Chapter 16

He kept talking, calmer now. He commented on the tough relationships he’d had, the difficulty of trusting, of letting go, of sticking around. And I listened. I didn’t interrupt. It felt like a confession. I knew what he wanted to ask—that question was hanging between us like a warm, humid vapor, unavoidable. But he didn’t say it. Maybe he was as unsure as I was. Or maybe he just knew how to play it cool. He was nibbling around the edges like someone who didn’t want to hurt the center.

And then he asked for another round.

And I said yes.

On the fourth beer, he leaned back in his chair and gave me a crooked little smile.

“But… if someone offered you… I dunno… how much money would you charge?”

The question didn’t come out blunt or dirty. It came like he was asking for a favor, just some random number. But it was more than that. It was him testing boundaries. And me, already a little buzzed, already heating up inside, I just thought:

“Come on, Justine. You gonna play the prude now?”

I let out a little laugh and looked at my glass before answering. The beer wasn’t as cold anymore, but I didn’t care either.

“The thing is… if I don’t like the person, it ain’t happening,” I said, laying the raw truth on the table like tossing down a wet pair of panties.

My voice came out lighter, looser. I was already more outgoing, not thinking straight. The guilt that had been circling me earlier seemed to have left. Or fallen asleep. Or just gotten tired of me.

Even before the drinks, if I was honest, I wasn’t dwelling on it much anymore. The guilt. The right. The wrong. All that felt so far away now.

“And if it was me?” he asked, his voice lower, leaning his body slightly toward me.

The answer popped into my head before I even thought it through. I’d do it for free. Right there, under the table, if he wanted. He was gorgeous. He had a sexy voice, an insane scent, and that vibe of a guy who knew what he was doing. And, well… I’d already seen his cock. And the cock was nice.

But of course, I wasn’t gonna give him that easy. On a silver platter? No way. This was a game.

“No clue… how much do they charge for a session?”

He smiled from the corner of his mouth, unfazed.

“Depends on the woman. Her reputation, what she does or doesn’t do… if she kisses, if she lets you film, if she does anal, if she stays the night…”

“Okay… so help me price it?” I said, playing innocent. “I’m practically a virgin, I don’t know how to do anything right, I’m clumsy… my panties have the lace fraying right in the crotch, and the others are pretty much in the same boat.”

He leaned back in his chair, put on a fake deep-thinking face, all dramatic. He made a thoughtful “hmm,” furrowed his brow, brought his hand to his chin like some old-school art appraiser. When I went to interrupt, he held up a hand, asking for quiet.

I laughed awkwardly, pretending to hide behind my glass.

Then he pulled a gold pen from his pocket—what kind of guy carries a gold pen in his pocket, for fuck’s sake?—and grabbed a napkin. He wrote something with that focused look of someone drawing up contracts. He didn’t say another word. Just flipped the paper upside down and slid it toward me.

I put my hand over the paper, without turning it, and looked into his eyes. I tried to stay serious—the most serious I could manage right then. A wannabe domme attempt, with that dramatic tone that wasn’t really me, but I went with it anyway, just to see how far he’d take it.

“This amount here… is what you’d pay for a night of love with me?”

He didn’t smile. He kept up the business pose, just furrowed his brow, looking like he was weighing a risky investment proposal. The game was still going… but it had weight now. I could feel it. This was a performance—but there was truth in it. I knew he had a number in mind. That he was willing to pay to fuck me. And the craziest part was I was thinking: “I’d do it for free… so why’s he pushing this?”

“Well then, sir,” I continued, getting into character. “I’ll review your offer.”

He bit his lip. His eyes sparkled. Naughty, restrained, classy.

I flipped the paper.

The number froze me. The game ended right there.

I stared. Blinked. Blinked again.

The amount was… serious. Or it could be. And if it wasn’t, it was a game way too dangerous to keep pretending.

“Vitor… you’d really pay all that?”

He didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

“I would.”

His answer came dry. Firm. Raw.

The amount was insane, the full take-home from like five, almost six paychecks I got as a receptionist at that shitty dentist’s office. Right then, I got scared, the buzz vanished in an instant, and all I could think was he’d drag me to some corner and harvest my kidneys or something. I kinda laughed like an idiot with this weird, undefined reaction.

“And to show you I’m serious… if you say yes, I’ll deposit it now. No tricks.”

That shut me down. I knew he could cancel it later if he wanted. But I also knew he had money—he’d already dropped a decent chunk on the site to see me. Money wasn’t the issue. The issue was something else.

“Can… can I go to the bathroom?” I blurted out suddenly, almost stumbling over the words, like yanking the emergency brake.

“Sure, go ahead,” he replied, way too calm, like he already knew I’d come back.

I stood up trying to act natural, but my whole body was screaming. I walked into the hallway and it hit me like a whirlwind. I needed to think. Think, damn it. Think.

He wasn’t a bad guy. For real. Gorgeous, great-smelling, kind… I’d sleep with him. Easy. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that damn word: prostitution.

Fuck.

Justy would accept it in a heartbeat. Worse—she’d laugh, tease me, ask if he wanted lube or not. And if I called her right now? God forbid. She’d chew me out faster than he would.

“Speaking of… would he even want to fuck my ass?”

I stopped in the hallway with that question slamming into my brain. His cock was thick. Too thick. It wouldn’t fit, not even praying. And holy shit… my panties are coming apart. Frayed right in the crack, too. I’m at the mall, about to turn trick out of pure dumbass choice, and my fucking panties are falling apart.

“I wanna cry.”

I hadn’t even made it to the bathroom yet. And my head had already lived a whole week in three minutes.