“You don’t know a thing about me, Noah, and I doubt you have the patience or stamina to figure me out.”
“All I need is one night. Let me take you out, prove I’m better than the rest.”
“So persistent.”
“Always, especially when I see something I want.”
No mention of what I might want. God, he was selfish. Yet, I humored him anyway. “And what is it you want?”
He lifted a brow. “Are we being honest?”
I held his stare, unflinching. “Why not?”
“Fine. I want to strip you naked and lick every gorgeous curve of your body. I want to hold you by your hair as you swallow my cock. And when your shoulders tense and your eyes water, I want you to look up at me with that determined look I see now, and I want you to show me you can handle every last inch of me. I want to fuck your tits, your cunt, and your tight little asshole. I want to make it so good for you, there’s never a doubt in your mind that I’m the best you’ll ever have. And then, I want to sleep with you, naked and soft, worn out from everything I did to you, everything you begged me to do. Then we’ll wake up and do it all over again until my skin smells like yours and you’re wearing a rosy glow of whisker burn, come, and me.”
Keeping my expression blank, I glanced toward the elevator as if the political correctness police were going to storm the hall at any second after that little speech. My breath shook as it filled my lungs. No one had ever said anything so graphic and arrogant to me. I wanted to smile at his boldness, then punish him.
It was not only improbable, it was also the exact opposite of what I liked, so why the hell was I breathing so fast? He was rattling me.
This game had to end. I moved my mouth to speak, but my voice had dried up. Clearing my throat, I straightened my shoulders and looked him directly in the eye, whittling all my excuses down to the sharpest point.
It was time he understood how impossible his fantasies were. “Poor Noah. You can’t afford me.”
His brow furrowed. “Afford you?”
His glance took another perusal of my attire, and he cocked his head as if something occurred to him. I endured his inspection, awaiting and dreading the moment the light bulb flickered on. As a private person, my career choices had always been personal. After my mother’s latest episode, I hardly felt like shouting my profession details from the rooftops.
His posture relaxed, and his hands burrowed back in his pockets, a knowing smirk now teasing his lips. “I think you underestimate the size of my … bank account.”
An unexpected ache formed in my chest. On some level, he comprehended my confession when I’d hoped his first response would be disbelief or denial. But he seemed to understand what I’d admitted and hadn’t batted an eye.
His acceptance that I came with a rather large price tag withered something inside of me. My confidence staggered and my pride flinched. His cocky assumption that he would have me—no matter the price—released an unpredicted pain in my chest I wasn’t prepared to process. He didn’t realize some things were not for sale, but damn the assumption in his eyes for hurting me so.
I guess I looked like a whore to him. It shouldn’t matter how he saw me. Hiding my disappointment, I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my emotions out of the way.
Keep it light… “I’m pretty sure your account is much smaller than what I’m used to.” If he wanted to treat me like an object, I’d treat him like the chauvinist dickhead I believed him to be.
He arched a brow. “Name your price.”
Why did this keep backfiring on me? Time to be firm. “You’ll never be my client.”
“Is that what you call them?”
I shrugged, trying to situate my indifference and gracefully escape the conversation in one piece. But something was off, and I had about as much grace as Cinderella’s sisters trying to casually slip into a glass slipper.
Irritated that he’d knocked me off balance so easily, my words became terse. “It’s business. And I’m the one with the final say. Now, if you’ll get out of my way—”
“Wait.” He frowned and caught my arm. “Are you serious? Are you…”
My breath held. Thank God he didn’t finish his question. My self-esteem might not survive the hit today. We needed to wrap this up, and I couldn’t afford to waste time explaining my life to him.
“I’m not a prostitute, jerk. Sex isn’t on the table. That’s not what I do. I really have to go.”
His brow knit as uncertainty flashed in his glacial stare. While my job was uncommon, living as a sugar baby remained a very real business—not to be confused with prostitution. Every client needed to fully understand that.
Although Noah would never be my client. Never.
“Avery…” His focus pulled from my body for a split second, but when it returned, his eyes were more challenging than ever. “I’m not looking to be your client or whatever you call it.”
His voice sounded so genuine I instantly relaxed and then he said, “But I’m also not giving up. And trust me, I never have to pay a woman for her time.”
“I don’t have time for charity cases, Noah.”
He laughed. “Avery, you misunderstand. I’ll be the one doing you a favor. Maybe one good, hard fuck would get you out of this bad mood you’ve been in since we met.”
My lips twitched, but I hid a smile. As great as fucking Noah would probably be, it was a can of worms I couldn’t open. My little thrill died as fast as a lone breeze on a still day.
Maybe he thought I was bluffing about actually coming with a price tag. That was better than him not questioning the possibility. But the truth remained, I needed to ruin whatever this was for my own good.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said, priding myself for not allowing my voice to waver. “I told you how it works. You’re not listening—”
“Oh, I heard you. You want me to believe they pay to play. Maybe they do, but I don’t. I’m not buying what you’re selling, so stop with the act. I see you lugging your little backpack up and down the hall as you scurry off to class, looking like an average twenty-something trying to make a future for herself. This…” He brushed a finger over my fake diamond bracelet. “This isn’t you. It’s an act, and I bet you play the part damn well. But you aren’t going to play with me, Avery—not in that way. Maybe you’d smile a little easier if you dated someone for more than their wallet.”
“Maybe I’m only miserable around you.”
“If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”
I wanted to growl and shove him out of my way. “You know what? You don’t know a thing about me or the men I go out with.”
He didn’t have to live a secret life to afford his home. He was almost too upfront, too raw and unfiltered.
He thought my appearance was an act. But he didn’t realize all of it was an act. Avery Johansson wasn’t a college student living a few miles from home. She didn’t exist before I arrived.
“So let me get to know you.”
Noah was the sort of man who wouldn’t rest until he had a puzzle mastered, and I wasn’t going to be a game he played. “No.”