It will definitely make me a whore, I tell myself over and over again.

I’ve never read a book where a woman accepted money in exchange for sex and I didn’t think she was a whore. So if I’m going to judge myself by that same logic, then that makes me one, too.

If I accept Sir’s offer. The key word being “if”.

No matter which way I look at it, no matter how it’s said, I can’t see the offer in a positive light.

Sir called it an incentive, but the wording doesn’t matter. You can put lipstick on a pig all you want, but it’s still a pig. What he wanted was a contract with me.

And isn’t that what prostitution is? A contract between two consenting adults involving sex and money?

Anger burns my throat.

I feel insulted that he would offer to pay me. It cheapened the experience that I had with him. I don’t even know why he felt the need to offer me money. Did he think I was that cheap and could be bought after I rebuffed his advances to take me out of the club?

I bite my thumbnail, remembering the look of want in his eyes. I fucking want him, too.

I’m tempted. The kind of money he was offering could make such a huge difference in my life. I could pay off my student loans, my car payment and stash the remainder of the money away for future investments. There’s no shortage of things I could do with that money. And it means I’d get him. I’d get to live out a forbidden desire that keeps me awake late at night.

Do whatever you want with it. It will still mean you’re a whore, that annoying voice at the back of my head whispers.

I grit my teeth, angry that I’m even considering his offer. But at the same time, I’m breathless just thinking about it. The very idea of being paid for makes my body tingle with excitement and exhilaration. It’s something forbidden. And that in and of itself is tempting.

“But I am not a whore,” I mutter, closing the textbook on my desk. It’s not like I could focus on it anyway.

Every time I’m with him, I feel safe. Even though there's something behind his eyes that scares me, something that warns me away, it’s what draws me to him. I know I love the way he turns me on and how he gets me off. I’ve never experienced anything this sexually intense with anyone. And I think… I bite down on my thumbnail again, staring aimlessly straight ahead, I think I want to give myself to him.

I need to shake this off. I want to just pretend like he never offered, but I know the topic of me going beyond the safety of club acts is going to come up again. Not only that, but he’s going to keep withholding himself from me. At first I didn’t get what he was doing, but now I know exactly what he’s been up to. I should be happy, I get all the rewards of being an obedient pet to him, and I don’t have to pleasure him in the least. But I want to. I feel like I need to. Even worse, the pit of my stomach sinks as I think I’m failing him. He gives me so much, and I give him nothing. I groan, arching my neck back and staring at the ceiling. Why is this so fucking complicated? Why can’t I just be normal?

I flip open my laptop to my document for my book, brushing the hair out of my face and ready to focus on something else, anything else. My fingers itch to tap away at the keys and get out all of my frustration by getting lost in the world of romance. I stare at the cursor blinking on the screen of the blank Word document for several moments as I run through the images of me with Sir in my head for inspiration. My breath comes in shallow pants, and my thighs clench. After a moment I close my eyes, place my hands over the keys and begin writing the scene that plays before my eyes.

It’s a quarter past eight and I can’t get him out of my head. His chiseled, handsome smile, his rock hard abs, and his thick, ten-inch cock. Fuck. He's so sexy. I can’t stop thinking about his slicked-back dark hair, or the way he looks at me. His incredible eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin burn with desire. I’ve never met a man that’s looked at me in this way, who’s made me feel this way. His hands caress my body, running along every curve, making me feel like a possession. Like he owns me. A soft groan escapes my lips as I feel myself clenching below. I need his hands on me now, caressing me, feeling me. I want to be fucked hard, and…

My eyes pop back open and I suck in a deep breath, pulling my hands off the keys. I was getting carried away with the last passage. I swallow the tightness in my throat, and shift in my seat. I shouldn’t be ashamed, it’s what some books are about. I place a hand on my chest as my breathing picks up. But I don’t want my heroine to come off as an oversexed horn dog the entire book. At least not hornier than the male lead.

I want this story to be...

I purse my lips, wondering how I can make something that’s just about sex… something more. The darkness in Sir’s eyes immediately come to me. They stare back at me, luring me to write about them. About what happened in his past that made him into the dominating man he is today. I place my elbow on the desk, my pointer tapping on my bottom lip as I wonder if he’ll tell me. I imagine my heroine, knowing she'd have the courage to ask. If she met a man like Sir…

What would she do? Chewing my bottom lip, I sit there for a moment and try to come up with something. But all I can think about is how the heroine in my book has the courage and strength that I don’t.

After a moment I get up from my seat, deciding to pull inspiration from one of my many romances. The second my ass leaves the seat; I hear a telltale ping. I sag back into the seat, clicking on the email notification that pops up on my screen.

I crinkle my nose at the sender. It’s from the director of the counseling department. I wonder what it could be about. My heart jumps as I read the subject line. What the fuck?

My body is like ice as I sit there staring at the screen, numb with shock. I can’t believe what I just read. My eyes stop at every word, not wanting to comprehend what’s written on the screen. I’m hoping that this is some sort of cruel joke. But when I check the sender address, I know it’s real. A pulsing pain hits me out of nowhere in my temples. I wince and seethe in a breath, rubbing my suddenly throbbing temples. Great. Now I have a fucking headache.

I continue to massage my temples, hoping it will all just go away. I just can’t get over how sudden this is. I really wasn’t expecting it. My heart squeezes in my chest as it really hits me. I just lost my job. I lost my fucking job. And the kids… fuck. The pounding in my head intensifies as I focus on just breathing.

For a while now, I believed that I could depend on this job, that I would remain employed until I was done with school.

Boy, was I dead wrong. Now my entire living situation is in jeopardy if I don’t find another job in a reasonable timeframe. I only just moved into this place. I lean back in my chair, trying to calm my breathing and get rid of this headache. Tears threaten to form in my eyes, but I won’t let them. I won’t cry over something like this. I rock back and forth in my chair, taking in soothing breaths like I learned in a yoga class. I will fix this. I will find a way. There’s always a way.

I don’t know what to do, but I will figure out something.

My cell goes off just as I feel like I’m starting to calm down, the shrill beeping making my head throb even more. For a moment I debate on not answering it, but then I think it might be my job calling with some miraculous news, and I jump to answer it.

“Hello?” I answer breathlessly, hope soaring in my chest. It has to be one of the counseling administrators. Please God, let it be.

“Miss Wade?” a deep, authoritative voice that sounds somewhat familiar asks. I narrow my eyes trying to place the voice, but nothing is coming to mind.

I hold in a groan of despair. My left hand rubs the throbbing pain from my head as I keep the phone to my ear, closing my eyes and wishing I would wake up from this nightmare. This isn’t my job calling to deliver a fairytale. This is more bad fucking news. I just know it.

“Yes?” I try to keep my voice steady, though I’m inches away from breaking down.

“This is Officer Johnathan Johnson with the Department of Corrections. You left a message on my voicemail the other day for Zach White.”

My mouth goes dry, and I’m unable to even put forth the effort for an answer.

“I’m calling to inform you that Zachery White is in jail for committing a third offense.” If my laptop wasn’t right in front of me, I’d slam my head against the desk. Today is nothing but a cruel joke.

“What was the crime?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart sinks in my chest, and my throat closes. The state has a three strikes law. My hand runs down my face as my elbows fall to the desk, my left one hitting the keyboard. I want to shove the whole thing off my desk right now I’m so upset and angry. I’m so emotional and feeling overwhelmed.

“Vandalism. He and several other kids went onto an elderly woman’s property and spray painted the side of her house.” Officer Johnson snorts a derisive grunt. “They almost gave the woman a heart attack.

I close my eyes, my temples pulsing even harder as I remember the crowd of kids Zach was hanging with. Why couldn't that boy have just gotten in the car and gone with me? It would have gone a long way in helping him, and none of this would’ve ever happened. I shake my head as my eyes close, and I wish I could go back in time and just grab him. But you can’t force people to change. I can’t force him to make the right decision. No one can.

Now things are fucked.

A sharp pain lances through my skull. God. I definitely don’t need any more shit right now.

Officer Johnson obviously hears me sigh and must sense the anger and sadness behind it, because he quickly speaks up. “Don’t worry Miss Wade, I’m recommending that he be sent to The Boy’s Academy, one of the best juvenile corrections program in the United States. If anything will turn your boy around, this place will. It has an impeccable record.”

Officer Johnson sounds very hopeful and upbeat. I suspect it’s mainly for my benefit, but I don’t share his optimism. I just can’t right now. The Academy is a few counties over. Strings will have to be pulled to get him there. It makes me happy though, because it really does have a good reputation. I suck in a breath and try not to cry. I couldn’t help him, but maybe they can. I feel like I failed Zach.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound strong, but my voice cracks. “Thank you for calling to tell me, Officer Johnson. I’m going to try to reach out to Zach as soon as I’m able. You have a wonderful day.”

“Zach’s going to be all right once he’s in that program, Miss Wade,” Johnathan tries to assure me one last time. “Don’t you worry. You’ll see.”

The line goes dead and my headache seems to increase tenfold, my head pounding like it’s stuck in a vice.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, more shit hits the fan. Now I lost my job and probably Zach, all in one day. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I open my eyes to see the email still up on the screen. The one telling me I’ve been dismissed, and the program doesn’t even exist anymore.

I need to find a job. Fast. I need to find a way to raise funding for the program. My to-do list just got a lot longer. I need money for my rent, and the bills aren’t going to stop coming just because I unfortunately lost my job.

My heart skips a beat as I suddenly remember Sir’s offer.

No, I tell myself, shaking my head. No fucking way. I can’t- I won’t stoop that low.

Surely I can find another way to support myself. But every option I can think about requires immense time and work. Time that I may not have.

The offer from Sir is immediate. Easy. And more money than I could ever dream of having all at once.

I don’t have to be Einstein to know which path I should take.

It doesn’t make me feel any better about it though.

Fuck it. It’s not like I don’t enjoy being with him. Like I haven’t been fantasizing about exactly what he offered me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I walk over and grab the phone that Sir gave me. My head pulses even harder, almost as if warning me away as I bring up his number and the text screen.

My heart beats along with my pounding headache as I stare at it. Everything in my mind screams at me to drop the phone, but my hands move of their own accord.

I close my eyes briefly before I tap out the message.

Sir,

How soon can we talk about your offer?