Chapter Two #2
I stare her down. That sweet curved frame, the way her tits round, her hair falling down her back, the pout in her lips when she speaks.
She needs money for some reason. Here’s something she’s not talking about, and I want more time to put her in every position possible.
Not only sexually, but psychologically. I want more from her than one night.
I want space to play my game. “Two million dollars.” The offer slips out before I’ve thought it through.
Her brows narrow. “I’m sorry?”
“Two million dollars. Come back to my rental and let’s spend the weekend together.”
“What? No!” She narrows her gaze and laughs.
“What? This was supposed to be done in a hotel. A place where someone could hear me screaming if you turn out to be a psychopath. Turns out you’re a psychopath.
” She’s more adamant now, which I’m sort of impressed by.
People don’t usually turn down money. “A million is plenty.”
Oh, this one is feisty. I like it.
“Okay,” I grin, “three million. You’ll be treated like a queen, fed whatever you like, sleep in luxury, and I’ll even let you call me Daddy. Keep in mind, though, I get the full experience. We watch a movie together on the couch, you kiss me like you mean it, and we make love when the mood hits.”
She hesitates. “Wow, that’s all so romantic.” Her eyes roll, but there’s also a glimmer and a shift in her posture, like the number reached something inside she isn’t ready to acknowledge. “You think you can just throw more money at me and rewrite the terms?”
“I think,” I say slowly, watching every move she makes, “that money has a way of softening the edges of discomfort. I think whatever you have going on demands cash, and you’re smart enough to know how rare it is for someone to offer three million for a weekend.”
She looks at me, and I can see the war behind her expression. Fear, temptation, pride, all tangled in one fragile breath.
“And what are the rules, Mr. Wilder?”
I clear my throat. “I require your full presence for the weekend. No outside contact, all requests I make must be honored immediately, no photos or recordings of any kind, and you must remain emotionally transparent at all times.”
Her lips purse and her hip hitches to the side as though she’s not buying any of this. “Emotionally transparent?”
“If you feel discomfort, fear, anger, happiness… anything, you must voice it clearly and immediately. No passive deflection. I want emotional data, not ambiguity.”
She scoffs gently, but her fingers twitch against her side like she’s working to keep still. “So, this is an experiment? To what end… see how far you can go before your crazy shows?”
I smile faintly. “Crazy or clarity. Call it what you want. You get paid either way.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her lips twitch like they’re fighting off something else. “And what do I do when we’re not fucking or watching movies? Make you muffins and dinner by five?”
“Be yourself. I want real. If you’re miserable, I want it. If you’re enjoying something, I want that too. Your life, your dreams, and your struggles. I want to know everything.”
She studies me with surgical calm, like she’s trying to determine if I’m fragile glass or reinforced steel. “And if I leave early?”
I don’t blink. This is the line. No begging. No maneuvering. “If you leave,” I say evenly, “the deal is off.”
A breeze slides past, ruffling the corner of the banner on the stage behind us that’s advertising some bar I vaguely remember passing on my way into town. The logo is a guy with a long mullet and a beer in his hand. It’s hard to forget.
“Can I think about it for a day?”
“No,” I groan sharply and firm. “You decide now, and the clock starts.”
She sighs. “I have class tomorrow and a shift tonight at the grocery store.”
The grocery store. That detail lodges somewhere deep. I wonder which one. I picture her stacking cans beneath fluorescent lights, scanning barcodes, answering the same questions over and over again with the same forced smile. I want to save her from that.
“You won’t need either with three million dollars. You invest that right, you’ll be set for life.”
She swallows hard and leans against the side of a rusted tractor that’s pulled up next to the cornfield with a wagon attached. “This is insane.”
For a second, I think she might say yes, but her gaze lifts to mine slowly, and a spark of something wild flashes onto her face.
“Four million dollars. Half now, half at the end of the weekend. I’ll do what you say, I’ll follow the rest of your rules, but I’m telling my friend where I am, and I’m checking in with her every few hours. ”
My jaw tightens, and I start to speak, but she cuts me off.
“And my phone stays with me. I’ve got two sisters that are in a bit of a situation at home. They sometimes call with emergencies. I have to be available to them at all times.”
That part lands differently. It chips at the edge of what I’ve been so carefully curating. Sisters and emergencies. This is what I need. A loss of control. Variables I can’t predict. A simulation of real-life experiences.
I exhale slowly. “You can check in with your contact once a day, and you can keep your phone on you for emergencies so long as you’re not on it.”
“Twice a day, and we get donuts and cider before we leave.”
I pause because something in her tone flips the balance. She’s negotiating new terms.
A crooked smile edges my lips. Not because she won, but because she played, and that’s what this entire experience is about.
“Twice a day,” I repeat, like I’m tasting the words, “but it can’t interrupt our time together.”
Her chin lifts a fraction, her own smirk ghosting through.
“And the donuts?” she says, arms folded now like we’re closing a merger, not a morally grey zone of reality and fantasy.
I step in, closer than before, the air between us thick with buttered popcorn and damp earth. “Donuts, cider, and whatever else you want before we leave,” I say. “The second we’re in my truck, though, you belong to me.”
“For the weekend,” she reiterates, playing with the ends of her long blonde ponytail.
There’s silence, then a nod, and finally, the deal is struck.