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In the end, what decides it is much more simple. I fucking love the pleasure Ilya makes me feel. “Yes.”
A dangerous smile spreads across Ilya’s intensely masculine face, and my heart flutters.
“Good.”
Ilya leans toward me, his arm stretching across my lap, and my body responds instinctually, a fresh wave of arousal gushing into my panties.For fuck’s sake.It’s embarrassing how attracted to him I am. But he doesn’t touch me. Instead, he pops the glove box, letting it fall open before me, and I gasp. Inside are numerous stacks of hundreds–enough to cover my substantial tuition and then some–tucked neatly inside a leather bank bag.
“This is for your school payment with extra for any food or clothes you might want to buy in the next few days. I will look into your housing this week. If you need anything else, just tell me.”
“Okay,” I breathe, my eyes locked on the massive amount of cash he’s simply handing over to me.
“You’ll also use this money to get a more permanent birth control. I hate rubbers and won’t be using them once you’ve seen the doctor to have it handled. IUD, hormone shot, whatever you prefer, but make it a priority–along with a full test for STDs.”
“But I was a–”
“Standard practice,” he says gruffly.
I nod silently, grateful for his precaution, considering it protects me as well.
Ilya strokes my cheek with one knuckle, his penetrating gaze studying my face. “Good night,moya feya.”
I take the hint. “Good night.”
Gripping the bank bag and tucking it tightly against my chest, I slide out of Ilya’s car and turn toward my apartment building. I fight the urge to glance back as I head inside, determined to appear as casual as he seems about the fact that I just signed my body over to him for the foreseeable future.
Will I come to regret this decision?Probably. But right now, a bag full of cash in exchange for copious amounts of pleasure seems just like what Ilya said it would be: a win-win. And I’m determined to squeeze whatever victory I can from this shitty lot I’ve drawn in life.
9
WHITNEY
“Whitney!” Strong arms pull me into a hug from behind as the familiar, synchronized voices of the Humboldt twins confirm the identities of the two shorter people tackling me.
Despite the glares of irritation thrown my way as we block the entrance to Rosehill’s dance building, I laugh. I love the girls’ enthusiasm, and their surprise attack has left me all but incapacitated, with my arms glued tight to my sides.
“We missed you!” Tammy says, releasing me first.
Tori does the same a moment later, allowing me to turn and face them. Broad grins stretch across their practically identical faces. But having known them for over a year now and considering them my closest friends, I can see the subtle differences–the way Tori’s eyes are set just a little wider, the way Tammy’s hair holds more blues compared to her sister’s reddish tint, the slight imbalance in Tammy’s smile. But those are such minor differences that most people don’t even bother trying to tell them apart.
Both girls are on the short side, compared to me. At five foot two, and set on the muscular, stocky side, they’re built for more modern dance with gymnastic elements–not so much ballet. Good thing, too, seeing as they’ve already declared their focus as modern and interpretive dance.
“I missed you too! Where have you been all summer? And what’s with the sneak attack?”
Tori giggles as Tammy rolls her eyes, and I know whose idea it must have been.
“Since our first class is tumbling, we knew we wouldn’t be in that with you, and I wanted to see you! I hate that our schedules are going to be so different this year,” Tori says.
“Me too. But, hey, we’ll still have dance appreciation together.” I shrug in a “that’s life” kind of way, but I will miss having my spunky friends to joke around with.
“Three times a week!” Tori beams.
“But where haveyoubeen all summer? We got back from Greece, like, three weeks ago,” Tammy says, crossing her arms in mock frustration.
For all their physical similarities, the twins’ personalities couldn’t be more different. Tammy with her sassy temper and have-at-you personality, Tori always brimming with bubbly affection. And yet, I’ve never seen them apart.
“I’ve just been working a lot…” I hedge, not ready to mention who’s been filling my nights most recently.
“Work is good. Did you–oh, hey! Paige, over here!” Tori throws her hand in the air, waving to a tall bleach-blond girl heading our way.
