by Paige North
“But I never really dated—”
“Surely there’s been someone at some point.” His voice is low and resonant. “A first kiss. A second.”
He slips his fingertips from my hair down to my neck, caressing my skin there as I fight for oxygen and my pulse kicks in again.
“There was…one,” I say. “In high school.”
“I thought so.”
Travis eases his fingers lower, then strokes the skin above the rise of my breasts. My mind is racing around as if on a track, the thump of my blood pacing it, heat pulsating in my clit.
“I was working a summer job,” I say, trying not to think about how Travis is lazily petting me while I talk. “It was at the local market. He was a stock boy, the owner’s nephew who was in town during school break. I was a cashier. All the other boys knew that Gary would probably whoop them if they got too close to me, but this guy…”
“He was braver than most.”
“He knew whatever happened would be temporary, and if he made his move at the end of summer, he wouldn’t have to face Gary. We…”
As Travis negligently skims his fingertips over my breasts, my words swirl away. It’s as if he’s exploring me, getting a closer look at—and feel of—his newest acquisition. He skims my peaked nipples, then slowly slips his fingers under the weight of my breasts, lightly tracing the heavy curves. The feather-light sensation of his touch makes me swallow, and I can hear the sound over my raging heartbeat.
“Go on,” he says.
As if it’s that easy. I struggle to form words before forcing them out. “We were taking a break in back of the market when the boy kissed me.”
“Your first time?”
“Yes.”
“And how did it feel?”
He runs his thumbs around my nipples, and even through the fabric of my dress and bra, I can tell that he knows I’m aroused. I can’t look at him straight in the eyes. I’m afraid he’s going to see how nervous I still am, so I close my eyes.
“It didn’t feel as good as this,” I whisper.
“Good to hear. But was it awkward with him? Embarrassing?”
It’s as if he wants to feel something other than the coldness I usually sense in him, as if he might be exploring my emotions, too.
“It was just okay. Not horrible. Maybe a little disappointing.”
Slowly, Travis pulls down the top of my dress, and my eyelids fly open. My breath suspends as the sound of the fabric hushing down my skin dominates the room.
When he has the material bunched around my waist, he casually says, “And what happened next, Nova?”
He drags his fingers up the skin covering my exposed rib cage then down the insides of my arms, checking out every inch of flesh. I lick my lips because my mouth has gone dry.
“We kept meeting for the next few days,” I say. “Out in the back of the market.”
“How far did you go with him?”
“Not very.”
The words clog in my throat as Travis hooks his thumbs into my bra straps and begins to ease them down.
“Did you let him touch you at all?” he asks.
“Not much. He tried to put his hands under my shirt but I said no.”
As he keeps lowering my straps, my breasts pop out of the only lacy bra I own—the white one that I bought on the sly and hid under my mattress along with the matching panties. Expertly, Travis reaches around me and unhooks the back clasp. The bra falls to the floor with a soft thud.
Now I’m really exposed, vulnerable in a way I’ve never been with a man before. My chest rises and falls with barely-there breaths that can’t keep up with the demanding throb of my clit. I’m soaked down there, needy, so needy.
Travis slowly looks over me, and there’s a fierce longing in his eyes that melts any trace of his usual coolness. Pressure builds in my belly at that look, threatening to rise and grow.
Tenderly, he cups my naked breasts.
This time, when he circles his thumbs over my nipples, a shock zings through me at the bare contact.
The motion of his circling thumbs on the naked tips of my breasts is too much to handle, the heat and pressure expanding inside me until there’s a sharp yearning in my clit that pounds and pounds. I grasp his wrists.
A small, animal sound rumbles from his throat, and he sweeps his hands down and over my waist, resting his palms there. He slips his thumbs between my skin and the bunched dress, then rubs my hipbones.
At the electricity that bolts through my clit, I grip his wrists harder.
“Only I’ve seen you like this, seen how fucking sexy you can be when you let your guard down.” Travis’s grip on me grows possessive, and he hooks his thumbs into the sides of my panties, pulling up on them until they press against my sex. I let out a tiny whimper at how my hairless mound responds to the pressure.
Travis pulls up on my panties again, and I rise on my toes, reaching over and pressing one of my hands to his chest. There’re so many layers of fabric between him and me, but I still think I can feel his fierce heartbeat underneath it all.
“Look at me, Beautiful,” he says.
I can’t.
“Nova…”
It takes all the courage I have to drag my gaze to his, and what I see there robs me of oxygen. He really does want me. Even after I told him how naïve and inexperienced I really am, he desires me, and when he reaches under my dress, I moan.
“Open your legs,” he says quietly. “That’s all you have to do for me right now.”
So I open for him, and his fingers rub against my panties, over my sensitive, newly smooth mound. I pull at his jacket again, fighting a cry that’s battering at me to get out. But there’s also something else that’s winding up in my belly, tightening, pulsing, throbbing, something deeper and stronger pushing and pushing to get out of me…
“So wet for me,” he says.
He gives my bare mound one more stroke, then pulls back. The rising pressure in me dips in disappointment, and I wince for him to keep doing what he was doing.
“Now take them off,” his says, his voice full of grit.
I know what he means for me to do, so I slide my panties down my legs, then look into his eyes again. His gaze is even hotter with need, a man who always gets what he wants.
He rests his hands on my hips then inches up my dress. When he looks down there, at my bareness, my clit pounds so hard that I wish he would just touch me, massage me, make the delicious pain go away.
“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says. “My pussy.”
When he finally touches my naked mound, the sensation is so raw that my knees give out. I fall against him, and he whisks me to the bed, sitting there with me on his lap.
“Spread your legs again,” he says with more roughness in his voice. I bury my face into his neck. “Let me feel more of your beautiful cunt, Nova.”
I gasp at his dirty request, but I give him what he wants. I part my legs, letting him seduce me as much as he wants, whatever way he wants. When he reaches down and slides a finger through my wet folds, I push my face against him, opening my mouth against his neck, tasting the salt and heat of him.
“You like that,” he whispers harshly.
“Yes.”
As if to push me further, he presses his thumb to my clit. I tense up, sharply inhaling against him.
I make an indecipherable sound against him as he runs his thumb around that tiny little button on me that makes me lift higher off his lap. Each time he presses it I rise up and up, the chaos in me scrambling around my belly faster and faster. He works my clit harder, and my hips move with his every motion. I’m pulsating, losing it, firing up higher, higher, so high, and oh god…
I explode, crying out against him, pulling at his jacket and arching.
While my head goes fuzzy, I barely register that he’s removing his hand from under my dress, settling me back on his lap, then pulling the fabric down and covering me as I cling to him, trembling.
I think I just
had my first orgasm, and from the raging flush that’s covering my body like a rushing wave, I really like it.
I want it again.
As I draw away from Travis to risk a look at him, I see something that makes my blood stop pounding.
His gaze is cool as he looks down at me.
I don’t know what to say—I don’t know if I can even speak—as he eases me to the bed so I’m sitting on it. He stands and runs his hand through his hair, just as dispassionate as he was when I first met him.
I try to figure out the change in his mood, the sudden dark clouds in his eyes. What just happened?
“Get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then he leaves me without another word, as cool as an arctic breeze.
Chapter 6
Needless to say, it’s impossible for me to get to sleep.
In my dim, strange new bedroom, there’s a light show on the wall from the city’s nighttime traffic: headlights, taillights, streetlights. I’ve kept the curtains open because I thought the illumination would keep me company and make me comfortable enough so I could eventually close my eyes and drift off.
But then there’s the show that’s going on inside of my head, where I see Travis during every charged breath I take.
Travis, with those emerald green eyes that can either fire up or chill down, eyes that can burn up with wanting me or be dark and mysterious and suddenly cold, disinterested. Travis, whose body I keep imagining as I fantasize about pulling off his suit jacket, his tie, his shirt. I know he’s all muscle, his arms like rock, his abs ridged, everything about his body like the cool marble of a Greek statue. As I think of him while lying here in bed, I rest one of my arms above my head and stare at the ceiling, running my other hand up my opposite side until I cup my breast, feeling it through the thin material of the peignoir he gave me.
I sigh, thinking of how he touched me in this private place. Then I slide my hand down between my legs, feeling the smoothness of my pussy. That’s what he called it, pussy and another word I blush to use, and, dear god, when he stroked me there it was so hot that a fever rises in me even now.
Bending one of my legs, I open myself, just as I did for him when he told me to. I slip my fingers between my folds, just as he did, stroking and rubbing. I turn my head to the side, burying my face in the crook of my arm as I writhe with every caress, picturing Travis, wanting him…
Then I exhale. It’s just not the same. I can build myself up by fantasizing about how sexy he is, yet I can’t put myself over the edge without him here, because the old anxiety has set in again. What’s going to happen next with him? When? Will he turn cold once again, like he did tonight?
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to chase the pulsing need away. I press my fingers to my pussy and hope that it’s enough to smooth away the craving for him. Meanwhile, fears run through my mind, making me wonder if I disappointed Travis in some way tonight. Why did he suddenly turn so cool again after I climaxed? Did I do something wrong?
Worst of all, what if he tells me he wants to end the contract for sure?
This feels like a probationary period, ever since I had to convince him—beg him practically—to keep me on after he said he wanted to end the contract.
I listen to the soft, metallic hum of traffic below, the echo of the occasional car horn from the street, and gradually it all fades into a fall of darkness.
As it fades, my mind circles back to my mother and brother. Hoping they’re okay, hoping, praying that I can make this up to them. Yes, I left, but someday I’ll come back and help you both escape with me…
I only awaken the next morning to the gush of sunlight through the window.
As I take in my unfamiliar surroundings, my heart clogs my throat while my pulse rips through me. For a moment, I’m panicked and confused. Then I remember: I’m in a gorgeous luxury apartment in New York.
Me!
Suddenly full of excitement, I bolt up in bed, glancing at the antique clock that tells me I’ve slept in and it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Wow, talk about a lazybones. I’ve never slept this late in my life, and it feels decadent. I almost brace myself for Gary’s threats—Get me some lunch you dumb little bitch! Get to work or I’ll get the belt out and lay it on your ass!—and I realize that I’m far away from him.
And I have Travis to thank for that.
When I catch sight of myself in the mirror, my dark hair tangled, my cheeks pink, I smile. See what a good night’s sleep—well, a little bit of sleep—can do? I feel much better now.
I adjust the top of the peignoir, and even though it’s gauzy, you can only see a hint of the tips of my breasts through the fabric. If Travis walked in right now, would he think I’m being too forward for greeting him on the bed wearing this? I mean, he gave it to me so…
Wait. When did he say he’ll be returning?
My heart takes a dive as I realize that he didn’t specify a time, so I roll out of bed and head for the attached bathroom. It gleams with gold trim and marble everything, and the shower has multiple heads that I can’t wait to try. But the bathtub...
Oh, the bathtub.
It’s a marble submerged hot tub with a waterfall that spills from the wall, and I quickly turn it on full blast. I pour in bubble bath, and as I lounge in this frothy fantasyland, I enjoy a view of the city outside the window. I take my sweet time, probably an hour, washing my hair, soaping myself up and down. The sound of the waterfall sings to me, and I relax completely.
Travis sure has good taste, even if I’m still not certain why his tastes run to me, besides the whole virgin thing.
At any rate, after I dry off, I slather on sinfully thick orange blossom lotion, then wrap myself in the fluffy robe that’s been set out for me. I head back to my bedroom, and once there, I notice something amiss.
My bed has been made.
I glance around, but there’s no one here.
“Hello?” I ask.
I think I hear a door close in the entry vestibule, and I pull the robe around me tighter. Then I see that there’s a light on in the immense walk-in closet that Travis showed me yesterday. I make my way toward it.
I enter, then stop in my tracks. Where there were empty shelves and hangers before, now there are gowns, skirts, blouses, and shoes.
I’m like Dorothy in Oz. I’ve never seen so many pretty things in one place before, and I wander around, checking sizes, which are all accurate, and noticing the designer labels.
Someone’s been in here, all right: a maid, and perhaps others. Either way, whoever it was did a lot in a short time.
I hustle around the rest of the apartment, but no one’s there either. However, there are a bunch of new treats that have been left for me: the fridge and cabinets are stocked with food, including the creamy blueberry ice cream and shelled pistachios that I listed as guilty pleasures on the Highest Bidder website. All the curtains are open to show me the bright view of the city, and when I turn on the plasma TV, I find that every channel I could possibly want to watch is on there.
Last night I thought I’d stepped into heaven. Now I’m sure of it.
After looking around to see that I’m definitely alone, I run to an overstuffed leather sofa and crash onto it, laughing, wondering when I’m going to wake up from this fantastic dream. Then I attack that blueberry ice cream and pistachios, as well as drink a ready-made strawberry shortcake, bingeing on every show that I’ve ever wanted to watch on TV. Any moment I expect to be caught, to be told to get my ass in gear, but that’s not going to happen here.
I sink into the cushions with a grateful smile and indulge myself, feeling no guilt whatsoever.
A couple of hours pass. The sunlight angles through the window, and I finally get dressed into something from my closet that I think Travis will like when he arrives—an elegant yet flirty little sheath. It’s beige with a beaded pattern, the hem scalloped enough to offer a peek of the lacy slip that ends at my upper thigh. It has thin straps, and I choose
a creamy strapless bra to go under it. I only wear the briefest of underwear—a bare piece of satin with wing-like flutters of material on the sides, soft and feminine.
I check my phone for any messages from Travis. Nothing.
The horrible sense of dread that haunted me last night about pleasing him begins to creep up on me again. The TV starts to echo through the big apartment, emphasizing how lonely it can be, and my heartbeat begins to thud with worry.
The sunlight dims through the window and the lights begin to go on in the city. The TV shows start to bore me, and I wander around, looking at the art on the walls, guessing why Travis bought each painting, each antique, each decoration and how long it took for him to get bored with them.
I eat another meal by myself in the dining room, checking my phone the whole time to see if maybe I missed a message from him. I even consider calling Mom to reassure her that I’m in a safe place, but Gary will surely be monitoring her calls, so that’s out.
Finally, after the sky darkens, I get ready to read one of the books from the library in the living room, setting my iPhone in the docking station by the stereo. My limbs feel heavy, and it’s not because of jet lag or emotional exhaustion—I feel like a failure.
Perhaps I’m just one of many dolls sitting on the shelf, waiting to be selected for use. Maybe I won’t be used again.
The thought startles me and frightens me.
I know I should be happy that I could make the money for doing just about nothing, but the truth is that I love the way Travis Star makes me feel. I already miss it.
After some more time goes by, I start to take off my sexy little dress, because it looks like Travis isn’t going to see it, when a knock sounds on the door to the apartment.
I push back my excitement, although a vein in my neck pounds so hard that I’m sure he’ll notice. After I scamper to the door, I look at the built-in security monitor screen and see Travis standing outside in the hall, his hands folded behind his back, head down.
“It’s Travis,” he says in a level voice. “Open the door.”
I take a moment to gather my composure, then open the door. He strides in, tenser than I’ve ever seen him, his shoulders taut under his jacket. Who knows what’s troubling him, but it’s clear that something’s wrong.