Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
On one level, too, I understood that the newly submissive part of me yearned for that transactional degradation. A big part of my sudden defiance—maybe even the majority of it… maybe even all of it—came from that recognition. I couldn’t let that take hold, could I? I had to end it here, before I got addicted to such shameful pleasures.
I had two months of his luxury-level allowance. Surely I could find another sponsor who didn’t want to treat me the brutal way Christian had made it so clear he intended to do. I didn’t owe him anything either, did I? I had let him do as he pleased with me, and the fact that my body had enjoyed it more than I had wanted or imagined had nothing to do with how I would live from this point forward.
Not if I have anything to say about it, at any rate.
I started to struggle against the grip of his hands, twisting my head to free my hair from his twining fingers. I looked into his face with narrowed eyes, seeing his own gaze darken so much that my heart skipped a beat in panic.
“Did you hear me?” I said in a considerably more quavering voice than I had used a moment before. I wasn’t absolutely sure that I knew how to invoke the security surveillance, nor did I feel any true certainty that I actually wanted what I thought I wanted. That turmoil, however, only made my immediate resolve stronger: I had to look and sound like I knew what I wanted, or I had no chance of escape.
My resistance also grew in strength as the sex hormones faded from my system after all the intense, degrading pleasure Christian had forced on me. Really I couldn’t even believe that my body had felt that much ecstasy, that way—with an arrogant billionaire riding me like his personal fuck toy.
“I heard you, Leah,” Christian said calmly. For one long moment he kept looking into my eyes and kept his hands on me despite my squirming. I swallowed hard, because I could see in his eyes the promise of terrible punishment for this disobedience, this failure to follow his rule that I keep myself ready for him to fuck.
Then a tiny smile appeared on his lips, and at the same moment he let me go and stepped away from me, one step backwards. I couldn’t help it: I looked down and saw his huge cock, half-erect and bearing the crimson signs of my defloration. I watched his hands reach down and put it away inside his fly, then zip his jeans up. A treasonous part of me, to my dismay, felt a pang of disappointment, of guilt even. I raised my eyes to Christian’s and found him studying my face, the little smile still there.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone light despite the seriousness of his gaze.
“Yes,” I answered immediately, because I knew I couldn’t show him the slightest hint of inner conflict. He had only met me a few hours before, but somehow he had me figured out: I had no choice but to pretend it wasn’t so, that he had mistaken me for a completely different kind of girl.
His smile grew a fraction of an inch, and then his eyes left my face and went to the ceiling.
“Apartment,” Christian said, “cancel sponsor agreement.”
My jaw went slack. “But…” I started, not at all sure whether the money represented the thing that actually mattered to me, or if something else about the finality of the words had shocked me.
Christian’s attention returned to my face.
“Don’t worry,” he said calmly and without a trace of the bitterness I would have expected from any ordinary person. “You keep all the allowance.”
“I…” I said, trying to begin again, but instantly losing any semblance of a meaningful thought as I looked at the billionaire’s gorgeous, bronzed face. “Thank you,” I finally managed to say.
“You’re welcome, Leah,” Christian said, though his smile had faded. “I had a good time, even if it didn’t last long. If you change your mind, feel free to message me.”
The smile returned, and something about it—perhaps just about the precise degree of its curvature—made me swallow. It took a second to understand why, but then the knowledge came rushing in, just as Christian turned to walk out my apartment door.
If I do change my mind… what will he do, the next time we see each other?
Christian Guzman would not take me back unpunished, after what I had just done—the way I had more or less sold my virginity to him for a very high price and then dismissed him and his promise to take care of me as if I were tossing aside a discarded candy wrapper. No, if I did message him again—if I proved crazy enough to get back in touch with him, to beg for more of his financial support—he would exact a terrible price of his own.