“So,” Alyssa says, meeting my eyes and biting her lower lip.
I clear my throat. I want her to stay, I desperately want her to stay, but that would set a bad precedent. No time together other than sex, no snuggling, no dinner-and-a-movie dates.
And most importantly, no nights together.
“I have some things to do,” I say, as coolly as I can. “Did you need something?”
Alyssa frowns slightly, then the look fades as she remembers the contract.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Of course not.”
She gets dressed quickly, pulling up her jeans and tugging on her bra and blouse. I try to ignore the way she looks visibly hurt – clearly, she was waiting for me to offer her the chance to spend the night – but it’s difficult.
I’ve never done this before, entered into a contract with a woman.
And truthfully, I had no idea how hard it’s going to be.
Chapter 11
Alyssa
After my first encounter with Logan, it was hard to believe that things could get more intense.
But they do, and soon, two weeks go by. We see each other nearly every single day – either I go to his hotel suite or he comes to my apartment – and soon, I’m doing things that I can hardly believe of myself. I never thought that I’d be the kind of girl who likes toys in her ass, or being talked down to, or being tied up and spanked and flogged.
Logan is an excellent Dom, though. He always makes me feel safe and cared for. After we play together and have sex, he always makes sure that I’m okay before I leave.
But it’s like a switch flips in him after he comes. While he’s polite and caring, I never see the raw passion that I feel when we’re fucking. I sense that he’s holding back, and I desperately want to ask about it, but I’d have no idea where to even start. While the contract I signed doesn’t prohibit conversation, it doesn’t exactly encourage it, either.
I feel more confused than ever.
Not to mention, I’ve been neglected AngelDate. Despite the infusion of ten million dollars from Logan, I haven’t done very much other than meet with the programmers a couple of times. I haven’t even spent very much time with Caro, which is why I invite her over to my apartment one day for lunch.
When she comes in, she blinks at me.
“Alyssa? Is that you?”
I frown at her. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s a joke, hon,” Caro says, pushing gently past me and setting her bag down in the foyer. “Because I haven’t seen you so long.” She takes me by the shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, looking into my eyes and cocking her head.
“What now?” I tease. “Are you going to tell me that I’m getting white hairs or something?”
Caro narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “No,” she says. “But you do look different.” She cocks her head to the side and frowns. “I can’t put my finger on why, but you do.”
A hot flush creeps up my neck as I think about Logan, and all of the things that we’ve done together in the last couple of weeks – all of the ways, in fact, that I am different than I was just fourteen days ago.
“I don’t know why,” I lie, gently pushing Caro’s hands to the side and excusing myself to the kitchen. I pour two glasses of wine for us, all the while keeping in mind Logan’s rule of no more than three drinks per session, and carry them into the living room.
“So, how’s it going?” I ask.
Caro clears her throat. “You invited me over, Lyss,” she says. “I thought you had some news for me or something.”
“Well, I’ve been chatting with the programmers we hired – seems like everything is okay, they said that they should have a demo app ready by the end of the month.”
“It’s taking them this long?” Caro asks. She frowns. “I thought those kids were geniuses – you said they were both from Cal Tech, remember?”
I nod. “I mean, I guess it’s taking them a little time to gather data, or whatever,” I say, waving my hand dismissively in the air. “But that doesn’t matter.”
There’s a beat of silence and Caro looks at me expectantly.
“Because, um, I have some really good news,” I continue nervously. I fumble with my hands in my lap, picking at some dead skin on my cuticle.
“I’m waiting,” Caro says. She leans back in her chair and takes a long sip of wine. “What is it?”
“It’s about our funding,” I say, taking another sip of wine and meeting her eyes. In the last two weeks, I haven’t had much to drink, and the alcohol is suddenly going to my head.
“What about it?” Caro asks. Her glance sharpens.
“Well, we’ve received ten million dollars. From an anonymous donor.”
“What?” Caro’s word is practically shriek and she leaps to her feet. “Alyssa, you’re kidding me!”
I shake my head. “Definitely not,” I tell her. “I’m dead serious.”
“I can’t believe that,” Caro replies. “There’s no way some stranger would give us ten million dollars.”
I shrug. “Well, maybe some rich lady thought it was a good idea to look out for other women,” I say. Even I know it sounds lame, and I want to wince when I see Caro’s disbelieving face.
“I can’t buy that – that’s too much money, Lyss. There has to be some kind of identifying information, right? Like a Tax ID number or something? We have to track this person down, if for nothing else other than to thank them.”
“I already tried that,” I lie. “And nothing.”
Caro downs the rest of her wine in one gulp and holds her glass out for more. I walk to the kitchen and grab the bottle from the counter, then go back to my friend and refill her glass.
“Alyssa, you’re being like, way too calm about this,” Caro continues. Her color is high with excitement and she’s chattering so quickly that I can barely make her words out. “We have to like, find this person and make sure they know how much we appreciate it. We’d be total idiots not to do that, right?”
“They said it was important for them to remain anonymous. We should respect that,” I say. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to make them angry – what if they take the money back?”
Caro presses her lips together. “There’s something that you’re not telling me,” she says. “Out with it.”
I shake my head. I hate lying to my best friend – after all that we’ve been through in the last month or so, I can’t even believe that she still wants to be my friend. I’ve been nothing but a disappointment and a bad partner and I had stupidly thought this money would fix things – that Caroline wouldn’t want to ask any more questions and that this would be enough to absolve me in her eyes.
Clearly, I was being way too naïve when I had that idea. The truth is, I’ve been struggling to find a way to tell Caro about Logan X without giving anything away or violating the contract. And I’ve been doing research, trying to figure out who he is, and I’ve come up with nothing. If it wasn’t for the occasional bruise or swollen pussy, I’d think that I had completely made him up.
At any rate, now, I think I’ve gone too far off the deep end. Caro is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. She refills her wine glass and drains the whole thing in one gulp.
“Alyssa, I don’t get it,” she says slowly, her features working themselves over in confusion. “This is like, a huge deal – why aren’t you more curious?”
“I’m just not,” I tell her. “It was part of the stipulation of accepting the money,” I add, feeling only slightly guilty for the embellishment. “That you know, we don’t like, do too much research into why someone gave us this money.”
“This could be really dangerous, though,” Caro says. “I mean, what if it’s like, a competitor or something like that? What if it’s someone who wants to be insidious enough to get to know us and then take us down? That’s way too much money to offer with no strings,” she continues. “Alyssa, we should really be asking a lot from people who offer us money like this, we nee
d to figure out their motivations. I mean, this isn’t just fifteen or twenty dollars ... are you sure you got the amount right?”
As much as I don’t want to, I can feel myself getting angry and I take a deep breath to avoid going off. You don’t understand, I think hotly to myself as I watch Caro try to figure out the mystery donor in her head. You wouldn’t possibly begin to understand!
“You’re right,” I say as calmly as I can. “You’re absolutely right – but trust me on this, okay? With any further donations, I promise we’ll absolutely do our due diligence. But that’s not always possible.”
“Why not?” Caro asks. She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re the one who accepted the money, right? And why are you just telling me about this now?”
“I ...” I trail off, feeling my resolve weakening. Knowing that I can’t say anything about Logan is killing me, especially because Caro is my best friend. She’s supposed to be my partner in this – since day one of coming up with AngelDate, I’ve tried to disclose everything to her.
“Because it’s someone who’s trying to keep his name a secret,” I say finally. “I don’t even know his last name. He’s trying to protect himself.”
“Why?” Caro asks. “Why would someone do that? This isn’t the time to be humble. Ten million dollars is an insane amount of money.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m in a relationship with him, of sorts, and this is his way of compensating me.”
My apartment suddenly becomes quiet enough to hear a pin drop. When I open my eyes, Caro is staring at me, clearly panicked.
“What the fuck, Alyssa,” she hisses. “You’re prostituting yourself for this money?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, no, it’s not like that,” I assure her. “Trust me – I wouldn’t do that. I like him. A lot. Way more than I should. The money ... well, it’s just like, sort of a bonus.”
Caro laughs shortly. “Fifty dollars is a bonus,” she says. “Ten million is insanity!”
I don’t say anything.
Then, a weird look comes over Caro’s face. “Lyss, is it that guy?” She asks quietly, almost as if Logan X is listening.
Hell, for all I know, he is. Maybe he has my apartment bugged to make sure I don’t violate the terms of the contract.
Or maybe, just maybe, he trusts me.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I know – it was a surprise for me, too.”
Caro leans back against her chair and shakes her head. “I don’t want to know the details,” she says. “But this is seriously dangerous, Alyssa. You could really get hurt. In more ways than one.”
I take a deep breath. “Look, I know this is hard for you to understand,” I say quietly. “But being with him, well, its like the only time I feel that I can completely relax and let go.”
Caro frowns.
“And I trust him. Completely. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” I say. “And look – it benefits the company, right? So, it’s a good idea.”
Caro sighs. “You need to end this,” she says. “End this and return the money.”
“What? No!”
“You have to,” she says. “A rich guy like that, you have no idea what he’s capable of. What if he’s a serial killer or something? What if he’s done this before?”
My heart lurches to the side, but it’s not because I doubt Logan. I’m horrified that Caro has jumped to such conclusions, even if any other rational person would likely do the same.
“I’m not going to do it,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “I’m not ending it, and I’m not returning the money. And if you can’t accept that, I’ll continue AngelDate on my own.”
Caro stares at me for a moment, like she can’t believe what I’ve just said. I can tell that she’s deeply unhappy, but I’m not about to sacrifice what I have with Logan. He’s not anything like what Caro thinks – I know that deep down, he’s a good man.
A generous man.
Maybe even a loving man.
And I’m not giving that up, not for anything in the world.
Chapter 12
Logan
I like to think that I’ve come a long way since I was a kid, but the truth is, I have no fucking idea. When I was born, my mother and father were both in their late thirties – they always said I was wanted but to be honest, I think it was a lot more likely that my mother just wanted to fit in with her society friends. I was mostly raised by nannies and au pairs, gorgeous German girls with huge tits and red cheeks who would have killed to summer in the United States and look after the rich brat child of two wealthy people.
I never really got to know my mother – she died right after I’d been packed off to my first boarding school, and even though she and my father never took what one could call an “active” hand in raising me, I have a feeling that my father resents me deeply for it. From what the nannies and au pairs told me, my father and my mother had been very much in love. That’s one of the only reasons why I still care so much about making my father happy – what the fuck else can I do?
Thinking about that now is one of the reasons why I’m convinced it won’t ever happen for me. Think about it: on a planet of eight billion people, not many people are going to find someone they can even get along with for a few years, much less their true love. If my parents had been lucky enough to beat the odds, the chances were that I’d be the opposite.
Not that I spend a lot of time thinking about love or anything. Ever since I first became aware of my dark impulses, I’ve been convinced that love, or anything like it, won’t happen to me.
But it doesn’t matter. Life is short – I may as well just keep having good sex when I can get it and trying to get along with the one relative I have left. Playing the Simba to Peter’s Zazu, playing by the lines.
When I was younger, it didn’t seem like such a bad thing to do for the rest of my life.
Now, though, I’m chomping at the bit for things to change.
I just feel so stuck – stuck in this mold I’ve been thrust into, chafing against every responsibility and every restriction.
Sometimes, I just wish I could run the fuck away from it all.
Today, I’m staffed with having lunch with Peter and my old man. I haven’t seen my father in months – he makes a show of going to Indiana Bandits games, but never sticks around long enough to see me, or even make it into the locker room after we’re done playing.
That’s fine.
Even if it wasn’t fine, what the hell could I say?
“Your father’s running a bit late,” Peter says, glancing down at the Mont Blanc timepiece carefully positioned on his tanned wrist. “So, Logan – how are you?”
I stare at him. “You ask that like we’re not living together in the same suite,” I say. “You know.
Peter laughs. “You know that I’ve been spending quite a bit of time on my own,” he says. “You seem more cheerful than usual, your color is much better.”
I think immediately of Alyssa, my little submissive blonde, and the happiness she’s brought to my life in the last three weeks.
I clear my throat. “Well, there’s actually been a development,” I say.
“Oh?” Peter raises an eyebrow, his voice tinged with nervousness. “And what would that be?”
Should I tell him about Alyssa, and about our arrangement?
I know the answer is probably not, but I can’t help myself – I’m riding high on hormones tinged with lust.
“I met someone,” I say.
Peter smiles. “Logan, that’s amazing!” He says loudly. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
When he sees the look in my eyes, his smile fades.
“But I’m guessing she’s not appropriate, or else you wouldn’t be telling me now, would you?”
“She’s very educated, very smart, very driven,” I say. “And very beautiful.”
Peter gives me an anxious look. “So, what’s the catch?”
I raise an
eyebrow and Peter flushes.
“You don’t mean to tell her that you’re ... being depraved with her, are you?”
“Depraved is a bit cruel, don’t you think?” I ask sarcastically. When Peter doesn’t reply, I continue: “But yes, since you asked – I am.”
Peter groans.
“And she’s fine with it,” I continue. “I’ve given her a large sum of money in exchange for her services, and it’s been going very well.”
Peter looks aghast, and I expect him to start tearing into me. In an odd way, it’s almost satisfying – knowing that there’s nothing I can do to keep him from being upset.
It’s enough to make me wonder who’s truly more miserable: Peter or me.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Peter hisses under his breath, signaling the end of our conversation. Then, his face spreads into a wide, shit-eating grin.
“Henry!” Peter says, beaming and leaping out of his chair.
Turning, I see my father approaching the table. He nods his head to me in greeting, then sits down. Now in his sixties, my father looks almost like the ghost of the man he was when I was a kid.
“Hey,” I say. Something about being around my father always makes me feel awkward, like I’ve managed to come up short no matter how hard I’ve tried.
My father nods again, then turns to Peter.
“We don’t have much time,” my father says, ignoring me entirely. “Catch me up on the latest.”
As Peter begins talking – about my soon-to-be-appearance on The Bachelor, about finding me a suitable bride, about how training is going for the next season of football, I stare at the two men who should know me better than anyone else on earth. I share DNA with my father, and he’s always felt like a stranger. And even though Peter knows more about me than he has any right to, he doesn’t understand me.
He never has.
It’s starting to feel like the only person on the planet who understands me is Alyssa.
And thinking about my future without her is starting to make me feel strangely empty, like I’ve already resigned myself to a life of unhappiness.
Mister X Page 8