Graduation #2
Richard was standing behind the tinted glass, a dark silhouette in his grey suit. He wasn't clapping. He wasn't smiling. He was just standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching me.
I stood center stage, the California sun beating down on me, holding a $120,000 piece of paper. And then, I realized. My degree was next to worthless. It was only a prop. A participation trophy for a game I hadn't actually played for the last two years.
My only actual currency, my only marketable skill, was the tightness of my holes, the depth of my throat, and my absolute, shameless willingness to be degraded on command by the man that I had come to … well, to love.
I stared up at the glass box and offered Richard a small and desperate smile, praying it was enough.
I stepped off the stage, the faux-leather diploma cover surprisingly light in my hands. The rest of the ceremony was a blur of black fabric and polite applause. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted to get back to the penthouse. I needed to know where I stood.
The ride back to downtown LA was suffocating.
Richard sat next to me in the back of the Maybach, the tinted privacy glass raised between us and the driver. He was on his iPad, scrolling through financial reports, completely ignoring the fact that I had just graduated with honors.
I sat stiffly in my seat, the black gown pooled around me.
I kept glancing at his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the expensive fabric of his suit.
I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to slide his hand up my thigh, push the white dress aside, and get me off right there all over the back seat. I needed to know he still wanted me.
But he didn't even look up from his screen.
When the elevator doors finally opened onto the penthouse, I was practically vibrating with nervous energy.
I walked into the kitchen and dropped the diploma cover onto the marble island. The sound was sharp, a little too loud.
"Are you hungry?" Richard asked, finally looking up as he set his iPad down. "I can have the chef prepare something."
He was using that tone. The polite, distant, "valued guest" tone he used when he was annoyed, or worse, bored.
"No," I said, my voice tight. "I'm not hungry."
I turned to face him. I reached up, unzipped the black gown, and let it fall to the floor. I stood there in the tight white sheath dress and the Louboutins.
"Richard," I started, taking a step toward him. I needed to break the ice. I needed him to look at me the way he used to. "I..."
"Don't," he interrupted, holding up a hand.
I froze.
He looked at me, his eyes cold and unreadable. It felt like he was looking straight through me.
"I have a conference call in ten minutes," he said, turning away and walking toward his study. "Go pack a bag."
Panic seized my chest, squeezed so tight I couldn't breathe. Pack a bag. This was it. Richard was kicking me out. He was sending me back to the gutter where I belonged. I pictured him taking back my G-Wagen keys, the lock codes being changed.
"Pack a bag?" I repeated, my voice cracking, tears instantly springing to my eyes. "Richard, please, I..."
He stopped at the door of his study and looked back at me, frowning slightly.
"A small bag, Sloane," he said. "Three bikinis. Nothing else. The car will be downstairs in forty-five minutes."
He walked into his study and shut the heavy oak door.
I stood alone in the massive kitchen, staring at the closed door, my brain struggling to process the command.
Three bikinis. Nothing else.
My paranoia evaporated so quickly that my knees gave out, leaving me dizzy and shaking with relief.
I grabbed the edge of the marble island, letting out a long, shaky breath, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.
Richard wasn't kicking me out. He was taking me away.
Three bikinis. That meant heat. A beach.
He was rewarding me. I had been spiraling for weeks over a freshman cheerleader, driving myself insane with insecurity, and all along, he had been planning a trip. He was taking me away to celebrate my graduation. A romantic, obscenely expensive getaway, just the two of us.
I had completely misread the situation. He wasn't bored with me. He was probably just stressed with work. The distant behavior, the coldness—it was just the pressure of Richard’s business, not a reflection on my performance as his slut.
I hurried to the master suite. I didn't need a suitcase so I grabbed a small, expensive black duffel bag.
I went to my lingerie drawer and pulled out three bikinis.
A tiny white string bikini. A black one that barely covered my nipples.
And a sheer, nude-colored one that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I threw them in the duffel along with a washbag, zipped it shut, and looked at myself in the mirror.
The terrified animal was gone. I smiled and told myself that I was going to be so fucking good for him on this getaway. I was going to wear those tiny bikinis and let him fuck me until I couldn't walk. I was going to remind him exactly why he bought me in the first place.
Forty-five minutes later, I was sitting in the back of the Maybach again, this time heading north on the 405.
I had changed out of the white dress into a pair of soft designer sweatpants and a thin cashmere sweater, ready for the flight. Richard sat next to me, his conference call finished, scrolling through his phone.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice light, teasing. I slid my hand across the leather seat, resting it lightly on his thigh.
Richard glanced down at my hand, then up at my face. A small, enigmatic smile touched the corner of his lips.
"I rented an island," he said casually, as if he were talking about booking a restaurant table. "For your graduation."
The words hit my brain, confirming my wildest hopes. An island. Just the two of us.
"Richard, that's..." I breathed, squeezing his thigh, leaning in closer. "That's amazing. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," he said, turning back to his phone.
I didn't care about his cryptic tone. I sank back into the plush leather seat, closing my eyes, a warm, heavy flush of anticipation settling over me. I was safe. I was secure. I was heading to a private paradise with the man who owned me.