Chapter Nine
Skye
I don’t know how I feel about the whole thing in the light of a new day. I do know my dreams were not safe or very sane.
I woke up three times in a hot sweat, my thighs sticky from my wetness, and I couldn’t even recall my dreams, except they were all wild and wet, and I was either running from the masked man or being caught by the FBI agent.
Their faces and their presence are all I can see in my mind and feel around me. I need to get a grip. I still had work to do, my work. I did everything I could to help them. I was done with that kind of thing now.
I barely got to see or speak to Lily. After her date worth three grand, she hopped onto a plane, swept off her feet by her hotshot CEO, and declared herself 100% unavailable.
Her last text to me told me she was proud of me, and we’d talk when she got back, and also to pick up more clothes from her friend who owns a lingerie store.
After the FBI left, I couldn’t bring myself to open the site again and speak to someone else.
I gave myself some grace, got some food, and slept. Or tried to sleep.
Today, however, I need to get myself into gear. With a cup of coffee in hand, I log into the BBB site just to see what requests I have for the day, except I keep getting a login error.
Maybe it’s the whole site? I’ll give it an hour before I try again. The nice thing about BBB is I get paid immediately. The money sans their cut is sitting in my bank account. I quickly transfer the outstanding balance to Kelsie’s school and breathe a sigh of relief. She’s good for now.
And if this virgin thing works out, I’ll have enough money to pay off my mother’s debt and Kelsie’s last year at school.
But for now, I need to do a lot more digital sessions so I can pay rent and buy food.
Although stomping in the back of my head is the fact that I probably helped the FBI catch a notorious villain , who, in his ski mask, I should add, made me leak with wetness.
I try the site again. Still nothing. There’s a support number that Lily gave me, so I call them and speak to someone called Eric, who says he’ll get me up and running in no time.
Instead of sitting and waiting to be back online, I don a coat on top of my hoodie and my boots.
And then my heart starts an aggressive gallop in my chest. My apartment is so small, all that separates my bedroom from the living room and the tiny kitchen is a curtain.
On the wall on the opposite side of the door is a mirror that is welded onto the wall.
Panicked, I stand in front of the mirror, exactly where Agent Philips had stood when he turned around to give me some privacy after I had to remove my corset.
From that position, I have a clear view of my desk.
Agent Philips would have had a clear view of me sitting there, with my boobs out, the back of the laptop not enough to conceal them in any way, all while I begged a stranger to come and kidnap me.
Oh god. Did he look at me? My fury comes in a flurry of heat and embarrassment. My only saving grace is I'll never see him again. Not ever.
I compose myself, burying the memory away, and then I go out and brave the icy cold. But it sticks in my mind. Was that the only reason he turned around in the first place? Because he knew he would still see me while pretending to be a gentleman? Argh.
Might as well pick up the lingerie from The Lush Blush Lounge as Lily arranged for me.
It’s so cold out that my chattering teeth almost give me a headache. I can’t wait to be back in my warm apartment and turn up the heat since I now can afford to pay for it.
I’m just about to turn to go into the lingerie store when out of nowhere my boots no longer touch the ground, and I’m so winded I feel dizzy.
A man, as tall as Agent Philips with the grayest eyes I’ve ever seen, set in the handsomest face ever, has his arm around my waist, my body bent over, the smell of his rich extraordinary cologne hitting me hard. Every part of me pulses at his nearness.
He’s holding me so close the heat of his body penetrates mine, and I want to climb into him and stay there. He just awakened all the places I shut down yesterday after Agent Philips and The Great Dipper turned my body into a furnace.
“I’ve got you, Princess,” he says softly, yet where there’s a smooth, velvety lilt to his voice, there’s also something deviant that makes me wet in my fresh pair of granny panties.
Princess?
Pinpricks of awareness skitter through me. I’m clutching at his coat for dear life, not wanting him to drop me into the puddle of melting ice behind me.
How did this happen? I was busy walking on the busy sidewalk, and now I’m in a strange man’s arms, who equally makes me feel safe and deliciously unsafe at the same time.
“You’re safe now, Princess. Some people don’t know how to walk,” he says loudly, aiming his words at a man who is wiping away the wetness on his jeans as if he’s fallen to his knees.
The man then used his hands to talk, pouring a string of obscenities and asking my savior if he was fucking nuts before he stalked away.
“There are no gentlemen left in the world,” he says, almost tsk-tsking, as he brings me to my feet.
“I don’t even know—”
“He tried to push you into the puddle of water. Probably tried to mug you.”
“Oh. Thank you. I… thank you,” I say, completely overcome.
“No problem. I’m just happy I was around to stop it.”
My gosh, he is so undeniably beautiful to look at; I get lost in the angles and planes of his facial features.
His dark hair is thick and silky, brushed back with his fingers, except a glossy lock keeps falling out of place.
His clothes feel expensive, but he wears them with the casualness of someone who would be comfortable in either rags or designer clothes.
“You lost this,” he says, holding out my beanie to me. But before I can take it, his fingers brush over my hair before he rubs a tendril between his index finger and thumb.
My racing heart threatens to undo me. His touch is light, safe, and unsafe at the same time. Again with that. How can someone feel safe and unsafe at the same time?
Yet my nipples don’t care, and they pebble into painfully hard peaks. My breath catches as he lifts the tendril and tucks it behind my ear. From there, his hand travels over my cheek, his knuckles over my jaw, his thumb over my lower lip.
I quake. A thousand butterflies swarm in my stomach. I’m sure my legs can’t hold me up anymore. I’m not even sure if I orgasmed in my drenched panties just from his touch on my lip alone.
He smiles, and I sigh.
“Stay safe, Princess,” he says, his voice low and husky as he puts my beanie back onto my head. He then walks away, whistling, his hands in his pockets, his coat billowing behind him.
I stand there dumbfounded, then look around me, almost looking for validation that someone else had seen him.
But it’s New York, and no one cares. Forcing the frigid air into my lungs, I step into The Lush Blush Lounge, not sure of anything anymore.
In two days, I’ve met three extremely different men, and the only thing they have in common is making my panties wet.