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“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say shakily, glancing away. I start pulling my clothes on, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to work with him now. Smart girl. Not only did you fuck your boss but you also lost your V-card to him. That’ll gain you all kinds of respect.
And yet, I also know that I don’t regret it. If anything, Nathaniel has lifted the lid on a sexual power I never even knew I had. Plus, he’s given me masturbatory memories for the next several years, at least.
I finish buttoning my top, and then I force myself to look up at him. He’s watching me, a serious look on his face.
“So, we did it. I’ve wanted to do that since we met. I thought, maybe, this would get that out of my system—that a good fuck would solve everything. And it was a very, very good fuck,” he says, and I blush.
“It was.”
“The thing is, I’m not done with you, Poppy. And you telling me that you were a virgin only made my desire for you more desperate. I want you even more now than I did before I knew how good you tasted, how responsive you are, how fucking good it feels to be inside you.”
“Nathaniel,” I murmur. I press my thighs together. How does he do that? Make me so ready with nothing more than a word?
“I have a proposition for you,” he says quietly, and I look up at him.
“What is it?”
“Unpaid internships suck. You’re talented and quick. I think I should pay you. And I think I should pay you what an entry-level curator would make here, which is a significant amount.”
He says a number that has my head spinning.
“Um… thank you?” I did not know sleeping one’s way to the top was this easy. If I had, I would have tried it before now, maybe.
“Yes. With one condition.”
I pause and take a deep breath. “What is that?”
“You will be my lover. You’ll come to me when I want, how I want.”
My mouth drops. “There’s a word for paying someone to fuck you.”
“Yes, there is. But I’m paying you to help run the gallery and organize shows. A side requirement of your employment, which we shall keep between the two of us, by the way, is that I have access to that sweet little body of yours whenever I want it. That when I tell you to bend over, you do it happily, and when I call you and tell you to come to me, you come willingly and punctually. I’m not satisfied. It’ll be a long time spent between your thighs before I’ve had enough.”
“I…” I glance away. He’s offering me a hell of a lot of money. And I know I’d open my legs for him in a second if he asked me to. But this combination of commerce and sex… my stomach twists. Despite what he’s trying to say, there is a word for that, and it’s not “curator.”
“I need to think about it,” I say, my voice going quieter. I glance up at him, and he’s still watching me.
He nods. “Okay. That’s fine. Monday, then.”
“All right. Um. I should get going.”
Before I can even get my jacket back on and hunt down my bag, Nathaniel has called me a cab, and we wait together in awkward, post-multi-orgasm silence for it to arrive. When it does, he walks me out, opens the door, and pays the cabbie to take me home. He gives me a quick nod, a hint of a smile, and then he closes the taxi door behind me and walks back into the gallery.
I give the cabbie my address and settle back into the seat.
What the hell am I doing? My body still aches from the way he used me, reminding me how good it felt and how out of control he made me feel. And now he wants to pay me a huge salary for the next month and a half, as long as I’m his lover, too. I know this is shady as hell. I know it’s wrong. After all, I was still a virgin up until a few minutes ago.
But I still want it. And I need to figure out exactly what I’m going to do about that.
Chapter Eight
Nathaniel
I spent all weekend either reliving every second I’d spent with Poppy in my gallery or glaring at my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed a message or a text from her. The fact that the little doe was a virgin only has me more eager to claim her again. And again.
At my age, I’d definitely thought my deflowering days were over, and that I would never have the good fortune of being with a woman so young and beautiful… but then fate blew Poppy into my life. Before our erotic moment at the gallery, there was only one other person I’d told about my rough childhood. And that was Danneel.
My parents were poor and from the wrong side of the tracks. My father was a laborer by day and a drunk by night. My mother had a string of jobs that came and went, but nothing that stuck. She couldn’t handle authority—people telling her what to do, especially if they were male. I suppose, she got enough flack of my father, and there isn’t a day that I don’t remember the bruises on her face most mornings. The strange this was, even with such imperfections, she was still so beautiful. As beautiful as the canvas that I showed Poppy at the gallery.
