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SUMMER
CHAPTER 19
I’ve tried to concentrate on the work I need to get done, but it’s been virtually impossible. The sales reports that need completing, there all a half finished mess. Without that, I can’t get my taxes filed, and they’re due in two days.
My life had been a nice, neat, color inside the lines picture since I arrived here.
Up until two nights ago and my whole world was changed by one man.
By one offer.
It was simple enough, he wanted me to sit for his portrait.
Naked.
That wasn’t a problem.
Hell, most of my life I’d been naked doing all kinds of things. Things I didn’t want to do. Things I hated doing.
But this, this was something for me, because of me, and only for me, just Summer, not Summer Hollingsworth, daughter to one of the richest men in the country. This was something that made me feel beautiful and special, not filthy, vile, and degraded. This was my choice, not my dad’s, not for The Club, not for the rich, important members, not for the money they piped into our life, into my dad’s pockets, it wasn’t for the fuel that fed the massive monster that my father had built.
That offer was pivotal, a turning point in how I felt about myself, and how I felt about being with a man. How I wanted to be with a man.
How it could be with a man.
A man I chose to be with.
I had been raised as a promise. All my life I had been a tool, a means to an end. My body was part of the package to a business deal. So had my life. I was a gift that came with a very high price. I’m not sure, but the fine print on the contract might even have read, ‘For a one hundred thousand dollars’ members fee, you receive full access to all the golf courses, the fitness club, all social events, and unlimited blow jobs and fucking of my daughter.’
I was a sex slave, always have been, and was always supposed to be.
So I ran away.
Sex is first nature to me, that’s what I’d been schooled in.
When I first heard the whispers and insinuations of the gang bang with the men of Inked, with Rock, I wasn’t shocked or put-off. I was intrigued, you could say I was curious. What had held me back was the fear of letting someone get close to me, fear that my location would get back to my father, that he would kidnap me and rip me from the life I had created for myself, a life I chose for myself with people I want in it doing things I want to do.
I never want to go back there.
I never want to see my father again.
If I do, I might kill him.
I’d driven for weeks searching for a tiny little town in the corner of nowhere, a place people only came to if they wanted to, not a place where people vacation or attracts attention. I’d wanted nothing more than to blend into the background and just exist for once without attention, free to come and go as I please, when I please, whenever I pleased. I’d found it in Riverbend. Apparently Rock and his friends had done the same thing, according to Mrs. Merriweather, them on their motorcycles, loud and arrogant, giving life the finger and daring it to stop them.
God, he’d been so right about me, and it scared me to death.
I envied them their abandon and recklessness, although hadn’t I done the same thing, albeit more sedately and quietly?
Finally, right now sitting in my small top floor apartment in this old Victorian mansion, I finally, FINALLY feel like I’m free.
Up until I’d indulged in carnal fantasies with Rock, indulged because I chose to, not because it was my job, my duty, not because it was my only reason for living, I’d still been lurking in the shadows afraid to experience my newfound freedom. Yes, I was out of The Club, yes, I had my own business, relying on no one but myself, yes, I had my own roof over my head. All the pieces were in place for my new life, but I’d yet to actually live.
And live I did. Again and again. I can’t wait to do it again.
As I sit at my computer in my tiny bedroom, a knock at the door startles me. My heart pounds and I jump a mile in my seat.
“It’s just Mrs. Jones, my landlord, relax,” I tell myself on the way to answer the door. Every once in a while she’ll bring some soup she’s made, or pot roast. She tells me I work too much and I need some home cooked food.
