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Whitney, 8:00 pm is perfect. Please wear something with buttons.
I head to the personal gym in my penthouse. Thirty minutes on the treadmill should do me some good, both physically and mentally. I need get this girl out of my head because it’s starting to become ridiculous. I’m a self-made man who’s turned down so many women, I’ve lost count. Whitney’s power over me has got to stop.
It’s 8:03. I spent two hours in the gym and worked myself into a heaving, sweaty pulp. At least it released some of the sexual frustration I’ve been feeling. I make Whitney wait until 8:05 before logging in, not wanting her to think I’m too desperate to see her. I want to see how she handles me being firm with her and click “enter” for our private room.
The curvy girl is sitting on her bed, patiently waiting, sipping on a glass of wine. She’s changed the scene. The jewel tones of her bed are gone and so are most of the pillows. She’s hung a sky blue tapestry on the wall behind the mattress and she’s sitting on a plaid blanket. There’s a basket beside her.
“I thought you were standing me up,” she quips with a smile. “You were early for our date last night, but I have good news: I splurged with a little of the money you tipped me and set up a picnic for us.”
Whitney pulls out a wheel of cheese, some grapes, and what looks like homemade bread from the basket. She’s wearing a white halter sun dress covered in big pink flowers, and it buttons all the way down the front while hugging those luscious curves. Her lips gleam with petal pink lipstick and her nails are painted to match. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail tied with a ribbon the color of bubblegum.
Good. I’m glad to see this set-up. Whitney followed instructions and she’s going to make some serious money tonight.
“You look amazing,” I remark. “I wish I could be there to really share that picnic with you. Did you make the bread?”
She smiles sweetly.
“Of course I did. What self respecting baker buys pre-sliced bread? But I really only splurged on the Gouda and the grapes. I’ve had this wine sitting here on a shelf for a while now. It was a birthday present last year.”
“Gouda, grapes, homemade bread, and birthday wine sounds like a perfect picnic. We wouldn’t want to be too full for our after picnic activities,” I tease
Whitney blushes and takes a sip of her wine. She’s adorable and I love it.
“Do you have a bottle of wine to open and drink with me?” she asks.
“I think I might have one here somewhere. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
Quickly, I get up and leave the room. In the kitchen, I grab a California red out of my wine fridge and open it quickly before returning to my date. She smiles and toys with her ponytail upon seeing me again.
“So, I wore a ribbon in my hair in case you wanted me to take it out again. And I have the buttons, as you requested.”
My eyes roam over her beautiful face and lush curves.
“I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate outfit for tonight. I’m going to reward you for that. Let’s play a game. For every button you undo, I’ll give you $50. Starting now.”
To me surprise, she smiles coyly.
“Maybe I should make you wait. You haven’t even tried my bread yet.”
I laugh and play along with her game.
“Well, cut me a slice and add some of that cheese to it.”
She ponders this for a moment and looks about to do my bidding, but then she shoots me a naughty smile and instead unhooks the top button of her dress. Perfect. Who cares about bread and cheese when there’s Whitney? I send her $50.
With the dress hanging open, she leans forward to cut the bread, and I can see the tops of those lush, creamy orbs as they dangle. I get a glimpse of a pert, pink nipple, and immediately stiffen at the sight.
A growl escapes my throat.
“I think you’ve done this before. You’re too good at it. You can’t possibly be a baker in real life.”
Whitney falls out of character to defend herself.
“No, I really am a pastry chef. I’m not a professional cam girl.”
“Well, you have a promising back-up career if the bakery goes belly up.”
Her cheerful smile falters and I realize how insensitive that was. I already know how worried she is about her business, and immediately apologize.
“I’m sorry Whitney, that wasn’t what I meant. I meant that you are so beautiful and smart that you’d do well at anything you set your mind to.”
I add $200 to her account. She looks at the notification, and her long lashes drop a bit.
