by K. Webster
“N-No.”
“There’s a timer on your phone. When the recording gets to five minutes, you’re done.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Are you like going to…”
“Start recording.”
Another sigh.
“It’s going,” she grumbles.
“Show me.”
Sure enough, it’s recording. Good girl.
“Part your thighs,” I demand. “I’ve been dying to know the color of your panties. Show me.”
She groans and parts her thighs. I roll my chair closer, leaning forward to look down into her skirt between her open thighs. Red. Like her cherry candies.
“Are you going to, um, touch me?”
“Do you want me to?” I murmur, inhaling her sweet-scented arousal.
“No,” she barks out. “Do I still get paid?”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll still pay you.” I smile at her. “Show me more.”
She curses again, grabbing her skirt with one hand and yanking it up her tanned thighs, exposing her young flesh. “Happy now, sicko?”
“I’m getting there. It seems you are, too.”
“What? Why?”
“Your panties have a wet spot, Miss Elliott. You’re turned on.”
“I am not,” she growls.
“Denial won’t change the fact you absolutely are. Give me your camera,” I order. “Now.”
She reluctantly hands it over. I turn the camera to record the evidence, even zooming in and letting it linger there. Once I’m sure she’s seen the proof she can study later, I hand her back the phone.
“Three minutes left,” she mutters.
“Easiest two hundred dollars you ever made. Am I right?”
4
Ash
What the fuck am I doing?
An hour ago, I could have never dreamed this is where I’d end the night. I fucked up. I know I did. I messed with the wrong guy. Slacking off on the CEO of some big corporation was a mistake. Now, I’m paying for it.
I’m confused as to why he wants this, but I’m invested now. I mean, five hundred dollars is more than I’ll make all week. It’s weird as hell, but he’s not forcing me or hurting me. It’s not horrible.
“Are you a virgin?” he asks, his intense blue eyes boring into me.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but no.” I give him my bitchiest smile.
“Good.” His lips kick up on one side in a maddeningly handsome smile that makes my heart sputter in my chest. “I would hate to have to be gentle our first time. Gentle simply isn’t my style.”
Tate was gentle.
A sweet, albeit inexperienced lover.
Once a month, he’d take me somewhere nice and then we’d have obligatory relationship sex that fell flat in more ways than I can count.
The idea of sex with this monster is thrilling.
My God, I am sick.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I remind us both. I sure as hell need the reminder.
“Yet,” he says again, winking at me. “Have you ever fingered this juicy, young pussy?”
A burst of flames lick over my skin. “You’re a pervert!”
“Says the girl who’s lying on a desk exposing herself to a man her daddy’s age. Who’s the real pervert here?”
I have just over a minute left.
I can do this and then get the hell out of here.
“Aww,” he croons. “I upset you. You’ve gone silent on me. Cat got your tongue? I’d offer mine, but it’d take a lot longer than a minute to lick you just the way you crave.”
“I’m literally counting down until I can take my money and leave,” I snap. “Let’s do it in silence.”
He inhales me again, which makes me shudder with desire. It’s so feral and disgusting, but I’m kind of into it, which freaks me out. Tate never sniffed me down there. Ever. Hell, I could barely get his mouth to venture that way.
“Tell me why you work, Miss Elliott. Why would you be willing to do this bizarre request for five hundred dollars?”
I pierce him with a nasty glare. “I can’t pay for college with my good looks alone.”
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze penetrating me in ways I secretly wish other parts of him would. “Where’s this beloved daddy now? Why isn’t he paying for his good girl to go to college?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“As your new employer and sharer of your sordid dirty little secret, I believe it is my business.”
I glower at him, hating that I wonder how his scruffy cheeks would feel on my inner thighs. Tate had the smoothest baby face. This man seems like he’d scratch me and leave a reminder of himself with just his facial hair alone.
“Why are your panties so wet?” he asks, a vicious grin on his face. “Would your daddy be ashamed to know his daughter was so kinky?”
“I’m not kinky, asshole,” I snap. “Just trying to get paid.”
He laughs, the sound demonic and sexy all at once. “Clearly. What do I owe you now? Six, seven hundred? Or are you trying to drag it out to a grand? Miss Elliott, I admire your tenacity, but I can tell you’re going to drain me of every penny I’ve got, because I could do this all night.”
I snap my eyes to the phone and let out a horrified mewl. Eight minutes I’ve let this video go on because he distracted me. I press the button to end the recording, close my phone, and shove it into my pocket as I sit upright. My skirt is high up my thighs.
“If you leave a wet smear on my desk, don’t worry about cleaning it up. My new cleaning lady will take care of it.” He rolls his chair back, allowing me the room to get off the desk.
I’m furious and humiliated as I carefully ease myself down so I don’t leave anything for anyone else to clean up. His eyes track my movements as I shimmy my skirt back into place, ending his pervy peep show.
“I’m ready to get paid now,” I bark out, hating how my voice shakes. “Asshole.”
He smirks, his blue eyes flaring with heat. “One day soon I’ll come up with something fitting for that mouth.” When I gape at him, he shakes his head. “Not my dick, Miss Elliott. I told you if you want that, I’m not paying you. I’m talking about punishment. More humiliation. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
I ignore him, crossing my arms over my chest. My foot taps impatiently as I wait for him to get me my money. Slowly, he rises to his feet, all six feet and something towering over me. I’m frazzled, and he looks flawless. Absolutely unruffled. I hate him for this.
He straightens his tie, pats me on the head in a condescending move, and then strides over to his painting. My eyes, against my will, sweep over his ass that looks too good in a pair of navy slacks. He reaches up and pulls on the corner of the frame, sweeping the painting out to reveal a safe hidden behind it. I watch as he enters in another long-ass code like the one on his office door and then opens it. Inside, documents, weapons, and stacks of money can be seen. The sight of the guns causes a trickle of unease to slide through me. It makes me realize I’m out of my depth with this way older, way powerful man. He could probably shoot me and make it look like an accident. No one would care, because he’s rich.
As he busies himself counting his money, I curl my arms around myself. Shame burns through me as I acknowledge what I’ve just done. I played into someone else’s dirty fantasy for money. I’m no better than a prostitute. Mom would roll over in her grave if she knew. Dad would have a coronary.
Tears burn at my eyes, and I hopelessly try to blink them away. All it manages to do is send them skating down my hot cheeks. I bite hard on my bottom lip to keep the sob in my throat. Footsteps near me, but I can’t meet his eyes. Not anymore. Not right now.
“Look at me.” His deep, husky, commanding voice doesn’t broker room for an argument. I find myself obeying though I hate to. “Good girl.”
His praise washes over me, chasing
away some of my shame, which really makes me feel fucked up.
“You earned this,” he murmurs. “You’ve seen my safe. There’s plenty more where that came from.” He grips my wrist, pulling it away from my body, and twists my palm face up. “Eight hundred for your time and two for a tip.”
I jerk my confused stare to meet his probing blue eyes. “What? You’re giving me a thousand dollars for whatever that was?” My voice is shrill. “Why?”
He presses the money into my palm, lingering his warm touch there. The connection causes my body to tremble. I’m almost disappointed when he pulls away. Almost. I shove the money into my pocket without counting.
“You deserved it. Earned every penny.” He leans closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”
I clench my jaw and give him a clipped nod.
“I would have paid a lot more for that, Miss Elliott.”
“What?” I shriek. “Why didn’t you tell me I could ask for more?”
“You have to learn to negotiate.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “In business, it’s imperative.”
“How much?” Anger chases away my shame. “How high could I have gone?”
“In a high-end kink club here in the city, I’d have to pay at least five times what I paid you.”
I gasp, furious at the gall of this man. “I could have earned five thousand dollars?”
“I said I’d pay five times that at a club,” he growls. “Not for you.”
Oh.
Ouch.
I deflate, dragging my eyes to our shoes that are too close for comfort. His strong grip finds my jaw, pushing my head back up to look at him.
“For a young, bratty girl who wears red panties and smells like cherry candy, I’d pay a whole lot more than for those professionals at the club.” His thumb strokes over my jawbone. “You could’ve pulled ten grand out of me. Twenty if you let me keep the panties.”
Dirty fucking bastard!
I shove at his stupidly hard chest, forcing him to drop his hold on my jaw. “Good riddance, asshole.”
Storming over to my discarded duster, I pick it up and then hurry over to my cart. I’m just pushing it out of his office when his words stop me.
“Negotiating can be fun,” he calls out. “I have money. Lots of it. You’d be surprised what I would be willing to pay for.”
“Fuck you.”
He chuckles. “Again, that’s a freebie. I’ll text you later.”
Swiveling around, I glower at him. “I didn’t give you my number.”
“I’ll find it. When I do, be prepared to negotiate. Do you have Apple Pay?”
I don’t reward him with an answer, but instead flip him off. I’ve already given him too much.
“Set it up if you don’t have it,” he booms. “I’d pay five hundred dollars just to watch you suck on that middle finger for thirty seconds.”
Five hundred dollars?!
“A picture, and it’s going to cost you a thousand,” I scream back at him, hating how tears are once again flooding my cheeks.
“Ahh, look how you’re learning. Good girl. Talk soon.”
I hate how the entire elevator ride down to the bottom floor I sob, knowing I’d absolutely give him that stupid picture for a thousand dollars.
In less than thirty minutes, this man completely transformed who I thought I was. I dread to think what he could do in a day or two, or a week.
He’s going to destroy me.
What’s worse, I’ll let him.
5
Winston
I stare at the second hand on my Breguet 18k white gold retro watch as it ticks slowly by. Mother is droning on about a gala to Tinsley while Perry adds his two cents. Nate, my wingman whenever I’m forced to have brunch with my family, cheerfully asks my mother a million questions, which I know thrills her to no end. Vivian, Elaine, and Keaton all stare at their phones, wishing away the minutes, much like I do.
“That’s great, Mother,” Perry rumbles. “Right, bro?”
When Keaton doesn’t answer, I cut my gaze to my obnoxious younger brother. “Pardon?”
Tinsley rolls her eyes at me, and Mother smirks. Perry’s blue eyes that match mine exactly, sparkle with mischief. He may be an adult, but he’s still every bit a child to me.
“Her idea about your birthday party.” Perry leans back in his chair, curling his arm around Mother’s shoulders as if to claim her as only his.
Mother preens a little at her son’s attention. “Oh, darling,” she coos. “Winston doesn’t care about such things.”
For fuck’s sake. Here we go.
“I care, Mother, but I’m not Tinsley,” I grind out, ignoring my sister’s huff of annoyance. “I don’t need you to invite half the city and throw an extravagant ball like her coming out party. But, if that’s what you wish to do, I’ll be there in my best tux. You know I always appreciate your efforts to make me happy.”
“Of course you do,” Perry placates. “Our mother spoils us. It’s why I want to spoil her in return. That reminds me, Winston, I’m going to need five hundred grand.”
Keaton snorts, and Vivian laughs.
“Perry, baby, you know you don’t have to buy me a thing,” Mother says with a laugh. “Your father left me all this.” She waves a manicured hand toward her palatial estate, also known as the Constantine Compound. “And I have you children who indulge me in frequent Saturday brunches. What more could a mother ask for?”
Elaine pretends to gag, making Nate stifle a chuckle from beside me.
“How about a trip to Barbados with her favorite son?” Perry asks, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Suck up,” Keaton mutters under his breath.
“Children,” Mother admonishes, though she clearly loves the attention and banter. “Behave, please. We have a guest. I’m sure, Perry, that Winston will get you the money you need.”
“For the record, a trip to Barbados doesn’t cost half a million,” I grit out. “My guess is it’s another ‘investment.’”
Perry’s face burns crimson, his blue eyes flickering with fury. “My investments always pan out.”
“Not what Harold says,” I toss back, reminding him we share the same accountant.
“Enough business,” Mother chides. “Talk it out over lunch next week, boys. Today, I want us to celebrate.”
As Mother dives into whatever it is she really brought us here for, my thoughts roll back to Ash. That girl hasn’t left my mind since she sat up on my desk last night. I rubbed one out in the shower later with images of her wet panties seared into my brain. My mind has been whirring ever since as I come up with a million different things I want her to do.
My phone buzzes on the table. I pick it up to discover it’s an email with a phone number and other information on Ash Elliott from Deborah. Deborah is a hound when I need information, uncovering everything I could possibly want. In her email, she included a picture of a charming five-bedroom recently-restored three-point-five-million-dollar brownstone in Brooklyn.
With a home like that, she certainly doesn’t seem the type to need the money, but color me intrigued.
Ash Elliott was accepted to Columbia University and is set to attend in the fall. No scholarships or loans in place, which means it’s being privately paid for. She just turned eighteen two days ago and lives with her father, Baron Elliott, and her new stepmother Dr. Amanda Mannford.
Interesting.
I’ve seen Dr. Mannford plenty in my circle. She’s a highly sought-after plastic surgeon to the stars and other elite. It’s clear Baron married into her money.
So why does Ash slum it as a maid for FGM Services?
Furthermore, why did she let me defile her for the promise of a few hundred bucks?
I’ll find out.
After thanking Deborah for the information, I shoot a text to Ash.
Me: Did you set up Apple Pay?
The response is immediate. Kids these days always have their phones. Ash is absolutely a kid, too. The
girl is only two days into adulthood. I’m a sick fuck, because her youth turns me on. I’m so used to the spoiled socialites Mother continually tries to set me up with that Ash is a breath of fresh air. Cherry-scented air.
Ash: I already had it set up.
I smirk at her sassy response.
Me: I want my picture.
Ash: Send me the money first.
Me: You don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll send it first this time, but the other times you’ll be expected to perform before you get paid.
Quickly, I shoot a grand to her. As soon as it’s confirmed, I send her another text.
Me: Don’t keep me waiting, little girl.
She only takes a moment to respond. The picture comes through making my dick thicken in my slacks, which is annoying considering I’m having brunch with my family. Her dark hair is piled up messily on top of her head, and she’s once again makeup free. The camisole she wears is pale pink, and I can see her nipples through the fabric. As requested, she has her middle finger between her lips and she’s wearing the bitchiest expression known to man.
Fuck.
“Damn,” Nate mutters from beside me, leaning over to get a better look. “Who’s the hottie?”
I flip my phone over and shoot him an icy glare. “My maid.”
“Goddamn, Constantine. All my maids are like sixty and ugly as fuck. Lucky sonofabitch.” He playfully elbows me. “If you ever want to share, I have some pipes for her to clean.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I grumble. “Excuse me.”
Though my mother shoots me a pointed look, one that encompasses irritation and disappointment, I leave the table and walk back into our stately home. I weave through the house until I find one of my favorite places to hide out in. Dad’s old study. When I was a boy, I spent many hours in here with my father, aching to be just like him.
I sit in his leather chair, inhaling the lingering scent of cigar and bourbon. I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I miss him. He was my idol and best friend. His death was hardest on me, though I’d never tell my siblings that.
Now that I’m alone, I reply to Ash.
Me: That wasn’t so hard, was it?
