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I’m willing to give her a hell of a lot, and I do.
***
Samantha
I wake up the next morning in Dante’s bed, which is where I’ve woken up every morning since the night we went at it like animals in the VIP box. His side of the bed is empty; he had an early meeting with his father scheduled this morning.
I snuggle into the soft white sheets and close my eyes. My body is tender, deliciously sore from the way Dante used me last night. I wake up like this every morning, and the memory of the things he did to me keep me in a state of almost constant horniness. The tenderness between my thighs, the way my breasts ache, my aching thigh muscles…every moment reminds me of him and the things I’ve been willing to do for him.
The sex would be enough, but I know it’s more than that. I’m falling for him. Those dark eyes, the scent of him, the way he moans my name. Waking up held tightly in his arms, the sweet, tender kisses he gives me before he drifts off to sleep at night. We don’t spend a lot of time talking, but the connection between us is intense and immediate.
And yet…
I know this is coming to an end. I’ve had those moments, daydreams about what it would be like if this were my life, if this penthouse was my home and Dante was really mine. And no matter how amazing things are between us, there are two things I can’t keep lying to myself about: number one, this is temporary, and number two, he’s paying me, and I’m having sex with him. There’s a word for people who do that, and I never thought I’d be one of them. The fairy tale side of me wants to believe there’s something between us and there’s a chance at forever. The realist, the girl who grew up poor and stayed that way, sees it for what it is: a business transaction.
I’ve been doing a good job at not thinking about that too much, but last night was amazing, and now all I can think of is that my nights of having Dante Knight bring me to orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm are coming to an end. I’ll have to go back to my life, and he’ll go back to his, with some other woman occasionally decorating his arm.
I blink back tears. The idea of him with someone else kills me, and I know I’m in too deep. I should call this quits now, tell him I’ll take a hundred grand so my Pops can pay off this debt, and make a clean break. All I need is for the goons to leave my father alone. I don’t need a million. Not if it means staying here and having my heart slowly but surely ripped to shreds, each day bringing me closer to the fact that while I might be falling for him, all I am to Dante is a convenient fuck and well-behaved arm candy.
I flop over onto my back. I’m a mess. I’m all over the place: giddy ecstasy one minute, and then reality hits me upside the head and I feel like I can barely breathe.
I should leave. Get Pops’ money and go while I still have some dignity left.
Now I just need to get Dante to agree to it.
Eventually, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I dress and do my hair and makeup, and then grab my laptop and head out into the dining room. There’s already coffee on; Dante’s good about making it and keeping it warm for me since he’s usually awake before I am.
There I go again, thinking of our arrangement like it’s a typical, sweet little domestic dream. I shake my head, grab a cup of coffee, and then settle in to look over casting calls and job listings in San Francisco. We won’t be able to afford to move to L.A. on only a hundred thousand, but I can at least get my father out from under the Mafia.
I spend most of the day applying for jobs and adding cast
ing calls to my calendar. If I’m stuck here in San Francisco for a while, I’ll work my butt off to get into a position to do better later on. Dante’s million would have made that easier, but I can’t do this anymore.
I keep nervously checking the clock. I don’t know how I’m going to present it to him. I can tell him I’m needed at home. That I can’t do it anymore. That a hundred grand for three weeks in a month that should have cost him a million is a hell of a bargain, especially considering how much time I spent on my knees and my back.
Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t add that last part.
I’m about to get up and order dinner when my phone rings. I glance at it and see that it’s Pops’ number. I told him that I was working as a housekeeper for some rich guy while he had people in town. Kinda, sorta close enough, I guess.
“Heya, Pops,” I answer, forcing cheerfulness into my voice.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s the job going?” He sounds different, wrong. Still the usual warm tone I was used to hearing from Pops, but wrong somehow. Kind of muffled.
My stomach sinks, twists. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” he says soothingly, and his voice still sounds wrong.
“Pops, what is it? Are you sick? Do you need me to come home?”
“No. No, no, sweetheart. I’m fine. You worry too much,” he chides.
“Pops. I can hear it in your voice. Something’s wrong,” I say softly. “What is it?”
He doesn't answer for a moment, and then I hear him clear his throat. “D’Agostino sent a few of his guys over here. A little reminder that he wants his money before the first of the month.”
“Pops,” I whisper.
“I’m okay,” he assures me. “I’m fine, Sammy. They roughed me up a little, that’s all. Black eye, fat lip. I’m okay.”
