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“Why?” Strange question to ask when given a platinum bracelet that has to cost a fortune, I know, but why would he buy me anything? I’m just his fuckbuddy.
“To always remind you that you like it.” His gaze dips to my cleavage, darkening. “That you beg for it. For me.”
“I don’t beg for you.” I scoff, getting scared, all too aware he might have seen through me, realized I feel more for him that I’d ever admit, even to myself. “It’s just sex.”
“Yeah.” He turns his face away. “Yeah, it is. Damn good sex, though.” From the side, I watch his mouth tilt up in a smirk. “And now you’ll wear my flogger on your wrist.”
“Maybe.”
He faces me again. “You will, Doll. Because in the bedroom you’re mine.”
***
I mull over his words as he drives me to yet another boutique hotel. I swear, we must have tried them all over the past few months.
In the bedroom you’re mine.
You’ll wear my flogger on your wrist.
He’s marking me. Like a lion, marking his females.
But why? He doesn’t need to do that. Not him. Not with me. He can literally have any girl he likes.
Unless he really does like me that much, which is… insanity. If he did like me, he’d have asked me out. He’d try to be a boyfriend for me, not someone I see when he’s in town, not someone I only see at night and have sex with in random hotel rooms.
I finger the bracelet as we enter the hotel. It hangs heavy on my wrist. Definitely expensive stuff. Should I give it back?
It almost feels like he’s paying me for sex.
Although when he turns to me and smiles, when he takes my hand and lifts it to his warm lips, that thought flees. He’s never treated me badly. Never implied I’m cheap.
“You look more gorgeous than ever,” he whispers.
See? Makes it so difficult to be angry with him. Difficult to hate him when he’s only giving me pleasure. Difficult to send away.
As Dorothy put it a few days ago, why send away a man who can make you come so hard you see stars? She claims that the mere mention of his name makes me moan.
She’s lying, of course. She can’t know that. I only do that when she’s not around.
Soon enough we’re inside a luxurious room, and he grins at me as he tugs me toward the bathroom. He’s playful, and I’d much rather have his more intense, forceful side tonight.
He lets go of my hand to plug the huge bathtub and turns on the water. He winks at me over his shoulder. “I’ve traveled a lot. Wanna wash me clean?”
Despite my anxious turn of thoughts, the image is enough to make me throb between my legs. “No water for washing in Mexico?”
“I tried drowning in tequila,” he mutters, and I’m not sure he’s joking. “Didn’t work out so well.”
“Miss your friend, huh?”
“Damn right. I’m worried about him.” He drags me close, then starts undressing me. “Missed you, too.”
“You can’t,” I whisper.
“Can’t what?”
“Say things like that to me.”
“Why not?” His hands still on the zipper of my dress.
