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Maybe more than that bullshit, though, at the end of the day, I just can’t see myself committing to her. I like being free and independent. I like not having to consider someone else when I’m making decisions, and I like being able to fuck who I want, when I want.
I mean, Samantha’s the only one I want, and the only one I can see myself wanting for a long time, but that’s infatuation. She’s under my skin, and fuck if I know how she got there. But she’ll leave, and eventually I’ll get my head on straight again.
By the time I’m on the elevator, I’m so hard and frustrated I swear I’m about to lose my mind. I walk into the penthouse, and I’m met with the most perfect sight on the face of the planet: Samantha, naked, lounging on the living room couch. She smiles at the look on my face.
“I thought I’d save you a little time,” she says.
“Good girl,” I growl, ripping my tie off and flinging it away from me as I stalk toward her. She lets out a low, breathy giggle when I pick her up and turn her so her legs are hanging off the edge of the couch, but it ends on a high, keening wail when I kneel down and lap at her sweet pussy. There’s no shyness in her now, and she pushes herself toward my face, needing, demanding more. I grab her ass and hold her closer, devouring her, relentless in my desire to wring every possible orgasm, every scream of ecstasy from her before our time together ends. When she weakly tries to push me away from her, I grab her hands and hold them down and keep licking, sucking.
“Dante, oh god. Please,” she moans, out of her mind and weak from the orgasms she’s had. She’s so sensitive, so damn sexy, and I can’t resist toying with her some more. I suck her clit and slide two fingers inside her. I curl them, slowly and rhythmically, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside her, and I feel another orgasm building. She’s moaning my name, over and over again, and when she explodes, she comes screaming, and I keep right on sucking and stroking, prolonging her orgasm as long as I can.
When I’ve tasted my fill, I press an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thighs, first one, then the other, and then I sit up. She looks at me with a glazed expression in her eyes, and then she smiles.
“I’m going to greet you naked every day now,” she jokes.
“May as well. How many of your clothes have I ripped in my impatience to get you naked?” I ask, and she laughs. Then I hoist her up into my arms and carry her to my bedroom, which as far as I’m concerned, she’s not allowed to leave until the next morning.
I’m just lucky that she never seems to tire of my touch, as if I’ve awakened some deep hunger inside her and she wants to take everything I’m willing to give her.
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 casting 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.
