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I licked my lips, pushing my hips up, not wanting to talk about my lack of love life. "Fuck me please, Hunter."
"God," he said, his gaze moving over me. "Why don’t you have someone fucking you every night? If you were mine…"
Then he pushed into me entirely, his hands gripping my hips, and it felt so good, I groaned out loud, my eyes closed. He positioned me so that he could thrust while still stroking my clit, and soon, with very few thrusts, my body went over the edge once more and I began to spasm, my core tightening, my flesh clenching around his thick hard cock.
"Oh God, oh God," I cried out as I came, the sensation of pleasure so intense I felt momentarily blinded by it. He thrust even harder at that, and soon, when I cracked open my eyes and peeked at him through my eyelashes, I saw he was close as well, eyes half-closed but watching his cock sliding in and out of me, his face red, neck muscles and shoulders tense, jaw clenched.
"Fuck, oh, fuck," he groaned, thrusting hard and deep, ejaculating with each thrust. When he finally collapsed on top of me and lay still, I could still feel his cock spasm inside of me.
I wrapped my arms around him, and together we breathed deeply as we both recovered.
It felt completely strange and, at the same time, completely right to be lying like that, in Hunter's arms, his cock still deep inside me. It felt like no time had passed since that first night—except, of course, so much had happened.
So much bad had happened between us, to each of us, since then…
After a few moments, he rose and removed the condom from his cock, still semi-erect, then tied it off and tossed it in a trash can beside the bed. He crawled off the bed and grabbed his boxer briefs, pulling them on quickly.
Then he turned and left me lying there while he went to the ensuite bathroom.
I frowned. I heard him take a piss, then decided I had better get up myself. I went into the bathroom and found my towel, then stopped beside him, wondering what I should do next.
"Bacon and eggs," he said and pointed at the door. "I like my toast light with butter. Oh, and fresh-squeezed juice. There's a juicer in the cupboard by the refrigerator."
"Yes, Sir," I said tartly, feeling suddenly like what I was—a servant. A sex servant. A sex worker, who doubled as a cook and whatever else Hunter wanted.
There was no moment of post-coital intimacy between us. It was like I'd just made his bed or cleaned his room. He leaned close to the mirror and examined his cut, touching the butterfly bandages where one had come a bit loose from the steam.
He saw me still standing there, and turned to me.
"You don't want to be late for class, Celia. Chop-chop."
I stomped out of the bathroom and went to my own bedroom, my body feeling well-used after two shattering orgasms and his big thick cock pounding into me, but my feelings were hurt. I felt empty as I pulled on my clothes. I brushed my hair back and stared at my face in the mirror.
"You're a prostitute," I said to my reflection. "So much for your fancy Harvard degree…"
I made him breakfast, frying bacon and eggs in a pan I found in a cupboard, and he finally showed up to eat, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a pale blue shirt and black tie that set off his eyes.
I placed his plate of food down, along with a glass of fresh orange juice and coffee. Barely a word passed between us the entire time. He sat at the island and read the paper while he ate, his focus on the financial section. For my part, I ate some eggs and toast, and drank some coffee.
Finally, he glanced at his very expensive watch and eyed me. "Gotta go. James should be downstairs for you in about thirty minutes."
He folded up his paper and left it on the island, then went to the closet by the front entrance to slip on his shoes. He adjusted his tie in the mirror beside the door and then left, not even looking back.
I sat there in mute incomprehension.
He felt nothing. While I was all mixed up inside, aroused and upset, feeling sick about everything but enjoying it anyway, he acted like nothing happened out of the ordinary.
I left the kitchen and plopped onto the sofa, staring out the window at the bay, a sense of emptiness making me feel like crying. I glanced around the apartment. In truth, it wasn't a bad job, as jobs went. Sleep in a huge four-poster bed, fuck the lord of the manor and orgasm twice. Make breakfast, and then go to class.
Hunter had become a mafia money man. He owned me—at least, for as long as it took to pay off my debt. I'd become his call girl.
I sighed and went to the bedroom to make the bed before I left for class.
One night down, one hundred and ninety-nine nights to go…
Chapter 6: Hunter
Hunter
