Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I glanced up at Martin over the rim of my wineglass. He was undeniably handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing blue eyes. In another life, I might have been thrilled to catch the attention of such a distinguished older man. Now I felt a confusing mix of revulsion and reluctant arousal.
“Have you decided, mademoiselle?” the waiter asked, appearing at my elbow.
I realized I’d been staring blankly at the menu. “Oh, um… I’ll have the coq au vin, please.”
Martin ordered for himself in rapid French, then turned his attention back to me. His gaze raked over me, lingering on the neckline of my dress. The thought that he had ogled those degrading photos before messaging me to ask me on this date brought a rush of heat to my cheeks.
“So,” he said, “do we have a deal, chérie?” He had his phone in his hand, and I could see that he had the SA app open, with my profile picture staring out at him. I could see, too, that his interface differed from mine; right below my picture I could see a button: Make an offer.
I stared into my wineglass, watching the crimson liquid swirl as I tilted it gently. The candlelight caught the deep red hues, reminding me of the blush that had crept across my cheeks during that humiliating photoshoot. I could still hear Jean-Luc’s voice, coaxing me into ever more lewd poses. The memory made me squirm in my seat.
Martin’s eyes narrowed slightly, noticing my discomfort. His lips curved into a knowing smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. I knew he was imagining all the ways he would use my body if I agreed to his offer. The thought should have disgusted me, but instead I felt a treacherous warmth blooming between my legs.
Madame d’Arsenault’s stern warning echoed in my mind: find a sponsor within a month, or face deportation. The clock was ticking. I had already been on three other ‘dates’ this week, each one leaving me feeling more desperate and conflicted than the last. Martin’s blunt proposition was almost a relief after the false niceties of the others.
I tried to rationalize it to myself. This was just a transaction, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t really be a whore—I’d be more like… a very specialized personal assistant. One who happened to provide sexual services. The allowance would cover my living expenses while I pursued my studies. It was practically the same as having a part-time job.
“Oui, Monsieur,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 5
Alice
I watched Martin’s finger touch the Make an offer button. In my little purse, hanging from the side of my chair, my own phone buzzed. I couldn’t look at the man who had just demonstrated his power over me in that tiny but embarrassingly significant way. I fumbled as I fetched it out of my purse and saw the notification on the lock screen. Selecta Arrangements: Sponsorship offer received!
My cheeks flared with heat. I tapped the alert and read quickly.
Congratulations! Martin is offering to sponsor you! Tap for details.
I clicked through to a long contractish-looking document. I’d already said I would let him fuck me, hadn’t I? I scrolled down, trying not to overthink it; I had a sponsor, and I wouldn’t get deported this month anyway.
Accept sponsorship. The button at the bottom of the offer called to me. I swallowed hard and touched it with a trembling forefinger.
“Brava,” Martin said. I looked up at him and saw a possessive smile on his face. “I’ll try to be gentle when I take that sweet little asshole, chérie. You’re a virgin there, I imagine?”
My whole body flashed hot, and then icy cold. For a moment I tried desperately to persuade myself I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“You blush so prettily, Alice,” Martin said, evidently well-satisfied with the effect his filthy, brutal words had had on me. I stared at him in shock, my mind still reeling from his crude words. The heat in my cheeks intensified as I struggled to form a response.
“I… I don’t…” I stammered, unable to meet his gaze.
Martin chuckled, clearly amused by my discomfort. “Come now, chérie. There’s no need for false modesty. We both know why we’re here.”
The waiter arrived with our food, providing a momentary reprieve from the awkward conversation. I picked at my coq au vin, my appetite gone. Martin, on the other hand, dug into his meal with gusto, occasionally glancing up at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
As we ate in tense silence, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a terrible mistake. The reality of what I had agreed to was sinking in, and it terrified me. But what choice did I have? My dreams of studying in Paris would be shattered if I backed out now.
“Finish your wine,” Martin instructed as he signaled for the check. “We’re leaving soon. I’m eager to sample my new acquisition.”