6

Bobby

When Lexi stiffens, I have to remind myself that I can’t always say all the dominant possessive things in my head to a woman. Especially not one I just met, no matter how submissive and willing she may seem.

I do want her, though. I want to keep her in my spare apartment and treat her like a princess and a sex slave. Tie her up, spank her, spoil her with nice things. I want those eager-to-please eyes on my face while she’s on her knees, her mouth stretched around my cock.

I could probably move in for the kill right now. It sounded like she needed cash rather urgently. But I don’t want to coax her into something that makes her nervous, even though I easily could. I want her to be the one offering.

So I pull the covers up and kiss her forehead. “Stay here tonight, doll. Order up room service in the morning. Buy yourself something nice from the gift shop and charge it to the room.” I get dressed and drop a wad of bills on the dresser. There’s probably three or four hundred dollars there. I don’t count it because I don’t want her to feel cheap. I’m not paying for sex. Sugar daddies don’t pay for sex, they provide support in exchange for the privilege of ownership.

“This is for you to treat yourself tomorrow,” I tell her. “If you decide you want a sugar daddy, you know where to find me.”

I leave it at that. I don’t get her number. Don’t leave her mine.

I hope to see her again, but I’m not gonna push.

She leans up on her elbows, her breasts separating. It’s damn hard not to crawl back in bed and kiss that space between them. Follow it up to her neck and behind her ear.

But no, she’s skittish. I’ve already come on strong. If I stay, she might tuck her tail and run in the morning. Better to let her come to me when she’s ready.

Either she wants to be owned or she doesn’t.

I strongly suspect she’ll realize she does.

I hope so. Because Lexi seems absolutely perfect for me.

Lexi

This morning, I woke in the luxury hotel suite with my body sore in all the right places. I ordered room service. Bought myself a swimsuit at the gift shop and sat in the hot tub. Lived it up. It was ah-mazing.

Bobby left me over four hundred dollars to “treat” myself. Sadly, the only treat I’ll get is paying off the rent I owe. I didn’t have time to run back to my apartment to find the building manager and pay it off before work. At this point, what difference does it make when he gets the money–Saturday or Sunday? I’ll get it to him before Monday. That’s all that matters.

Right now, I have a just-for-me hair project to work on. It’s after hours, and everyone’s gone except for Ondrea, the receptionist.

“So you’re letting me do anything I want, right?” I push Gina into my salon chair. I offered her a free cut and color if she would model for my portfolio.

She tosses her dark hair over one shoulder. “Yes. I trust you. But only if you tell me everything about last night.”

“Ooh, what happened last night?” Ondrea instantly appears behind me, clacking her lacquered nails together. She’s an adorable trans woman, who is barely out of high school and full of sass. She is literally the best thing about renting at Stylz because she has that knack for making everything fun and entertaining.

“I hooked up with a guy.” I flick a cape around Gina’s shoulders. I already have a plan in mind, so I begin to mix the hair dye in plastic bowls.

“A potential sugar daddy.” Gina waggles her brows.

“Ooh. Tell me more.” Ondrea flops into the empty salon chair beside Gina’s.

“Yeah. Spill, girl.”

“So, first of all, you missed how I met him. He literally saved me from Mr. sugar daddy wannabe idiot back by the bathrooms.” I finish mixing the dye and start combing through Gina’s hair.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I separate the first section of hair and paint the color on it, then fold it up in foil. “The guy who bought me drinks thought that meant I owed him something, and he was trying to drag me back to the bar or something. Bobby grabbed him by the throat and smashed his face against the wall.”

Ondrea gives an exaggerated gasp. “Hawt.”

“Super hot,” Gina agrees.

“I know. And then I find out he’s your big tipper, so it sort of seemed meant to be.” I work the next section into foil, having long ago mastered the trick of keeping up a conversation and applying hair color.

“Sooo?” Gina drags out the “o” with a lift of her brows.

I nod my head as if I’m answering a yes or no question. “He was hot.”

“That’s it? I want details.”

“Yeah, we want details.” Ondrea spins the salon chair around in circles.

“Well, he took me to the Four Seasons, went down on me, fucked me hard, and tucked me in for the night.”

Ondrea pauses spinning to fan herself with her fingers, her tastefully long false lashes fluttering.

“Wait–so he didn’t stay?” Gina’s dissected my report already.

“No. Are you sure he’s not married?”

“Uh oh,” Ondrea says. “I don’t like that.”

“He’s not. He’s just playing sugar daddy. I’m telling you–that’s his thing. This is why you need him.” Gina taps her finger on the arm of her chair to make her point.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. I loved last night–don’t get me wrong. But it sort of felt like a relief when he left. I was feeling like I was in over my head and getting worried about what I was getting myself into. Especially when he said, I’m keeping you. I don’t even know what he meant by that, but it scared me a little.

“Don’t know what? Was he good in bed?”

Understatement. “So good.”

“Then what aren’t you sure about?” Ondrea wants to know.

“I’m not going to enter into some kind of financial arrangement for sex. I’m just not. That seems crazy.”

“The oldest profession.” Ondrea stands from her chair. “It’s not wrong to receive money just for being you. Just for being someone’s entertainment. It’s not like you hated it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Well, how did he leave it? Is he going to call? What’s the deal?” Gina presses.

“Actually, he didn’t even ask for my number, but he said if I’m interested, I know where to find him.”

“So stew on it.”

Ondrea comes over to observe my technique closer. “Are you doing the same thing with her that you did with me?” I did her hair last week for photos for the portfolio, putting some dramatic fuchsia streaks around her face and underneath in the back.

“No, I’m going with something a little more subtle. Shades of burgundy.”

“Why do you need new portfolio pictures?” Gina asks.

“I’m applying for a training job with Stellar Hair Color. If I get it, they will fly me all over the country to teach hair stylists how to use their dyes.”

“Ooh, that sounds glamorous.”

“I know, and the pay is $120,000 a year.”

“Wow!”

“Which means I probably have no chance.” I paint another section of Gina’s hair.

“Don’t say that. You deserve that kind of salary. You’re worth it.”

“I’m thinking about filing bankruptcy to clear my medical bills,” I confide because I honestly cannot pin my hopes on this job. Bankruptcy won’t help with the back pay for the apartment or the salon, but if I could get out from under the medical debt, I could breathe a little.

“Don’t tell Arissa that,” Ondrea warns. “She’s already freaking out because you’re behind on rent here.” Arissa is the salon owner. I’ll admit that paying her took a slightly lower priority to paying the rent on my apartment, but I’d like to think she knows I’m good for it. I mean, I’m here every day, working my ass off. She knows I’m trying.

“I’m going to pay it just as soon as I get my landlord paid off,” I say, in case Ondrea repeats this conversation to Arissa.

“I have two words for you,” Gina says, and I roll my eyes because I know what’s coming. “Sugar. Daddy.”