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The porch isn’t a full wraparound, like the one at home, but it’s long enough to house a few Adirondack chairs.
He’s been busy.
My fist bangs on the white front door just as the wind blows.
Part of me thinks Mother Nature is on my side, the clouds heavy and as gray as this house. I can almost smell the rain coming, can nearly hear the wind howling with its need to unleash as well.
“You’re early,” he announces as he opens the door. He’s barefoot and I wonder what kind of business dinner he has in mind with his T-shirt and cotton shorts on.
His smile pushes me over the edge.
“You think that just because you’re giving me some money, I’m going to fuck you?” My arms are crossed and I’m happy I wore heels, standing taller than I usually would.
His chuckle reeks of danger.
But I push forward, my brow lifted with challenge. “I don’t need the money that badly.”
“You do. But I don’t think that’s the reason you’ll fuck me…again,” he tells me, his voice quiet.
Too quiet for such a passionate man.
“You’re entirely too confident. It’s unbecoming.”
“Don’t play these games with me.” His voice is a little harder now as he braces the frame of the front door, but I stand my ground and ignore the stretch of muscles as he moves.
“What games, Mr. James?” I ask, lifting a brow, daring him to go toe-to-toe with me.
“The same intimidation tactics you use on the frail men around here who don’t have the wherewithal to fuck you right. I’m not them. I don’t scare easily.”
He says all of this with an ease that makes me tremble. I try to hide it with a scoff.
“Oh? Is that right?”
“I bet none of them have ever made you come as hard as I have.” He straightens as I touch my index finger to my thumb, my arms at my sides. “I could do it again, if you’d like.”
“It was a fluke,” I blurt out. “Nothing more than months’ worth of pent-up desire.”
“Truth or dare?” he asks, his question nearly interrupting me.
“Truth,” I tell him, opting to confess rather than be forced into doing something I may regret later.
“Can you count on your hands how many orgasms you’ve experienced? The ones you haven’t given yourself?”
Yes.
But I’ll never tell.
“That’s none of your business,” I grind out, sure that my flared nostrils are giving away my truth.
“You can either answer or perform a dare of my choosing. Those are the rules,” he reminds me, bringing his arms back down until they cross over his chest.
And they are. I’d read them in the contract I have yet to sign.
I could walk away from him, get in my car, and laugh all the way home.
And my laughter would turn into panicked tears because I have no idea what my Plan B would look like. I need the money that badly.
I look him square in the eye as I speak. “Yes,” I whisper, hating the fragility of my tone, the unleashing of my secret, the embarrassment at my lack of experience.
