I had no answer for that, so focused on the what not the why.
“Yes,” I told her. “I’ll give you a real chance. But only one. Fuck up the opportunity and you’ll find my generosity pairs heavily with my wrath. It’s a mistake I’d avoid if I were you.”
She nodded.
I could imagine her dropping to her knees with the same defeat her sister did upstairs. Imagine her giving me whatever I wanted. Whatever I demanded.
Surprisingly enough, I didn’t want it. Not any of it. The girl’s submission meant nothing to me, despite the family resemblance.
“I’ll take it,” she said. “I’ll take the chance. Please, God, give me the chance.”
My laugh was low.
“It’s not God you should be asking,” I told her. “But you’re lucky enough that there is a miracle at play today.” I took another drag and let my eyes feast on the hope in hers.
“And lucky enough that even monsters can care.”Chapter FivePaigeI was there for what felt like hours. Kneeling. Waiting.
My mind spun with thoughts of Phoebe. Worrying.
But I didn’t move.
Not now I was all in for sixty days.
If I could make it through and out the other side we’d be set up for a whole new life, both of us.
It was all I could cling to. That and him.
Even through my tiredness my eyes couldn’t stop themselves soaking up the sights of the bedroom. This was his private place. It had to be. From the row of polished shoes at the bottom of the four poster, to the perfectly hung jackets on the wardrobe doors, he was everywhere. I could smell him, taste him, feel him. As though the room was alive with him. With his presence.
Maybe the walls themselves had grabbed part of him for all time, to hold on to his essence.
I wondered if he owned this place. If this was the place he always brought his sixty-day girls to fulfil their contracts.
I told myself I was nothing more to him than another girl for his viewers. More cash in his pocket. More thrills for his clients. That there was probably nothing more to me being here than any one of a string of others who’d been in this exact same spot before, kneeling and waiting.
I told myself he’d be driving me past my limits without even a sliver of care for how I felt. Not a sliver of care for anything other than how the other men were enjoying the show.
I should’ve believed it. Should’ve.
But didn’t. Not quite.
I couldn’t shake off the tingling belief that I was the first of my kind in this space.
The flutter of my hopeful little heart was at odds with every scrap of common sense in me, and it was weird. Really weird. I wasn’t a girl who relied too much on hope or heart. I relied on keeping calm and in control, pushing for the best future I could off my own back, not daring to risk my own self by putting my faith in another.
Especially not another like him. A god like him.
Still, despite my frantic reasoning, my heart wouldn’t let it go. Not completely.
Brandon Grant could have picked so many girls to perform for such a pay day, and I knew it. Girls who’d done so much more. Who’d give a better showing. Who’d know exactly how to act for the camera.
I couldn’t even pretend to imagine why he’d ventured to come to me in that alleyway and rescue me from the men who were going to take their fill and leave me stranded. I couldn’t even pretend to imagine why I was kneeling at the foot of a bed that was so clearly his, waiting for him in his private world when I’d imagined being trussed up to some steel rack somewhere for the next sixty days.
The very least I could do to thank him for his generosity was to be a good girl for his demands, but it was hard. Kneeling there with my hands clasped behind my back with my head down low and my legs spread wide, was hard.
My head kept dropping, sleep threatening to eat me up in spite of my fascination with my surroundings. I was drifting in a half-sleep state where I could still feel his fingers fucking my throat raw. Still feel his fingers curled tight inside my pussy. My tits were sticky with retched up bile, my naked skin pimpled from the chill from such a big room. His four poster looked the most comfortable bed on the whole planet, and I wished I was Goldilocks, able to take liberties with the big bear’s house.
I’d have given so much to curl up under the thick covers and sleep until the sun found me.
I backed into the frame just a little, enough to run the fabric in my fingers. So plush. Ridiculously plush. Nothing like the scrappy budget student bedding in my room at uni. Nothing like the dirty worn bedding I’d hopped into as a little girl back home before I’d learned how to wash it.