Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“I swear to God, Eb, I didn’t want to leave, and how I have, I feel sick. Like a pang, right here.”
I point to my sternum, where the ball of aching want is.
“Yep,” she says. “You’ve got morning after syndrome. It happens, don’t worry. You’re a newbie. Everything is intense. So many sessions will feel like they mean something. Totally normal.”
I think of Daddy holding me in his arms last night and telling me what a good girl I am. It makes the aching ball in my ribs pang even harder.
“We were so up close,” I tell her. “It felt so real. Not like in the proposal.”
She looks confused by that. “It wasn’t like the proposal? Did he tweak it, or offer additional terms or something? What happened?”
That’s when it occurs to me. It didn’t deviate at all from the proposal. It was exactly as he said it would be, it was just more heated… more real… more intimate. But that’s my take, not his. To him it was probably just a game. He’s probably played it a hundred times over. It likely meant fuck all. I meant fuck all.
The very thought of that hurts.
I sigh. “No, actually, it was exactly like the proposal. It’s just weirded me out.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Morning after syndrome. It feels like it was real. It’s ok, babe. It happens, all the time. You’ll get used to it, and then it eases off again. Clients blur, roleplay becomes easier, less personal.”
I look away from the screen. I’m not convinced.
“Ella,” she says. “Listen to me. It’s normal. Look it up in the chatroom. Morning after syndrome.”
“Ok, I will.”
“What was he like?” she asks. “He must have been quite a guy to get you this caught up in him.”
I tell her about my night with Dadd–, no. No! He’s User 762. I tell Ebony about my night with User 762. Because that’s what he is. He’s a client. He’s not my daddy.
I have a daddy of my own in Australia, and I’ve never, ever, EVER in a million years contemplated getting off on fake daddy play, the proposal would have likely squicked me the hell out if it wasn’t for the 5k on offer.
Wait… about the 5k…
I check the funds are in my account, and they are, minus the agency cut. Plus there’s a bonus. An extra 1k. Fucking hell.
My eyebrows shoot up.
“What?” Ebony asks.
“He’s given me a bonus.”
“Great stuff! You might well be seeing him again, then. Another night with Daddy might well be on the horizon.”
I’m still staring at my bank account balance. It’s easily as surreal as the lovesick puppy feelings in my gut. I have money. Real money. The balance is healthy beyond healthy.
“Has your review come in yet?” Ebony asks. “If he’s given you that much of a bonus, I guess it will be top marks.”
I’m scared to look, in case it’s not. Any criticism of last night would feel like a punch in the ribs.
Ebony’s stare is quite something onscreen when I meet her eyes again. She looks as though she’s worried I’m ill.
“I don’t need hospital or anything.” I laugh, trying to make light of it. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”
“Yeah, I know that, but this isn’t like you. He’s really had an impact.”
“Sure. Morning after syndrome, like you said.”
“Exactly. It can hit like a slammer.”
“I’ll look it up in the chatroom,” I tell her, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.
“People always say that, then they wallow for days.”
I feel like a criminal caught in the act, because that’s what I want to do. Wallow in memories of my fake daddy for days, still lying here in my pigtails. The realisation is so dumbass that my rationality switches back on, at least just a little.
Daddy was a client. For one night. I don’t even know his name.
I now have thousands extra in my bank account and should be dancing around the room, not maudling in a fake school uniform, panicking that I didn’t land an A++ in my review. School report. Ha.
“That’s good,” Ebony says, when she sees the glint of a smile on my face. “I thought you might be stalking out Wrenshaw from how you were acting.”
“I’m not that bad!”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t so sure.” She fake wipes her forehead with a phew, and I see the genuine care in her eyes. “Go on,” she says. “Check out the review. The notification must be waiting there.”
It is. I can see the icon at the top of my phone screen.
“Do it!” she says. “I’m as intrigued as you are.”
“I doubt that, somehow.”
“Ok, well, nearly as intrigued.” She waves her hands at me. “Jeez, Ella, just open the review, will you? I want to see what he’s had to say!”
“Fine, alright.”
I still have an edge of the impudent schoolgirl Holly about me. That alone makes me smile as I finally click to read my feedback. My nerves are jangling as bad as they were in the cab yesterday. Damn, that feels so long ago.