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With another deep breath that does nothing to calm my nerves, I shake out the robe and wrap it protectively around my body. It doesn’t escape me that I’m cloaking myself in a false sense of security. I have no idea what will happen when the man who bought my virginity saunters through that door. The only thing I know for certain is that I won’t enjoy it. There will be no pleasure to be had. I’ll endure it just like I’ve endured the past five years, and then I’ll move on with my life.
Thirty thousand dollars richer.
With the robe tightly fastened around my waist, I head back into the bedroom and pick up the black eye mask, rubbing the silky material between my fingertips. Then I snag my phone from my purse and text the number on the note.
As soon as I hit send, the muscles in my belly spasm, becoming painful. I drop the cell back into my purse and settle in the middle of the bed with the robe tightly cinched around my waist before slipping the mask over my eyes and reclining against the pillows. With my vision obscured, my breath comes out in short sharp pants as nerves careen across my flesh.
Trembles rack my rigid body as my ears stay pricked for the slightest sound. It feels like hours slowly tick by before the door in the entryway opens and then closes, the lock clicking into place. The sound echoes throughout the quietness that presses in on me. Every footfall that brings him closer feels like the heavy step of a giant.
My fingers twist.
Locking and unlocking.
Carefully smoothing the material.
I freeze when he pauses over the threshold.
What does he see when he stares at me?
A virgin sacrifice cloaked in white?
Because that’s exactly what I feel like.
My heart thuds painfully beneath my breast. Any second, it’ll explode from my chest.
My ears continue to strain, pricked for the slightest sound.
Movement.
An acknowledgment or greeting.
Something that will reassure me that I’ve made the right decision.
The image of the guy from the elevator pops into my head.
Would I recognize the sound of his voice?
I try to dredge it up but aren’t able to. I’m so lost in thought that I startle when the mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles next to me. My lips part as I gulp oxygen into my lungs before releasing it in short bursts back into the atmosphere.
When he inches closer, the air stirs around us before I feel the gentle sweep of his finger across my lower lip. It’s slowly that it strums back and forth. Without a word, he traces the curve of my cheek to my jaw before sliding lower along the column of my neck to my collarbone and then back up again.
Just as I become used to his touch, his fingers disappear. I almost miss the tenderness of them.
The realization is jarring.
It’s the first sign that this might turn out to be more than what I expected.
A second later, his hands slip into the loose arms of the robe and stroke upward to my elbow. Back and forth he caresses, gently kneading the muscles along the way.
He twists, leaning over me, giving me a sense of his larger form. His woodsy cologne invades my senses, teasing my nostrils. There’s something strangely comforting about the scent. The heat of his body permeates mine as he cages me in with his strength. It’s an odd sensation to be blindfolded and rely on all of my other senses to piece together a mental picture of this person.
Touch.
Scent.
In the darkness that surrounds me, they feel heightened.
I focus on his hands as they continue to massage my muscles, attempting to loosen the tension that fills them. They’re large and strong. Once my arms turn pliant, he shifts, his hands settling on my ankles before gradually sliding to my knees. The thick material gets shoved upward to my thighs.
