"Can I help you find something?" The sales girl asks from behind the counter, letting her gaze wander down my toned chest and halt at the area directly below my belt. "Something for your girlfriend, maybe?" she asks.
Her subtlety is lacking. All she sees when she looks at me is a fat cock and a fatter wallet. If I’m at this club, it means I have money, but after the red headed monster from hell, it repulses me to think about ever being with a woman like that again. Just because she throws a pretty smile my way and would drop to her knees at my command doesn’t mean she can have my heart.
Girls like her are only interested in the lifestyle I can provide them – the wealth, the status – not the man inside. Which is why I’m not interested in anything more than what I’ve arranged with Sophie. Clean and separate from the rest of me. Sex and intimacy have no place together.
"I’m good, thank you." I know Marta will have everything covered today, but that doesn’t stop me from looking around while I wait for Pace and Collins to finish in the locker room. I’m hot and tired after playing thirty-six holes of golf – but I’d much rather shower at home where I can put on fresh clothes after, than here with a bunch of men. And I wasn’t joking when I told Sophie to be ready for me when I got home. Last night’s prelude wasn’t enough. I haven’t stopped thinking about her luscious mouth or perky tits once.
Moving past the rows of silk panties and lacey camisoles I stop beside a display of lotions and oils. Grabbing one of the bottles, I head to the register to pay.
"Nice choice," the cashier beams up at me.
Ignoring her, I check my Rolex. I wonder if Sophie and Marta are back yet. The sales girl, obviously annoyed at my lack of attention, despite her skin tight top unbuttoned to show off the top of her bra, stuffs my purchase into a gift bag and shoves it at me.
I find Pace and Collins in the grand foyer of the club, rehydrating with bottles of water. "You ready, ladies?" I ask.
Collins tosses me a bottle of water. "Come on," he says to Pace, "we’ve got to get princess home in time for his blowjob."
Yes, please.
***
The house is silent when I return and I wander the rooms downstairs, checking the den and kitchen before heading upstairs. Disappointment courses through me at the idea that she’s not back yet. At least I can get a shower in before she returns. The least I can do is wash myself before I expect her to devour my cock.
Stripping my shirt off over my head as I head toward my bedroom, I’m surprised to find Sophie sitting in the center of my bed with her phone in her lap and a frown on her face.
"Everything okay?"
She startles at my voice and drops her phone on the bed. Her gaze wanders lazily down my naked chest and her frowns falls away. Good girl.
"It’s fine." She sets her phone beside her on the bedside table. I wonder if she was talking to someone from home again. "How was golf?"
"Hot. I’m going to shower."
She nods, her eyes not daring to stray from mine, though I can tell she’s drawn to my body.
I wash quickly, without waiting for the water to warm, soaping up my chest, abs, under my arms and of course the parts of me I want her mouth on. Wrapping a towel around my hips, I enter the bedroom once again, but this time Sophie’s gone. The fuck? Apparently we needed to cover some ground rules. Like rule number one, be naked and waiting on my bed for me at all times.
Releasing a frustrated sigh, I drop the towel and dress before heading downstairs to find her.
Sophie’s sitting in the den, the same spot we sat last night. Her legs are curled under her and she’s holding a book in her lap. All I can think of when I enter this room is her on her knees in front of me, taking my dick deep into her warm mouth. Christ, it’s been way too long since I’ve been laid.
Her eyes lift from the book and settle on mine when I sit down across from her.
"Find something good?" I nod toward the book in her hands, which I assume has come from my personal library.
"Charlotte Bronte." She holds up the cover of Wuthering Heights for me to see. It’s a dark and twisted love story. Story of my damn life.
"Have you read it before?"
"In high school. But I don’t remember much of it." Setting the book down on the cushion beside her, she folds her hands in her lap and looks at me expectantly. She’s curious about what’s going to happen next.
"Are you hungry?" I surprise her by asking.
She nods carefully. I’m starving after the long afternoon spent on the course and when I reach for her hand, she carefully places her palm against mine. I tell myself that it’s important I get her comfortable with me, but in actuality, I just like touching her.
I lead her into the kitchen. Sunday is the only day I don’t have a staff here to prepare meals, but Beth usually leaves me with enough leftovers to survive for one day without her. I find the fixings for club sandwiches left in plastic containers and labeled in Beth’s efficient script. Turkey, strips of crisp bacon, avocado spread, gruyere cheese, and thick slices of tomato marinated in vinaigrette.
We assemble the sandwiches at the island and take our plates back into the den.
"I’m curious about why you’re here…" I pause, watching her reaction. It’s obviously for the money, but I can’t figure out why a girl like Sophie would be desperate enough to sell herself. She’s a clean cut, normal girl by all outward appearances – I strongly doubt she has gambling debts or a drug addiction to fund. I take a bite of my sandwich and wait for her to answer. Honestly, I have mixed feelings about finding out more about her and making this personal, but I’m too damn curious not to ask.
She seems hesitant at first and chews her food slowly, stalling for time. "My sister’s sick," she says softly, so soft I can barely hear her. "Her care is very expensive," she continues. It isn’t what I’m expecting and her honesty surprises me.
"The money…it will help?" I ask.
"Very much so," she whispers. I can tell she has mixed feelings about all this. As relieved as she seems at taking care of her sister, I sense there’s some lingering guilt about leaving home during a time of hardship.
I have no intention of baring my soul as completely as she’s done. I can’t. I doubt she’d stick around if she knew the real reason she was here. And I’m certainly not ready to let her go, especially before I’ve fulfilled the promise of her sweet, tempting body.