Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
He huffs out a faint laugh. “It won’t hold up in any court in the country.”
Some of my nerves ease, but I haven’t survived this long by being a complete fool. “I’d like to read it before agreeing.”
“Of course.” He reaches into his designer suit jacket and produces a surprisingly small stack of papers. “Take your time.”
I sip my wine and then set the glass on the coffee table so I have both my hands free. He may say this contract isn’t meant to hold up in court, but Pope would flog me bloody if I signed anything without reading it first.
It’s three pages, hardly the densest reading, but detailed enough that I have to go back to the beginning and parse through it more slowly. When I reach the end for the third time, I look at Azazel and arch my brows. “You want me to be yours for the rest of my life? Darling, I didn’t know you had a marriage kink.”
His smile is tighter than normal, his charm flickering in a way that truly does worry me. I hate to admit it, but this is one red flag too many. The best client may pretend that I’m theirs and theirs alone, but the moment our session ends, they don’t fight the reality that this is just business. This contract may be pretend, but it represents a problem.
Worse, though, is the little warmth in my chest of wanting. I know better than to truly fall for my clients, though I’m human—I care for my favorites well beyond what they do for my bank account. They may fancy themselves in love with me, but they’re in love with the fantasy of Ginger, with the experience I provide.
“It’s a new development. Something I’m . . . trying out.”
Understanding dawns, bringing with it an unforgivable sting. “This is a sample contract. You’re going to do the real thing on some lucky partner?” I smack him lightly with the pages, trying to cover up my conflicted emotions with humor. “Why didn’t you just say so?” I read through one last time. It’s honestly thorough for how short it is. A lifetime commitment. An assurance that the safe word will be honored above all else. There’s even a clause about what happens if children result from the union—something I will not be worrying about with my IUD and contractual use of protection with my partners.
Azazel, normally the very picture of cool and composed, actually blushes. “It’s tacky.”
I don’t comment on that. “I’ll sign this for the night if that’s your fantasy. But I am curious about how you want to spend the rest of the time before dawn.”
His eyes heat. “I have a few ideas.”
I don’t try to fight the pulse of pure need that goes through me in response to his lust. This, at least, is a known and acceptable emotion. I can fake it with the best of my peers, but Azazel is too damn perceptive. From the very first session, he read my body as if he possessed a map and set out to make me come as many times as possible before seeking his own completion. After the day I’ve had, a dozen orgasms sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Even so . . . “Indulge me and be specific.”
He produces a pen and presses it into my palm. “I want to spoil you, Ginger. I want to treat you as if you were mine in truth.”
“That’s not specific.” I wave the pen at him, even as my heart leaps. I know better than to believe pretty lies. Truly, I do. But sometimes the unloved orphan I spent my childhood being gets the best of me. Even though the world has proven itself cruel and selfish, in my heart of hearts, I simply want someone to choose me, to love me above all others. I’m too old for fairy tales—I have been since I was a child—but some fantasies persist even when you know better.
He grins almost ruefully. “Mostly, I want to shove up that dress and taste your cunt.” He’s achingly familiar like this, self-possessed and confident. “Once I get my fill, I’ll fuck you. Again and again, until our time together is at an end.”
I can’t stop myself from squeezing my thighs together. “In that case . . .” I sign with a flourish.
It’s not until I lift the pen that I realize my mistake. In my distraction, I haven’t signed the name Ginger. Why would I? She’s real only in these moments with my clients. I’ve never had to sign anything as her.
No, I sign it as Eve.
I press the papers to my chest. “I need a moment.”
“It won’t matter.” Azazel drains his wine and sets the glass down on the table. “I’m sorry, Eve. You may never forgive me for this, but at least you’ll be alive to hate me.”