by Ella Brooke
“What the hell kind of rule is that? And if it matters, you probably should have asked me.”
“Yeah, because I totally expect a twenty-one-year-old stripper and escort to be a virgin,” I spit at her, and she looks like I just slapped her. “I mean, who would expect a girl who takes her clothes off for strangers to be a virgin?” I know I’m making excuses and putting it all on her. I know I’m being a dick. I just don’t care.
“It clearly wasn’t something you were worrying about last night. You didn’t hesitate once. If it’s such an important rule, you should have made sure, huh?”
“I wasn’t thinking straight.” I pull my shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, and then turn back to her. “That never should have happened.”
I see a flash of hurt in her eyes before she quickly glances away, and I hate myself a little bit.
“No, it shouldn’t have,” she says quietly.
“It won’t be happening again.”
“No, it most definitely will not.”
The prim, cool tone she uses makes me want to put my fist through the wall. She gathers her dress and shoes and quickly walks out, and I hear her padding down the hallway to her own room at the other end of the penthouse. Good.
I run my hands over my face in frustration, and when I look back down, my gaze lands on the tiny red panties I tore off of her last night after making her come in them. I look away as my stomach clenches.
Fuck.
I fucked up. She should have fucking told me, but she’s not wrong. I should have been more careful, too. I swore I’d never let myself get into this type of situation again, and here I am. And I’ve already hurt her feelings, even if she tried to hide it.
This is exactly why I hired her for a month. I didn’t want emotional bullshit. I wanted a sexy, gorgeous woman to decorate my arm at all of these events I have to attend in the next couple of weeks, without any expectation on her part about feelings or emotions or anything else.
Bullshit, a little voice mutters. You wanted her. You were being some kind of knight in shining armor, saving her from sleazy Harry and the other assholes who would have bid on her eventually. Because you wanted her.
I shove the thought away and stalk to the bathroom. I can still smell her all over my body. I need distance, and I need to focus on something else for a while. Because no matter how good Samantha tastes, no matter how good it felt to be inside her, I can’t let that happen again. I can’t let her start to get attached to me. I don’t work that way.
For about a half of a second, I consider just letting her have her money and go. Cut my losses. But I paid for this month, and I want my money’s worth.
At least, that’s what I tell myself. The truth is, I’m not ready to have her walk away just yet.
Chapter Seven
Samantha
I manage not to cry until I step into the shower in my room. And it’s not sadness, but I know he’d think I’m crying over him, because he’s an asshole.
No, I’m one of those people who cry when I’m mad, and right now, I’m so angry I can barely see straight.
The gall of him! To act high and mighty and pissed at me because I didn’t tell him I was a virgin. As if that affects him in any way. My virginity was mine to give, and I was happy with my choice until he acted like a jerk this morning.
I scrub away the scent of him, even as my body still aches from the things he did to me last night. My breasts are tender and swollen, and when he said I was going to feel him inside me for days afterward, he wasn’t kidding. As angry as I am with him just now, there’s also a part of me that wants to have him on top of me again.
Last night wasn’t like anything I could have ever imagined. The things he did to me with his lips, his tongue, his fingers… I’ve read about things like that, but having them done to me is something else entirely. I felt almost dirty, especially when he looked up after licking me to orgasm and I could see that his mouth and chin were coated in my juices. But he didn’t give me a chance to obsess over it, and the second his dick slid into me, I couldn’t think at all.
It hurt like hell at first when he pushed his way into me. But then, all I could focus on was how damn good it felt, feeling him filling me over and over again. My first time was perfect.
Until this morning, anyway.
If I didn’t need this money to save my father, I’d be out the door already. I know I’ll never have another chance like this. He didn’t tell me to get out, so I guess I’m not fired. Good. I’ll make sure I get my money. I can do this, as long as he doesn’t touch me again.
I wash each part of my body, as if by letting last night swirl down the drain, I can regain some sense of sanity and dignity. I’m mortified if I let myself think about it too much, about the way I was for him, opening my legs on command, begging him. I was out of my mind, and it’s not something I’ll let happen again.
When I’m dressed and my hair is dry and I’ve put on my makeup, I square my shoulders and open my bedroom door. I need coffee and I’m starving, and I’m not going to hide from Dante. He can toss blame around all he wants, but I didn’t do a damn thing wrong and I know it.
When I enter the main part of the penthouse, he’s sitting at the long dining room table, looking at his phone, papers and blueprints spread out on the table in front of him. I walk into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee, then grab a croissant from the tray nearby. I bring them both to the other end of the table and sit down, pulling my own phone out of my pocket.
I start scrolling through my messages and email. Nothing too important. A few casting calls I’m probably going to miss thanks to my contract with Dante this month. If I have my way, we won’t be in San Francisco much longer anyway.
I let myself think that over. Where should Pops and I go next? L.A.? New York? I’d love to go to New York, but I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of getting Pops out of Cali.
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have to get through the next twenty-nine days first.
I chance a quick look up at Dante, and he’s scowling at his phone.
We can do this all month, I tell myself. We can pretend the other one doesn’t exist, except when he needs arm candy for one of his events. We’re both grown adults. Well, me more than him maybe, I think bitterly.
“I need to head in to the office. If you need anything today, ask the doorman. If you want to go out, my driver is at your disposal. His number’s on the piece of paper on the credenza in the living room.”
“Will you need me to go anywhere with you today?” I ask. See? I’m doing really well at this being professional thing.
Until he looks up and his dark gaze meets mine. I feel the air go out of me, and my stomach flutters.
“No. I won’t be needing you today. Spend the day however you want.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he looks up at me. “So what will you be doing today?”
“Why?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Why, what?”
“Why does it matter to you what I’m doing today?”
His jaw clenches, and he looks back down at his phone. “I’m paying for your time this month. I want to know where you’ll be.”
Of course. He paid for me. He doesn’t actually care. This is good. I need him to keep reminding me of this fact so I don’t get caught up in memories of the way he brought me to orgasm after screaming orgasm.
“I’ll mostly be here, Mr. Knight,” I say coolly. “I may go out to get some fresh air and go for a jog, but other than that, I plan on staying in and reading and possibly napping. I expect that I’ll probably eat once or twice, and I may have to go to the bathroom a time or two—”
“Okay, that’s enough.”
“Just wanted to make sure I was being thorough enough,” I tell him. He gathers his blueprints and papers without a word, tucks them into the large portfolio nearby, and then stalks out the door.
About a minute l
ater, he comes back inside and grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen, giving me a little glare before he stalks out again, as if it was all my fault that he forgot them.
Dante Knight seems pretty good at laying on the blame. Unfortunately for him, I’m neither a doormat nor a little wilting flower. I can be his escort and employee this month, but there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to let myself get caught up in him emotionally in any way. I let it happen last night, and it won’t be happening again. Ever.
Chapter Eight
Dante
It’s been a week. She’s barely talked to me, other than in that cool, distant tone, and every time she calls me “Mr. Knight,” as if she’s just like any of the other various assistants and employees I have, I want to put my fist through the wall. She stays in her end of the penthouse, and I stay in mine. Every once in a while, we cross paths if we both happen to want to eat at the same time. Even so, every time she walks past me, her scent lingers and it takes everything in me not to chase her down and try to get in her panties again.
I wake up every morning with such raging hard ons that it almost hurts. I woke up three times in the past week to find my pajama pants damp.
I haven’t had a fucking wet dream since I was seventeen years old.
I’m jacking off in the shower, and often before I can fall asleep at night. It’s not enough. She’s here, and nothing will ever feel as good as her sweet pussy. I know this, and it drives me nuts. She’s ruined me. I’m a fucking mess, and every time she looks at me, it’s like she sees straight through me.
I walk into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, and she’s there, sitting at the end of the table. She murmurs a “good morning,” but keeps her eyes on her phone. She’s typing quickly, and I wonder who she’s talking to.
Shit. Is there a boyfriend out there somewhere? The thought fills me with rage, but it subsides a moment later when I realize that she’s not the cheating type. I might not know her well, or at all really, but I know that much.
And why the fuck that matters is beyond me.
I wonder, for about the millionth time since the night we slept together, how it is that a woman who looks the way she does, who’s as naturally sensual as she is, was a virgin for so long. Her innocence wasn’t an act, and there’s a sick, primal part of me that revels in the fact that I was the one who claimed her, even though it scares me to death.
Virgins. I swore I’d never let myself get into this situation again. I have to admit, though, that I’m able to breathe a little easier. Her coolness toward me, her lack of any type of emotion at all, other than polite professionalism, is reassuring.
My mind flashes back to when I was Samantha’s age. Twenty-one. I feel the same old shame all over again. I was flush in my wealth and power back then, an asshole who knew he could have just about anything and took what he wanted without giving it a second thought. I’d met this sweet, sexy little thing at the park I often jogged at. She’d spent the better part of a week flirting with me, and when I moved on her, she was thrilled. Willing. Sweet. Seventeen. She was a virgin, and I took her virginity and walked out like it was nothing.
That night, the girl’s mother called me, hysterical. I’d walked out, careless, cold, and the girl had tried to kill herself.
She was innocent, and I’d nearly destroyed her with my callousness. I swore I’d never do that again, I’d never hurt anyone the way I hurt her. And then Samantha came along, and I’m reliving it all over again.
So why am I so goddamn torn? Why does it piss me off that she doesn’t seem to want me? Why does it bother me that she’s turned away from me so easily?
I hate this shit. I think again, for about the millionth time, that I hired her to avoid all this emotional bullshit, yet here I am, a fucking mess.
She looks up, and I realize that I’ve been staring at her. Probably since the moment I came into the room. Shit.
“Did you need something, Mr. Knight?”
I bite back a growl. Fuck, yes, I need something. “No. Why?”
“You were staring at me.”
“I was not.”
She looks back down at her phone. “If you say so.”
I grab a cup and pour myself some coffee. I gulp it down, even though it burns my throat. It’s a nice distraction from the way I want to spread her out on the table and feast on her cunt. I pour another cup and sit down.
“There’s an event I need you to attend with me tonight. Susan will be by later with your dress. I’ll need you ready to leave here by seven.”
I’ve been watching her, and I notice how still she’s gone. Her hands are shaking just a little, and she shoots me a little look.
“Another gala?” she asks.
“No. A night out with one of our best clients. His wife will be there, and I expect you to keep her entertained while we talk.”
She gives a curt nod and goes back to looking at her phone. “So, what? Are we going out to eat?”
“They’re theater buffs, so we’re going to that new musical everyone’s talking about.”
Her eyes light up, and I remember then about her love of the theater.
“You’re kidding.”
The excited tone of her voice is a relief from the cool politeness she’s been showing me. If I’d known this, I would have taken her to a musical already.
No.
No, I would not have. She’s an escort. I’m her boss. That’s all.
I clear my throat. “So, be ready by seven.”
“I will.”
I walk out without another word, sure that I’m going to lose my mind before the month is up.
Chapter Nine
Samantha
Dante’s assistant, Susan, delivers my dress as promised, and I gawk over how gorgeous it is. We both squeal over it, and when I try it on, it’s perfect.
Susan is a sweetheart. She’s in her forties, absolutely calm and collected. I’ve talked to her a couple times when she’s come to the penthouse, and she genuinely seems like a nice person. I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. After I finish trying the dress on, I ask her if she wants to stay for lunch, and she looks totally shocked.
“I mean, you don’t have to,” I tell her.
“If my schedule wasn’t packed today, I would love to,” she tells me. “I’m just surprised. Dante has never asked me if I wanted to have coffee or anything like that,” she says with a little laugh.
“Is he a good boss?” I ask curiously.
She nods. “He is. Actually, he’s the best boss I’ve ever had. My youngest son has some health issues, and it was almost impossible for me to keep a job before. Lots of time off needed for doctor visits and tests and the occasional terrifying hospital stay,” she explains, and I nod. “But Mr. Knight is really great about it. I’m mostly able to set my own hours, as long as I get the things he needs done, done. No hassle about the times when I can’t come in to the office. No stress over whether I’m going to lose my job because I need to be there for my kid. I’m very lucky to work for him.”
“Is it like that throughout his company?” I ask, thinking of his father, who didn’t seem much like Dante at all.
Susan shakes her head. “Definitely not. I’m lucky. My contract is with Dante, not with the company.”
After Susan leaves, I have time to think that over. He’s much kinder than I expected at first. Even to me. I recognize that paying one million dollars for a handful of events is going above and beyond, even if he is filthy rich.
I spend the day doing my usual: checking through upcoming casting calls in L.A. I’m pretty sure that’s where I’m going to move my Pops and me after this is all over. A fresh start in the heart of the entertainment industry. Maybe one day I’ll make it out to New York, but L.A. sounds pretty damn good. So I spend time every day looking through ads and a few industry websites for casting calls, and then I spend a little more time looking for apartments for rent. With what Dante’s paying me, I can pay off Pops’ debt, bu
y him a little place, and still have enough left over to live on while I find a job and go on more casting calls.
One thing I know for sure: I’ll never strip again. I mean, I didn’t even really do it at the Calla Club; I hadn’t had a chance before Dante bid on me. But I’d come close, and I can’t see ever being in a situation where I’ll need to again. Some women find it empowering and fun, and that’s awesome for them, but I’m still a romantic at heart, maybe.
I only want one man looking at me naked.
Damn it.
I hate him. At least, part of me hates him. I hate that I want him to touch me again. I hate that I can’t get the feel of his body crushing mine out of my mind, or that I crave the sensation of him filling me, thrusting into me so hard I feel like I’m going to be split in two. I didn’t expect to be this out of my mind, this horny, this needy for him again, even after he acted like such a jerk.
I look at the dress Susan brought for me. It’s gorgeous, a long, violet Valentino gown that looks like it belongs on the red carpet, not hanging in my closet. Of course, Susan brought shoes, a tiny clutch, and matching underthings as well.
This makes me remember those red panties the first night and the way Dante tore them from my body. He was almost frightening in his determination to have me, and it had only made me want him more.
I close my eyes. But we’re not doing that again. He’s a jerk and we’re both adults. We know it’s a bad idea. My brain gets that, even if my body refuses to listen.
At seven, I’m ready to go. I give myself the once-over in the full-length mirror in my room, and I have to say, I look damn good. The Valentino gown hugs my curves perfectly. It’s a sleeveless, strapless design, and my breasts look freaking amazing, the tops of them peeking out over violet satin. The skirt is swishy and floaty, and it moves like a cloud around my legs. My makeup is minimal, and I’ve left my hair down.
I’ll just admit it. Part of me wants Dante to suffer tonight. He hurt me more than I wanted to show, but I’ve seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking. That hungry, almost feral look…he wants me. If he hadn’t acted like a jerk, we could have been screwing like mad this past week, and my body would be a lot calmer.