Roderick
My phone has been vibrating nonstop with texts from my mother, father, and various friends. A woman I’ve been fuck buddies with for the better part of two years is losing her mind, reminding me to ‘stop sticking my dick in crazy.’
I look over at Natasha, who is looking in disbelief around the penthouse suite we’re staying at. I’m having her luggage picked up from her hotel to be brought here, so she doesn’t have to see Derek.
“Is it up to your lofty standards?” I say.
She looks at me, then back to the intricate lighting fixture she was staring at. “You said you were rich…but this,” She gestures around the vast room, “I will never wrap my head around.”
“I like nice things, so I stay in nice places.”
She looks around the room forlornly, and I can’t help but want to be the one that puts a smile on her face.
“If you’re hungry, I can order food. Anything you’d like. Only the best quality.”
“No, thank you,” she says in a timid voice.
I close the distance between us, hoping to ease the tension. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
She nods her head. “Yeah. I think I could use a glass.”
I fill two glasses, then sit beside her on an overstuffed couch. She’s damn near ethereal in her white gown. It’s hard to take my eyes off of her.
She accepts a glass, drinking it gingerly. If it were any other woman and this was just a date, I’d be all over her, ripping the dress from her body and taking what I please.
But with Natasha, it’s hard to know how I should proceed. Even though I’m a handsome man, women always date me for my family name: Branson. They associate it with wealth and power and are willing to give me anything in exchange for being seen on my arm.
I’m fully aware Natasha is dating me for money as it was by my design, but I can’t help but feel that maybe there’s something more between us. An affection that could develop over time.
“So, how do we do this?” Nadine whispers.
“Do what?”
Her doe eyes look at me, and I know what she means.
“Have you ever had a one night stand?” I ask.
“No.”
“Well, I was going to tell you to think of it as a one-month stand, but there goes that idea.”
She takes another sip of wine, but I take the cup from her before she can have too much.
“After we agree on terms, you can drink as much as you want.”
She clears her throat. “Do you rich people always have ‘terms’?”
“Not always spelled out,” I reply. “Do you have limits?”
“Just keep it to regular stuff,” she replies.
“Are there things you enjoy?”
She responds with silence.
“Look, Natasha, I’m not going to force myself upon you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I fucking got myself into this mess. I can hardly blame you for not—”
“No—it’s fine. I want to do it. There are just so many emotions swirling around inside me, and if there were just one that could rise above the rest, one that I could focus on, that could take me from the others, I’d gladly invite it.”
