Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

It wasn’t her sweet little snatch I wanted to destroy.

It wasn’t her pained gurgles I wanted to hear as I slammed to the balls and took my fill.

When Annabel came for me it was glorious, but it wasn’t enough.

When her voice broke along with her restraint it wasn’t the music my ears were craving.

Once she was done, I let her out of her binds with nothing more than a thumb stroke on her soft, wet cheek. I put the cameras back to standby and presented her with a fresh cold glass of water on the bedside table.

And then I left.

She was already sobbing into the pillow when I closed the door behind me, but I didn’t care for shit.

Eric was grinning like a prize-winning schoolboy as I stepped back into the office. He tried to high five me on the host of fresh bids pinging through on screen, but I stepped aside and dismissed him with a sigh.

“They’re crazy for her!” he told me, but I didn’t care shit for that, either.

Her cardigan was still draped over the back of my chair. It still smelled of her when I lifted a cuff to my face.

Perfect, It smelled fucking perfect.

The printout was still on Eric’s desk. I found it easily under a wad of random admin photocopies.

He was staring with a raised eyebrow as I handed Paige’s application across his desk to Lance, my head snoop.

“She’s my next purchase,” I told him. “I want everything you can find on her. Every. Fucking. Thing. I even want to know her fucking shoe size.”

The guy was a man of few words. He gave me nothing but a grunt in the affirmation.

“She has a sister,” I added. “Find out everything you can about her, too.”

Eric was still staring dumb when I headed back to my own workstation.

“What the hell is so special about this goddamn girl?” he asked.

The prick had absolutely no idea.

And that suited me just fine.Chapter FifteenPaigeCarolyn must have been one of the early gossip receivers. My evening sighting was the start of a fast-growing tsunami ripping through the masses that afternoon.

I could feel the chatter following me, snaking through the bystanders as I tried to make an average path through my day. Paige Emmerson, whoring herself on the beach for cash last night. Paige Emmerson, desperate little slut, so disgusting. Sex for cash, oh my God. Dirty bitch.

They weren’t all that far off the mark, but it still hurt like hell to see the sneers and laughter closing in.

I kept my smile bright. My shoulders proud. My focus honed on what I was going to get from selling out to filth for sixty days.

Phoebe would be safe.

No more drugs. No more crack head boyfriend beating her to a pulp whenever she smiled at him wrong.

I felt a wave of relief when a text pinged through on my way back to my dorm room after classes. I figured it would be her responding to my earlier message at last, itching for more detail on my I can help promise. But it wasn’t.

It was still strange to see Carolyn’s number fresh in my contact list as I called up the text. It was stranger still to see a genuine message from someone who seemed to give two actual shits about me.

I’ve been thinking, Carolyn’s words told me. Please, please meet my sister before you go through with the sixty days. I really want you to hear about it first-hand before you’re all in. It would mean a lot. I won’t be able to sleep easy if you don’t.

My heart jammed a little at the thought of meeting her beautiful sister with her luscious hair and her luscious curves. Maybe she’d fill me in enough to realise I’d never be enough for a man like the beach stranger and his seedy clients. Maybe she’d fill me in enough to make me realise I’d be incapable of making the full cash payout and I’d be better off selling a kidney online.

On the other hand, maybe she’d be able to tell me about him.

His likes, his dislikes. His requirements. The things that make a man like him smile a real smile.

The things that make a man like him come.

How he looks under his suit.

How his dick feels slamming hard.

His name.

My fingers trembled as I stopped in the dorm hallway before the final climb up to my room, choosing to back into an alcove for some calm to reply to her text rather than racing on upstairs. My typed-out words stared back at me with such greediness, though I meant them with anything but.

Please, yes. I’d love to meet her. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.

I hovered until the reply came back, pushing myself further into the alcove when a pair of lower floor residents came on by.