4. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Emery
Water lodges in my throat, and I hack up half a lung as I glare at her through watery eyes. “Rude.”
She shrugs, all blasé and shit. “It’s not like that was the first thing you choked on today.”
The grin that spreads across my face is probably a little feral, but I’m really starting to believe in her idea that we could be bosom buddies. “Oaks, if I was into chicks, I think you might have just stolen my heart.”
Oakley rolls her eyes at me. “Shut up.”
I recline back on the couch again, resuming my sprawled position while balancing the glass on my stomach.
“So, about the not coming thing,” she starts, but then pauses, as if she isn’t sure where to take her sentence.
Not wanting to force her to figure it out, I offer the details she wants. “After my first orgasm, I was told not to come again. Every time I wanted to come, I had to play this fucked-up game where I’d warn them I was about to come by begging for permission to come, but then they would ease up to stop me from going over the edge.”
Oakley’s eyes are wide, and her blinks exaggerated. “Damn. That sounds...”
“Fucking hot, right? Because it was. When they finally let me come at the very end, pretty sure I blacked out for a few minutes.” Remembering how the fire had consumed me, I squeeze my legs together.
Best. Fucking. Sex. Of. My. Life.
This time, it’s Oakley’s turn to take a sip of her drink.
I smirk at her and turn my attention back to the rom-com on the TV. It must almost be over because the big yelling scene in the middle of a busy street is currently happening, with the female character crying while the guy stands there, all stoic and shit. Doesn’t he know all she wants is for him to chase after her? To pick her?
“Too bad it was only for the night. Not having to fake orgasms sounds amazing.”
“Actually, they sent me an invitation to extend our date for the entire weekend.”
Oakley borderline shrieks and launches up to her knees, water almost sloshing over the edge of her glass. “What? Why are you all, blah?” She waves her hand over my body, as if trying to shoo a fly away.
I shrug, watching as the female character gets in her car and drives off into a storm. “I’m in shock, I think.”
In my peripherals, I see her put her glass on the coffee table and sit back on her haunches. “Shock? Are you okay? Do we need to go to a hospital?”
The concern in her voice makes my skin feel uncomfortably tight, and I shake off the feeling. “No, not like physical shock. Mental. The gift—it’s more, Oaks. A lot more.”
“Well, that makes sense. Ten thousand dollars for a single night is their bar. For the whole weekend, I’d expect them to offer you at least another five.”
I take a deep breath. “Try twenty. On top of the ten. So, thirty total.”
“Holy shit, do you have a magical vagina?”
Her outburst catches me so off guard, I can’t help but laugh.
“Why the hell are you sitting here, laughing, and not packing an overnight bag? For that kind of money, I’d beg for orgasms for a week.” Oakley shakes her head, amazement lacing her words.
“I take it you think I should accept?” I ask, voice as level as I can make it.
I think I should accept the invitation, but this was supposed to be a one and done. Get the cash I need to ride out at least one year of college, hopefully more, if I can score a part-time job.
I’m not supposed to let myself fall back into old patterns.
This was a one-off exchange of my body for cash.
A final hurrah.
But when I’d made that decision, I hadn’t factored in another twenty fucking thousand dollars.
I would be able to push through nearly my entire college career with thirty thousand dollars in my bank account. Realistically, I’d only need to buy the occasional new clothing item, textbooks, groceries, et cetera. My housing is paid for by a scholarship, and so is my tuition, both of which are dependent on my grades.
And I have absolutely zero plans to let those slip.
“Yes, I think you should accept! Girl, are you crazy? That’s a goddamn car. It’s a deposit for a house. It’s...it’s... Damn, I think that’s minimum wage for a year, and you would earn it in a weekend.”
It’s actually more than minimum wage—almost double—but I don’t bother pointing that out.
I take another sip of my water, not really sure what to say.
“You said it was good, right?”
I glance back at Oakley. “Really good.”
“And they didn’t hurt you?”
Not in a way I didn’t like. “Nope.”
“They matched their pictures, they made sure you had a good time, too, and they didn’t hurt you. I’m not seeing the problem. Unless there is something you aren’t telling me?” She keeps her tone level, applying zero pressure on me to respond.
But, since we are going to be bosom buddies, I decide to throw her a little something.
“If this was a romance novel, and I was the female main character, my tragic backstory would make all the dark romance girlies on BookTok go all gooey in the knees.”
She huffs a laugh. “I’m one of those dark romance girlies.”
I smirk and then focus on the glass in my hands. “Oaks, it's the classic shitstorm. Dead parents. Foster care, with every deadbeat foster parent type you can imagine. Sleeping with men to protect the people I cared about. Tonight was supposed to be for me, for my future. Then I would be done. Set myself up, so I don’t need to stress about money for at least a year.”
The quiet that stretches between the two of us makes my skin crawl, and when I can’t take it anymore, I look at her. Immediately, I squint my eyes at her sad and pinched face. How she still looks cute is beyond me. “You said no judgment. Sheesh, it was your rule, you could at least respect it.”
My voice sounds wobbly, even to me.
She sucks in a breath and straightens up, gathering her hair and rebuilding the messy bun on the top of her head. “You’re right. Okay. Look, tragic backstory aside, I think that, if you are emotionally up to continuing with your fuck fest and netting yourself another twenty K with four smoking-hot men who know how to make you come—or not—I totally stand by you. I’ll be waiting for you to come home Sunday night. I’ll get us some wine, there will be a cheeseboard and face masks. Candles. Whatever you need.”
I blink at her. More than once. “Face masks?”
She laughs. “Whatever. Just something to make you feel good. To re-center or whatever you need. Shit, I’ll have a personal masseuse waiting for you in the apartment, if you think you’ll need it.”
We lapse into silence again, and I stare blankly at the TV.
Twenty motherfucking thousand dollars.
Well, thirty, really.
I work through the numbers quickly and almost choke on a laugh. Over a three-year period, that’s just shy of two hundred dollars a week, if no interest is accrued.
I will have to pay taxes for the first time in my life because I’ll be making money.
Just this weekend.
Then I’ll stop.
They won’t want more, once they have gotten everything they desire this weekend.
Okay.
Just the weekend.
Then I’m done.
“Just the weekend,” I say to no one in particular.