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But straightening resolutely, I shake my shoulders. Mason and I have to talk. Birth control is both parties’ responsibility, and he promised me that we’d be careful. There has to be some way to work this out.
So I begin sudsing my hair, trying to work out the knots. Why is even my head tingly, my neck so achy? It’s like Mason’s wrung me out, using my body every which way.
And betrayingly, the sperm starts seeping again. Oh god, oh god! It feels good and I lift my leg then, letting it gush from my folds in a heavy flow. It’s so nasty and yet so right, the white rivulets trailing down my thigh. I stare, the wonderment of being a woman new and exciting, impossible to completely absorb in such a short time.
But I can’t stay here forever. So with quick fingers, the goop’s sprayed off, and I watch wide-eyed as it swirls down the drain. Jerking the spout closed, my clothes practically jump onto my limbs. Because the last thing I need is to look immature, like casual sexual experiences are new. Mason is older, more mature and successful, and it’s important to be sophisticated and blasé, a woman of the world.
“Everything alright?” Mason’s deep voice shocks me upon exit. But he doesn’t even look up from the small desk beneath the large window overlooking the city. It’s the most incredible view I’ve ever seen, and my eyes momentarily widen at the sparkling lights.
But he doesn’t notice. The billionaire’s scribbling away on a small sheet of paper as I stand there, feet planted, lost in the moment. My mind races between enjoying the present – in this beautiful apartment with a breathtaking view – while also looking forward to the future, and what he’ll do to me.
“So here’s this,” Mason again startles me, this time with his hand extended, a small white square fluttering between his fingers.
“Oh,” is all I can manage as I take the check, glancing at the amount. Five thousand dollars? I’ve never seen this much money in my life. And yet Mr. Channing casually handed it to me like it’s nothing.
“Would you like to stay longer? Or do you want me to call a cab for you?” he asks coolly. My heart drops, bones melting a bit.
Because of course. I’m supposed to leave after these interactions. And yet here I am, lingering, taking long showers and having pretend conversations with myself in the bathroom. Meanwhile, the billionaire’s impatiently waiting for me to get gone, money in hand. Idiotically, I stammer for words.
“Oh, right. Um, a cab, please.”
Mason nods imperceptibly.
“I’ll call downstairs then.”
And while he’s on the phone, my gaze rips around the room as I grab my purse from the counter and step into stiletto heels. They’re wobbly and impossibly high, but the extra inches give me confidence, even if it’s only fleeting.
Turning to the billionaire, I flash what I hope is a sunny smile.
“I can get downstairs by myself,” are my assured words. “No worries, I’ll show myself out.”
His eyebrows raise.
“But what kind of gentleman would I be?” he asks with a raised eyebrow before leading me to the private elevator.
We ride in silence in that small cube. I can feel those blue eyes on my form, heart fluttering uncontrollably. Should I say something? Everything’s so awkward, and it’s important to appear a suave, sophisticated socialite. So leaning casually against the wall, my eyes stare at the descending floor numbers illuminated at the top of the elevator car like nothing’s wrong.
But there’s still him.
Because the alpha takes things into his own hands then.
With a sudden move, he’s on me.
“Fuck this,” the man grunts, lips crashing down.
My back’s pushed against the wall of the elevator roughly, and then one leg is hoisted up to his waist, while his other hand grips a fistful of my hair. Our mouths collide, and his tongue slides against mine, aggressive and hot. But I love it, moaning hotly even as he presses that hard bulge against my opening.
“Oh God,” I gasp, body begging for more of him.
In two seconds, he’s squatted down, yanking my dress so fast the fabric tears. His face is close up to my pussy, that steamy breath blowing against my glistening clit.
“Mason,” comes my moan, writhing my hips as the elevator dings. “Oh Mason.”
But the billionaire’s not worried at all. His lips are soft and gentle on my swollen lips, and then he’s on his feet in seconds, pulling my dress down right before the doors hiss open. What? What happened? My face is flushed, body hot and clammy, still sizzling from the encounter. How does he do this to me?
But I manage to stroll out of the elevator like nothing’s wrong, except for my hand gripping Mason’s arm, a steadying force. And whaddya know, but there’s a group of skinny woman standing off to the side in tiny cocktail dresses, looking me up and down with poison in their eyes.
