Filthy Beautiful Lies Page 11

I wonder what happened to the owner of the perfume and the camisole. He said I was his first sex slave, so perhaps she was an ex-girlfriend. My brain fills in the details, giving him the benefit of the doubt too much, I’m sure, but I imagine his failed romantic relationship is due to his vigorous work schedule and his closed off nature. Enter his need for someone like me. Regular sex without the commitment of an actual relationship. I push the useless theories from my head, knowing they won’t do me any good. I’m stuck here with him, regardless of his background and issues, and I have to make the best of it.

A big part of me wants to believe he’s a nice, normal guy who’s been through something tragic that pushed him into hiring a sex slave, but the truth is, I have no idea. He could be a crazed psycho with a penchant for too rough sex and kink I’ve never even imagined. Yay, me.

I stuff my wadded up clothes into an empty basket on the shelf of the closet and return to the bedroom. I grab my phone from my purse and sit down on the bed.

I send a quick text to my mom, and then Becca letting them both know I’ve decided to visit a friend in LA and will be out of town for a while. I know it’s low – letting them know through text message that I am essentially a runaway, but I hope they’ll understand. There’s too much pressure at home. Taking a spur of the minute vacation isn’t outside the realm of possibility. In fact, they’ll both probably be happy.

Becca’s text back is a smiley face, followed by a note that I should have a hot fling with a surfer and then tell her all the gory details. My mom’s return text simply asks when I’ll be home and I responded honestly – that I don’t know, but probably not for a while. It scares me to think about what could happen to Becca in the time I’m away. In the in the morning, I’ll let her know about the money.

The bathroom door opens and Drake is standing there expectantly. He’s dressed in just his black boxer shorts I got a peek at earlier and his body still has the ability to make my jaw unhinge, but I’m more prepared for it this time. I keep my expression neutral, even though I’ve never seen such sculpted pecs and an eight-pack outside of men’s fitness magazines. He is positively lickable.

I stuff my phone back in my purse and rise from the bed. I’m curious about the sleeping arrangements he’s envisioned. We’re in his master bedroom…so does that mean?

He pulls back the soft-looking white puffy down comforter and folds back the sheet. "Companionship is part of the deal for me. I don’t like sleeping alone," he says, as if reading my thoughts.

So the big bad CEO is afraid of the dark? A small part of me feels comforted by this fact – it makes him more human somehow. The bed is plenty big enough to accommodate us both and if I’d been locked in a room of my own all night, I would crumble into a sobbing hysterical mess as the gravity of my new living situation hit me. Being near him means I have to keep my carefully crafted mask in place. Besides, I’m used to sharing a bedroom with Becca since we were infants, and the idea of sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place doesn’t appeal to me. I was sure the sounds and groans from the house would keep me up most of the night, my mind churning. At least I’ll have someone nearby if something happened. Of course this same someone could roll toward me in the night expecting sex. But something tells me the sex won’t happen tonight. I have to take my chances – not that I have a choice, I remind myself. I am his to do with what he pleases.

I crawl into the far side of the bed and curl into a tight ball, praying for sleep to come easy.

"No fuckin’ way," he grunts. "Over here, sweetness."

I exhale slowly and slide my body closer to his, keeping my back to him, only stopping when the firm wall of male warmth stops me. He wraps one heavy arm around my middle and tugs me close – until my back is pressed against his chest. My heart kicks up speed in my chest. There’s something about this close, intimate contact that unravels me. Although I’m used to sharing a bedroom with Becca, I’m certainly not accustomed to spooning with a man all night long. Let alone one I hardly know who’s already turned me into a puddle of hormones. Geez.

His rough hand settles against my bare hip and my breathing instantly falters. His fingers splay open across my abdomen, lightly caressing me. My muscles stiffen as I wait for his hand to push between my legs, taking what I’ve kept guarded most of my life.

"Relax," he encourages, his voice whispery soft and sleepy. "Nothing more will happen tonight." He continues rubbing me – my hip, the indent of my belly, the top of my thigh, almost like he’s testing me, training me to be comfortable with him The warmth of his breath against my hair and his hand lightly caressing my skin make it tough to relax, but eventually I do, growing accustomed to the new sensations. My eyes slip closed and I enjoy the soothing touch he’s delivering before drifting off to sleep.

Chapter Four


I’m not sure what I expected, but the following morning when I roll over in the gigantic bed, Drake is already gone. The crinkled white Egyptian cotton sheets are the only bit of evidence he’d been there at all. He was a good sleeping companion. Quiet and true to his word – he didn’t try anything with me.

I stretch leisurely and take my time rolling from the bed. In the opulent bathroom, I debate taking a shower – I’m dying to use the luxurious steam shower with its six shower heads, but decide instead to make it brief in case Drake is expecting me downstairs.

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