I grab a condom, slide it on the sink beside the shower, and join her. “It is.”
“Wow.”
I lean in and turn the shower on. Moments later, billows of steam fill the room. I reach for her hand.
“We have half an hour before that food gets here.”
She nods. “Yes, daddy. And another hour before the contract’s up.”
Is it my imagination, or is there a note of sadness in her voice? I hate that our night together has come to an end so quickly.
I close the shower door, take two washcloths, and lather them up with the rosette soaps. She closes her eyes when I tip her head back, running a stream of hot water through her hair before I shampoo it. Wordlessly, I lather her body, paying close attention to her nipples, her neck, and the sweet apex of her thighs. When I’m done, she does the same for me.
It’s easy but sensual. I could get used to this.
By the time I’ve lathered her fully, my cock’s hard, and she’s practically panting. I arrange her against the shower, bend her over, and roll the condom on. She rocks against me as I take her from behind. I slide in and out of her with blissful pleasure, and as I come again, I know.
That contract was only a prelude.
After our breakfast, we quietly dress, and it’s like the curtain’s come down on the show. She’s fulfilled her contract. The time is up. I should be ready to face the day, to do my work, satisfied with the one-night stand that scratched the itch, but I’m not.
“I’ll arrange for a ride to get you home.”
“I have a car…”
Is her car safe? I don’t want her driving alone.
Why do I care?
“I’d much prefer you take my ride, so I know you’ve arrived home safely. I’ll arrange for your car to be brought home later.” I tell myself making sure she gets home safe protects me from liability.
Or something.
Her eyes brighten and she smiles. “You’ll come with me?”
I look away. “I have work to do, so no. But one of my drivers will take you.”
Her voice is pained. “Oh.”
She gathers her things and I kiss her cheek, but the second the door shuts behind her, I want to yank it open, grab her, and pull her back to me. I want to keep her here, with me, where she’s safe, because a part of me feels...as if she’s mine.
But I can’t get involved with an escort, I know I can’t. I open the door, but she’s already gone. I slam it, pacing the penthouse. I go about my day on autopilot, answering calls and sending emails, attending teleconferences and signing paperwork.
By lunchtime, I’m on my feet, pacing back and forth in front of my desk. I have to find a way to get her back.
I have to.Chapter 5Katie
The driver pulls up to my apartment complex. I should be happy to be home, but I’m not.
I’m wearing last night's dress, wrinkled and rumpled, my hair’s air dried from the shower, and it’s poofing around my face like a winsome cloud. I attempt to smooth it down in preparation of my walk of shame.
Only, it's not a walk of shame if you arrive in a limo. Is it?
My purse lays heavy in my lap, the coins I won at the slots weighing it down. Then, I remember what else is in that bag.
Ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.
I know I should feel icky, dirty, carrying around money paid to me for a night of sex, but I don’t.
I feel elated. As much as I could, I suppose, now that I’ve left the hotel. Maybe it was how sweet he was, how hot, and possessive, but it took everything I had to make myself leave when my contract was fulfilled.
Was he reticent too, or was that only my imagination?
Last night was the best of my life. Not only the sex, the stunning orgasms, the deliciously taboo way I called him daddy, but the overall vibe of being with Darius, the handsome stranger.
I felt decadent and spoiled and… safe.
The way he held me in his arms, it's like I can still feel him wrapped around me like a protective cocoon.
“Miss?”
It’s only then that I realize I’ve been sitting in the parked limo, a Cheshire Cat smile across my dazed face. Jumping in my seat, I say, “Oh, I’m sorry! How much for the ride?”
Unzipping my purse, I finger the stack of cash. Electricity dances through my body just from brushing the edge of the crisp bills with the pad of my finger.
“Ma’am? I’m not for hire. I’m Mr. Morrow’s personal driver.” He offers me a polite smile.
“Right. Okay, how about a tip, then?” I pull a twenty from the stack.
He shakes his head. “No need, little lady. Mr. Morrow pays me quite well. Enjoy your day.”