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I get out and move around the car, pulling her door open. “Out you come.”
She steps out, her skirt slipping to flash me a length of thigh. The fact that I didn’t come inside her makes my cock throb with need at the sight. She has no panties on. I could bend her over the hood and slide that skirt up to her hips, thrust into her for the second time this evening, fill her up.
Not yet. I have more self control than that, no matter how good she looks. “Good night,” I say, kissing her gently, sliding a hand up her skirt. “This may be a business deal but that does not mean we can’t mix business with pleasure.”
Just as my hand is about to reach her pussy, I stop myself. She needs to see the self control I have. See that I am in charge of when this stops and starts. I am in charge of all of this. “Good night,” I say again, moving away from her, climbing back into the car, leaning out to say, “Remember, straight to bed.”
She walks away in a slight daze, like she wanted me to carry on touching her but hates herself for that desire. Something is causing her problems with this. I’ll get to the bottom of it once the ring’s on her finger. Help her see that there is nothing wrong with having fantasies, desires, dreams.
I wonder, as I drive, if that’s why she’s writing her book. Is it easier to focus on someone else’s artwork than to create any of her own? Perhaps she wants to paint but dare not do it. Could that be it? I think of the perfect wedding gift as I head home. The thought brings a smile to my face.
My smile broadens as I realize that this time tomorrow, we’ll be on our honeymoon. That’s when the real submission begins. Who knows, maybe she’s right. Maybe I won’t be able to let her go when the month is up.
Maybe I’ll just have to keep her forever, after all.
Thirty-Three
Ophelia
Inever dreamed of getting married. I saw what it did to my parents and there was no way I wanted the same thing for me. Marriage destroys couples. That’s what I thought. What I still think.
But this isn’t a proper marriage. Not really. I’m only doing it for the money.
Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I wake up on my wedding day. I’m only in this for the money. I’m not going to overcomplicate things by bringing feelings into what is a business arrangement.
I talked to Cathy about it when she got back last night. She was drunk and ridiculously happy. Rocky did things to her that she described in enough detail for me to turn bright pink.
I’m still jealous. It all seems so effortless for her. Meet someone you like, hook up with them, simple as that.
What am I doing? Falling for a man who’s broken inside. Afraid to commit. Afraid to admit he needs anyone in his life. I want to just give him a hug and tell him it’s okay to feel pain. Not sure I could do that without it sounding massively patronizing.
I told Cathy about the conversation me and Vincenzo had just had. Mentioned the spanking in the street outside. Told her the wedding was today. That’s when she came up with her new theory.
“You should dump him.”
“You’re shitting me.” I couldn’t believe she said that. Not after everything she said before.
“I talked to Rocky about him. He is monumentally fucked up. Won’t let women get close. Won’t let anyone get close. Lashes out if anyone gets near. Anger constantly bubbling under the surface. Plus the only thing he really cares about is money. You sure you want a life with someone like that?”
“I did until you said all that.”
“Who spanks someone in public like that? I reckon that’s just the start of his angry side coming out. You want to be around when the rest comes out?”
I brought the conversation to an end, saying I needed to get some sleep. I spent an hour laid in bed mulling over what she said. The thing is, I do want to be with him. I want a life with him. I just can’t have a life with someone who blows hot then cold.
Maybe I should just take the month and then take the money. Chalk the whole thing up to experience.
I’ve got a month to decide. As we agreed last night, either of us wants to end it, we end it.
“You made a decision?” Cathy asks when she walks through to the kitchen, yawning loudly.
I make her a coffee alongside my own and we sit at the counter together. “I’m going to decide as I go,” I tell her. “How he acts this month will tell me the type of person he wants to be.”
“You know who he wants to be. The question should be can he become the kind of man you need him to be.”
“And what’s that?”
“A man who can commit. A man who cares about you and not just his bank balance. Oh, and don’t think I forgot what you said last night.”
