Chapter 16
ANNA
For the favor.
Do not come.
I squint, bringing my phone close to my face.
My vision is shit and I’m exhausted, which must explain why I’m seeing three zeros next to that five because there is no way Sylas sent me five thousand dollars for a blow job.
But the longer I stare, the more I stop deluding myself.
My jaw drops, but I regret the motion a second later. It sort of aches from the way he fucked my mouth. I was speechless when he pulled his dick out.
The reminder makes my thighs clench, but I don’t act upon the impulse of making myself come.
Not only when I see the little message he sent along with the money, but because I’m still feeling extremely confused.
I decide to call him, assuming he’s fucked up the transfer.
Maybe he meant to send me fifty dollars or maybe five hundred.
The latter is a stretch, but I’m struggling to physically believe he meant to send me that much money for the blow job.
Granted, I think I did fantastic, if I do say so myself, and he came on my face.
He answers after the first ring. “Hi, An—”
“I think you made a mistake.” I cut him off, burrowing myself deeper in my sheets. “You sent me a lot of money. Too much, actually.”
There’s a pause on his end, but I know he’s there because I hear something rustle in the background. “No, I sent the right amount. Five thousand.”
My jaw goes slack, and it still aches, but I can’t dwell on that right now.
“Anna, you there?” he asks after a moment, and I realize I’ve gone seconds, maybe even minutes, without speaking. Stupefaction stole whatever words I had.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” I slip my glasses off and set them on the nightstand.
“Five thousand dollars for a blow job? I know I killed it, but that’s a lot of money.
I probably shouldn’t question your generosity.
Don’t get me wrong, I need the money but…
fuck…it’s just…I don’t know…a lot.” I’m stammering, but I can’t stop the words from fumbling out of my mouth or what comes out next.
“I can’t accept it. Five hundred is fine, but take the rest back. ”
I can’t believe I’m saying this. I should happily accept and let it go because stuff like this doesn’t ever happen, but it doesn’t feel right. I can’t believe this is the time I’m choosing to have morals.
“Are you done?” Mirth and indifference coat his words.
“Well…yeah.”
“I pay for quality. So, if I gave you that much, it’s because it’s worth it.
Don’t question it, and don’t start regretting it now.
You didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when I treated you like a whore, so don’t feel bad because I pay you like one.
” He speaks directly, his words so smug and belittling that I should hate it, but my body reacts so headily, I slip my hand between my thighs.
“I hope you’re not touching yourself. I didn’t give you permission. ”
My hand freezes and I roll my lips together to hold back my frustrated groan. “You know that’s unfair.”
“I own your body. At least while we’re doing this.” He pauses. “I don’t understand why you’re shocked. I told you it’d be enough for next semester. Keep up, Anna.”
I roll my eyes. “I am, and I know.”
“Are you still okay with this?” His voice is different than it was a second ago. It’s considerate and tentative. Reminding me of the game—the fantasy—we’ve consented to playing out. “If not, it’s strictly fake dating.”
“Yes, I’m okay with this.” I close my eyes, flustered and embarrassed at how quickly I answered that. I didn’t hesitate because I loved the way he used me. It’s incredibly degrading, but more than anything, it’s exhilarating.
“You have just as much if not more control than I do.” His voice is a deep rasp, intensifying the ache between my thighs.
“I don’t know…you’re the one paying me.”
“Doesn’t matter. We do as much as you want. We take it as far as you want. We stop whenever you want. You make the decisions.”
And that’s why it feels exhilarating. It’s probably idiotic to blindly hand him over all my trust, but I feel safe with him.
“You know…” I trail off, pausing to figure out how to communicate my jumbled thoughts. “Even without the money, I’d still be okay with this…us.”
“Us,” he muses, his voice ebbing softly in my ear.
I yawn, blinking the heaviness away from my eyes. “So how does this work?”
“How about we talk later? Text me when you’re up? I’ll come over.”
My heart skips a beat. “Okay.”
“Good night, meu bem.”
My breath catches. “Good night, Sylas.” I keep my voice even until I hang up, then a smile so unbearably wide stretches across my face.
What did we just get ourselves into?