And just like that, my body exploded into shudders. My pussy clamped down quick, dissolving into tremors as I screamed aloud, letting out the pain that seared my soul. Oh god, I’d been used, and yet all I wanted was more of the big man. All I wanted was to be taken again, to feel him in me, dancing on that thick dick for his eyes only.
But it was all over. I was no different from the Natalies, Lucys and Marys that’d come before me. There was nothing to set me apart, not my amazing ballet moves or my scintillating personality. I was just the flavor of the month and as my pussy spasmed with the stained material inside, the tears started to flow for real. Yes, I was coming and crying at the same time, emotions rushing through my soul so fast and hard that I doubled over, both from pain and ecstasy.
But a hard rap sounded on the door then.
“Laney?” came an annoyed voice. “Laney? We’re waiting for you.”
Immediately my mouth snapped shut, choking off my cries.
“Be right out!” I called. “Be right out!”
And scrambling, I forced my body to be calm. It was impossible with the dirty leotard stuck in my cunt, but I yanked it out and scrambled into a fresh one, staring at myself in the mirror. Thorn’s scent was all over me still, that musky, masculine dried cum scent. But smoothing my hair back into a prim bun, I set my lips into a grim twist. This wasn’t going to be easy, not by a long shot. The path before me was unclear, twisted and dark, overshadowed with misery. Because I’d done nothing wrong except to love … and although my heart was broken, I wanted Mr. Channing still.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laney
I didn’t go to Thorn’s apartment last night, instead choosing to stay in my tiny rented apartment. I’d left a message with Mr. Channing’s secretary, something about having to sort things out with my roomie. And that was the truth because as soon as the front door closed, Sarah was on me, appearing in the kitchen doorway.
“Where’ve you been?” the blonde demanded, nose in a scrunch. The scrawny girl was some random chick I found off Craigslist, a student at a nearby school. “You haven’t paid your half of the bills,” came her accusatory glare.
I nodded hastily, reaching into my bag.
“I’m sorry, here, is this enough?” I mumbled, head down, holding out a fistful of cash. “Practice has been really busy and I’ve been sleeping at the studio, it’s easier that way.”
Sarah gasped at the bills in my hand.
“Where’d you get all that?” she eyed the money suspiciously. “That’s way more than what we need.”
Because in my clenched fist, I was holding a rolled ball of hundreds. Oh shit. Hastily, I put my hand back in my purse and tried to count them on the downlow. Three hundred. Four hundred. Five, six, … Wait, two thousand dollars? Thorn has been giving me money over the last month, but I’d never stopped to see how much it was. And now in my hand, I held a pretty penny in greenbacks.
I lifted my head, staring back at Sarah.
“Sorry, I thought I forgot to pay rent too,” came my mumble. “Forgot that it comes straight out of my account.”
But now that it was obvious I had the cash, Sarah relaxed, aggressive attitude gone.
“No worries,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “But I wouldn’t go around with that much moolah on you, it’s crazy. Aren’t you afraid of being mugged?”
I stood there, one hand still in my purse.
“I guess not,” came my stammer. “I’ll be more careful.”
“You should!” came Sarah’s voice as she sailed into the kitchen. “You never know what’ll happen.”
And with that, my roommate disappeared. Taking a deep breath, I looked around the living room, or what passed for a living room. Because in NYC, they use every square foot of space, and in this case, we’d partitioned the common area to form another bedroom. So the common area wasn’t much more of a ten by ten windowless box, narrow and cramped.
But still, it was my home, and I hadn’t been here for almost a month. Thorn’s apartment had been so nice, luxurious with every amenity, but I stopped myself with a jerk. THIS is where you live, came the voice in my head. This is what your salary pays for, and you can’t expect more.
That was true. So slowly opening the door to my room, I stepped inside. Exactly how I’d left it. Warm-up outfits strewn about messily, with a saggy mattress on the floor and sad, water-stained walls. What I’d give to go back to the luxury of Mr. Channing’s apartment, to roll around on one of those king-size beds.
Suddenly, my mind hiccupped, things coming into sharp focus. The billionaire had five bedrooms with five king-size beds. Why the hell would a single man need so much real estate? I’ve heard of guys who do up their apartments so that there’s an entertainment room, a movie theater, even a bowling alley sometimes. But five bedrooms? There was something weird, and suddenly, Miss Lane’s voice rang out in my head.