he met my mother, he lived out in the middle of nowhere, Texas. He had no desire to move, in fact, he kept the land and the house that had been in his family for generations as a place to retire one day.
My mother, however wouldn’t last five minutes in Texas. My father took me there every summer and fall, for hunting and just guy time. Margot Sullivan would see her first scorpion and have a heart attack.
“It’s illegal and sorted. I could go to jail if anyone found out,” I admit.
He clears his throat, his hand landing on my shoulder and giving me a squeeze. “Is she here against her will?” he asks.
I don’t answer right away, I keep my gaze on the moonlit grass and just breathe. “No. The way I obtained her is illegal and we lied about that, but everything else is true. She was a ballerina up until a few weeks ago. She’s nineteen, her name is Stassia, and I’m falling for her.”
“But?”
Letting out a long exhale that’s mixed with a groan, I close my eyes. “Paparazzi got some pictures of us the night she came home with me. They come out tomorrow. It doesn’t look too bad, but if they dig…”
“You’ve got a plan in place?” he asks.
I explain my plan to my father, the publicist and his part in it, then the fact that I’m going to visit with her father later this evening.
“Be careful going back there,” he warns.
Clearing my throat, I nod in agreement. The last thing I need is to be caught again by a photographer. “I plan on it, dad. Thanks.”
He hums. We stay in silence for a few moments and then he speaks. “I’m sorry you have never had a normal life. Your mother’s career didn’t leave much room for normalcy. Then you started modeling, and I thought the limelight was what you wanted.”
Shaking my head, I try to bite back the burn in my eyes—the sting. “I thought it would be easier. I thought I wanted it. I haven’t had a meaningful relationship with a woman my entire life. They only see me as Whitaker Sullivan, or Margot’s son. I’m only the means to climb a fucking ladder.”
My father’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “No need to explain that part, son. I completely understand. I went through it too, before I met your mother. I won’t ask any more questions about how you met. She makes you happy, and that’s all I need.”
Smirking, I turn my head to look at my dad. “Thanks. She does, and I think it’s going to be good with her, I can tell.”
My parents leave shortly after. My mother walks away beaming with excitement, my father solemn, but seemingly at peace. He even gives me a wink before he waves goodbye.
STASSIA
Whitaker pulls me close to his side as he lifts his hand and waves to his parents. I let out a heavy breath. I’m afraid to look at him, a little scared to see what he could be thinking. I jump slightly when I feel his lips on the top of my head.
“Let’s go to bed, little girl,” he mutters.
I finally become brave enough to turn to him. Craning my head back, I look into his eyes. “Was I okay tonight? With your parents?”
His dark eyes soften, they turn into liquid chocolate right in front of me. Whitaker lifts his hand, wrapping his fingers around the side of my neck, before he shifts them to the back.
“They loved you, they fucking adored you, Stassi,” he offers, keeping his voice soft. “Now, up to your room. Let me see all of you,” he rasps.
I nod, biting the corner of my lip as I take a step back. His hand falls away from my neck, but I can feel his gaze on my ass as I walk into the house.
Hurrying upstairs, I strip out of my dress the moment I cross the threshold of the turret. I tug the tie out of my hair and run my fingers through it as I climb into the center of the bed.
Turning around on my knees, I spread my legs wide and lift my gaze toward the door. It feels like a lifetime until Whitaker walks into the room. I’m panting by the time he closes, and locks the door behind him.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
My eyes find his. He lifts his hand to the back of his neck and rubs. “You are perfection, little girl,” he murmurs.
“Whitaker,” I breathe.
He shakes his head as he slowly strips out of his clothes. “I have to go out this evening, but fuck me, I don’t know how I’m going to leave you, especially looking just like you do.”
I want to ask him where he’s going, but all I can do is imagine his hands on me, and the way they can make me feel. He wraps his hand around his cock, stroking it as he slowly closes the distance between us.
The closer he gets, the heavier my breathing becomes. I whimper. I need him. All of him and I need him now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHITAKER
Stassia is sated, but she isn’t asleep when I dress to leave. The question is on the tip of her tongue, it swims in her eyes as well. She wants to know where I’m going. I should tell her. Fuck. I should tell her everything.
“I’ll be back in about an hour,” I say.
She smiles, lifting her hand, and runs her fingers over my lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
Stassia assumes that I’ll be going to my own bed when I return, and I should. Giving her a small smile, I nip the pads of her fingers. “Yeah, you will, little girl,” I mutter. Her smile softens and she nods.
Wrapping my fingers in her blankets, I tug them up and over her naked back. “We’ll do breakfast,” I offer. She hums, her eyes closing as she lets out the sweetest goddamn sigh.
Leaving her isn’t easy, but I have to. Walking out of her room, I close the door behind me. I almost go back to my room, and change, but honest to fuck, I want to smell her on me the rest of the night.
Slipping into my car, I drive toward the club. I didn’t think that I would ever come back here, and yet, here I am. Keeping one eye on my rearview mirror, and one on the road, I quickly drive through the back roads to get to the club.
Once I’m parked in the back alleyway, I glance at the door and let out a sigh. Fuck, I don’t want to do this. Shoving the car door open, I jog toward the entrance. I knock three times, only to have a man shove it open.
“I need to speak to Mr. Sam,” I state.
The man pulls out his phone his eyes narrowed on me. “Name?” he barks.
“Whitaker Sullivan.”
Less than a minute later, he ends the call and steps to the side. Without a hesitation, I walk past him and toward Sam’s office. The man is there, sitting behind his desk when I walk into the room.
“I told you, no returns,” he barks.
I’m surprised he doesn’t ask about her welfare, then a
gain maybe I shouldn’t be. He is the one who sold his own child.
“Not here to return anything. Stassia is very satisfactory,” I offer.
Sam frowns, then lifts his gaze to mine. “Why are you here then? I’m a bastard, but I won’t sell you another girl, not when you have my daughter.”
I chuckle, the thought had never crossed my mind. Stassia is enough for me, though I could completely understand the appeal. “Paparazzi were around the night I purchased her. The photographs go live in the morning. My publicist is already putting together a little press release. I needed you to be aware. They’re like dogs with bones.”
“What’s your story?”
Shrugging, I sit down in the chair across from him. “I saw her on stage. Became enamored, contacted her. Though coming up for a reason she was wearing nothing other than a lace romper was a little more challenging,” I chuckle.
Sam arches a brow, silently waiting for me to continue. “Just a night out dancing at a very exclusive, private, club. Maybe you should switch locations for a few weeks?” I suggest.
Clearing his throat, Sam’s gaze lifts to mine. “Why, do you think I have alternate locations?” he asks.
Standing, I place my palms on Sam’s desk and lean forward. “You’re lucrative, smart, and in a business where you always need a backup plan,” I say arching a brow.
Sam’s lips lift in a smirk. “I did choose correctly. This place will be abandoned within the hour.”
Without another word, I stand and leave Sam’s office. He has his shit under control, which I knew he would. I practically sprint toward my car. I have a sated, warm, naked body to slip into bed next to.
STASSIA
I feel something warm and heavy drape over my back. Jumping beneath the weight, I attempt to roll over. The arm pressing against my back, curls around my stomach and pulls me against a hard chest. I feel a leg slip between my legs and moan when a thigh presses against my aching center.