Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 38541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Pulling my eyes away from him, I try to stem these feelings rushing through my body. Just like everything else in the casino, reds and blacks cover the room. I now realize this is his place; it was right next to mine when I stayed here. We always seemed to be coming and going at the same time, but I’d never been inside his home. Seeing his bedroom somehow calms me instead of frightening me.
I examine the massive four-poster more closely, and I notice black cuffs hanging from each of the posts. Is this like his fuck pad or something? Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen him with a woman. He must bring them up here for whatever it is he does, but I'd never seen one slip out before. I wonder if he likes to dress them up too. I look up, seeing the mirror above the bed, and I want to roll my eyes. I guess he likes to watch himself fuck. I let the thought roll off me, and try to focus.
Having the angel wings back on makes me feel like an innocent trapped in the devil's lair. His sole mission is to corrupt me and bring me over to the dark side with him. Maybe it’s his kink. I hate that my body warms to the idea of all the dirty things he wants to do to corrupt me.
“Mr. Townsend, you can’t be so bad in bed that you have to restrain women to get them to stay.” I poke him because I need to get myself back on a level playing field. In the past if I landed a few jabs he would storm out of the office, so maybe I can get him to storm out of this love nest.
“With you I wasn’t sure. You seem to be good at giving me the slip. I have to make sure my property stays where it belongs.”
“Property?” I fire the word back at him with distaste, hoping that maybe that will make me hate the idea of being his property. All he does is smirk, like it's cute that I have a problem being owned. “I never gave you the ‘slip’,” I say, stressing the word to highlight its ridiculousness. “I did my thirty days and I left. Is that what this is all about? You think I shorted you a day?”
I truly thought he would be grateful when I was gone. The night in the bar before I left was strange. I thought maybe my drunken mind had made it all up, but the call from Tiffany confirmed it. So did the picture that ended up in page five of The Las Vegas Tribune.
He was always so short with me when we were together. Most of that time consisted of his hovering over me as I did my work. It was absurd, because he gave me projects an eighth grader could do.
“I wasn't finished with you yet.”
“You weren't finished with me yet?”
“That’s what I said.” He lazily starts to circle me, walking slowly around where I’m standing. He looks like he’s inspecting what he paid for.
“I could break my Mistress Contract and leave. I could give the money back. Then you’d have to be done with me.”
Something sparks in his eyes at my words—something that looks close to anger. I want to know why he’s pushing this and dragging me back here. Is this about that night in the casino? Me telling him no and making him look like a fool? Men and their egos can be a real bitch. I run into a lot of men like that working at the casino. Men like that don’t like when a woman takes them down a peg or two. But for some reason I don’t think Charles is the type of man who would care what other people think. He doesn't have an ego. He just is who he is, take it or leave it. If it’s not about his pride, it means this whole thing could have something to do with my brothers, and that problem has the potential to make me stay. If I can't get some information from Charles, I’m finally just going to have to ask my brothers what he has over them.
“But you won’t. No, you’d never go back on your word.” It’s eerie how well he knows me. Saying I would break the contract was just a way for me to try to get some information from him. I want to find out his endgame without losing myself in the process, because I’m starting to think Charles Townsend is someone I could easily drown in.
“Fine, you win. Do with me as you like. Do I strap myself in or is that your job?” I try to make my tone as flat as possible as I walk toward the bed, careful not to brush against him.
“Mandy, while I will have you in those straps soon enough, first we need to go over the rules of your Mistress Contract.”
“I read the contract several times. I know all the rules. I’m to keep my mouth shut, my legs spread, and I’m never to ask questions about your life outside of our time together.” I turn to face him, trying to pretend the rules don’t bother me in the least.
“Yes, those are the standard rules for all contracts, but each buyer is allowed to add a set of their own. Did you not see that in the contract as well?”
I did, I just forgot. This takes me by surprise, and I stop. “Yes, I’m sorry. It did say something about the buyer being allowed to add their own as long as they are approved by the auction house.” I visibly swallow when I finish. I don’t know why this has my heartbeat picking up, but it does.
Pulling out a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, Charles walks to the corner of the room, takes a seat in a chair and lazily leans back in it. I expect him to start listing off the rules, but he just pats his leg, signaling for me to come sit on it.