RUBY

I wake to an empty bed, which isn’t much of a surprise since morning has passed and afternoon approaches. My entire body is sore, thanks to the new addition to my workout routine in the form of Bancroft. That man can fuck like nobody’s business.

I stretch out, smiling, and call Bancroft’s name. I’m greeted with silence. That’s odd. It’s Saturday, and he didn’t say anything about having to go to the office. Throwing off the covers I sit up, the muscle aches amplifying as I get out of bed and pad—naked—down the hall to the kitchen. The French press sits on the counter half-full. I touch the side. The coffee is cool, meaning it must’ve been made hours ago.

“Bancroft?” I call again. I still get nothing.

Maybe he’s in his office wearing headphones. He does that sometimes out of consideration, since my hours are so much later than his. I tiptoe over and peek around the corner. He’s not there either. What the heck?

Heading back to the kitchen, I root around in my bag until I finally find my phone. Maybe he went out to pick us up something to eat. He’s considerate like that as well. The only messages I have are from Amie. She’s been out of town for the past week on a honeymoon test run. That’s right, she and Armstrong have gone away for a week to see if they like the location enough to return for their honeymoon. It’s a Mills hotel, so I can’t imagine they won’t love it. I check the counter, which is where I find one of Bancroft’s runelike scrawls.

Emergency meeting. Not sure when I’ll be back.

Bane

I frown, disappointed that my nakedness will go to waste and that the start to my day isn’t going nearly as well as the end of my night. Scrolling through my phone, I check my messages from Amie.

She returned from her pre-honeymoon test run and we have a lunch date. I check the time. Crapdoodles. I have less than an hour to get ready and meet her in Midtown. A shower is a must, I smell like Bancroft and sex.

Firing a message off to let Amie know I’m on my way, I rush to my room to shower. Twenty minutes later I’m fresh and dressed. My hair is still damp, but it’ll dry on the way. I slap on some makeup, grab my purse, and run out the door.

Amie’s already at the restaurant when I get there. She’s never late for anything. She puts down her phone when I slide into the seat across from her.

“I was just about to text you. How are you? How are things since Bancroft’s been back? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.” She looks around then leans closer and drops her voice. “Has he walked around the condo shirtless?”

I feel badly that I’ve been riding Bancroft’s disco stick for a week and my best friend doesn’t even know. Although that’s not really my fault since she hasn’t been around to tell. And I also feel bad that I haven’t been honest with her about other things. So I tell her everything. Well, almost everything. We’re in a public place so there are things I’m not willing to say aloud for fear of someone overhearing. But I tell her about the job, and Bancroft coming to the club last week and getting angry about my lie.

The waiter brings us our lunches just before I get to the best part. I take a pause while he sets our plates in front of us. I’ve ordered steak frites, which are just French fries with a fancy name and Amie has ordered a salad.

“They forgot your dressing.” I point out.

“I don’t need it.”

“Without dressing it’s just a plate of leaves.”

“I like the natural flavors.” She waves her fork around. “So Bancroft drove you home, then what happened?”

I drop the salad dressing issue and continue with my story. I censor out all the best parts, like the curling for orgasms and the dirty talk and the awesome blow job I gave and finish with, “And then we had sex.” I pop a fry into my mouth and wait.

Amie stares at me for a few long seconds, unmoving. She glances around the restaurant and brings her hand up so no one can see what she says, even though she practically mouths the words, “You slept with him?”

I nod.

“Oh my God.” She exhales a breath, eyes wide, and blinking and sets down her fork. “You slept with him a week ago and didn’t tell me until now?” She looks hurt, which is not what I want.

I lean in closer and drop my voice, imploring her to understand. “I haven’t had a chance. You were away. This is the first time I’ve seen you since it happened and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone, because, well, it’s not over-the-phone kind of news.”

She sits back in her chair. “Was it just the once?”

I shake my head.

“How many times?”

I shrug. “I’ve lost count. A lot.”

“It sounds like your week was more exciting than mine,” she mutters. “So this is a relationship now?”

I stab a fry with my fork. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“You’ve been getting naked with each other for the past week and you haven’t had a relationship conversation, yet?” Amie smooths her napkin out. “You’re not really a fling kind of girl. Does he know that? Do you know if he wants a relationship?”

I shrug again. I don’t actually have an answer to that. The only conversations we’ve had about relationships were before he left, and maybe once over the phone when we discussed how difficult it would be to have a relationship when he was traveling all the time. But he’s home now, and he hasn’t mentioned traveling—although we haven’t been doing much in the way of talking this past week outside of moans and orgasms.

I consider how much time I’ve spent “with” him over the last several weeks. If I’m honest with myself it’s felt like a relationship since before he came back from the UK.

“I guess you need to talk to him and figure out if you’re both on the same page,” Amie says, pulling me out of my head.

I nod.

“Do you think you are?”

“I think so? Maybe? God, I hope casual hookups aren’t his thing.”

“I’m sure he wants the same thing you want. I guess now you’ll really need to find your own apartment. Can you afford that yet?” Amie pats my hand in a consoling gesture. I think I might be starting to panic a little.

“I can’t live there anymore.” It’s not a question. It’s just that reality is hitting me, and it’s a lot like being smacked in the face with a giant penis. Bancroft’s giant penis.

“It might be easier if you have your own place now that you’re sleeping together.”

I nod dumbly. She’s 100 percent accurate on this. I can’t live with Bancroft if we’re in the beginning stages of dating. If that’s even what’s going to happen. Beyond that, my relying on him financially creates a power imbalance I’m not too keen on. I don’t want to feel like my services are being bought, even if they’re as incredible as he tells me they are.

“So?”

“Huh?” I’ve gapped out again.

She mouths the sex and then says, “Is it good?”

I think about last night. About coming in from work at three in the morning and waking him up with a blow job and the two-hour fuck marathon that then took place. Bancroft thoroughly enjoys testing out my flexibility. We’ve had sex in places and positions I’d never thought possible. And that mouth—sweet lord. “The best.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Intense.” I lean in to whisper, “He has a very dirty mouth and excellent stamina. He can go for hours.”

Amie bites her lip and looks a little wistful. “Aren’t you sore?”

“Only in the best way possible.” I’m pretty sure I’m ruined for any other man. I’ll have this unreasonable bar to hold all other men to. Bancroft Mills and his dirty mouth, and amazingly large penis are my new minimum standard.

“Is he . . .” she trails off and does a few eyebrow raises.

I raise my own in question.

“Adequately endowed?”

“More than,” I reply.

“More than?” She touches the necklace she’s wearing. It’s a gold chain with diamonds. Amie doesn’t like yellow gold, she prefers white. I’m assuming the necklace was a gift from her thoughtful, clueless fiancé.

“So much more.”

She swallows her mouthful of lettuce and leans in close. “How much more?”

I have no idea why Amie is so interested in the size of Bancroft’s penis. “Are you asking me for approximate dimensions?”

She nods once. I look around the table for things that might be comparable. There’s nothing. “Wider than a toilet paper roll and about yay long.” I hold my hands apart and then widen the gap a bit until I get it just right.

“Wow,” Amie breathes. “Wasn’t that . . . uncomfortable?”

“He’s incredibly adept at foreplay.”

Her cheeks flush pink and she looks down at her salad, pushing the dry leaves around.

“It’s never too late to trade in your current model for one with more girth, or length, or both.” I spear a fry and bite the end off.

Amie snorts and brings her hand to her mouth, eyes darting around, embarrassed the sound came out of her, maybe. I miss the version of my friend who cared less about what people think. We should’ve gone to a non-posh restaurant so we wouldn’t be forced to have this conversation in embarrassed whispers. I wish I cared less, too.

It’s half past two in the afternoon by the time I get home—or back to Bancroft’s condo. I’m nervous now. I’ve been enjoying the sex bubble we’ve been living in, but Amie has a point, we have to talk, and I have to make a plan to move out. I sincerely hope I haven’t read things wrong and that this is about more than sex. I think it is. Our conversations up until now have me hoping it is.

The condo is the same as when I left it, which means Bancroft still isn’t home. I should probably wash the sheets after last night’s sexcapades. I stop at Francesca’s cage first. She’s been fed recently, by the look of things. Maybe Bancroft did it before he left for his emergency meeting.

“Hi, pretty girl.” I nuzzle her head and carry her down the hall.

When I get to Bancroft’s room I notice the bed isn’t quite how I left it. It’s still unmade, but there are a few items of clothing littering the mattress, namely the components that make up a suit. And his closet door is open.

My stomach does a little flip and I return to the kitchen, rummaging through my purse until I find my phone. I missed a call from him about twenty minutes ago. There’s a voice mail.

“Hey. Hi, Ruby. Uh . . . look, I’m at the airport. I have to go back to London, there’s an issue I need to take care of. I don’t really know when I’m going to be back, but we need to talk and it probably isn’t a phone conversation . . .”

There’s a brief pause and a sigh.

“We need to make some adjustments with our arrangement. This has all happened a bit faster than I expected. I think maybe . . . Fuck. I’ll try to call when I’m in London.”

My stomach feels like it’s trying to jump out of my throat. This doesn’t sound good. I sit down at the island and note the envelope propped up against the bananas. I blush at the memory of what I did with one yesterday afternoon in a bid to distract Bancroft when he was busy with a phone call. It resulted in me being bent over the island, spanked, and then fucked.

The envelope has my name on it in his messy scrawl. I open it and find a wad of cash. Sliding the bills out I count it, twice. Jesus. He’s left me five thousand dollars. I try to rationally analyze the exorbitant amount of money, but based on the message it sounds a lot like he’s intending to pay me for sex.

I’m still holding Francesca. She’s squirming to get out of my arms. I give her a couple of pets and set her on the floor.

Maybe I’m reading into things. Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe he’s just being preemptive in case he’s gone longer than he anticipates.

As I pass Bancroft’s retro answering machine I note the flashing red number one. There’s a message. I hit play.

“Hi, Banny, it’s Brittany! I just heard from Mimi and I couldn’t get through on your cell so I thought I’d try this number instead. I’m so sorry you had to go away on business this week. Such a disappointment when you just got back. I really hope you’ll be back in time for dinner this weekend. But don’t worry if you’re not. We can always reschedule our date. Mimi said you’re just as excited as I am about being able to spend time together again. I can’t wait to pick up where we left off last time. Call me when you can!”

I stare at the machine. Hit rewind and then hit play again, listening to the message a second time. Then I listen to the voice mail from Bancroft.

There’s really no guessing anymore. I can’t believe he’s been screwing me all over his condo all week, telling me my pussy is his, while he’s been planning a date with another woman. Brittany of all people.

I listen to the message again, looking for some sign that this isn’t what I think it is. Has he been playing me this entire time? I remember our conversation about Brittany back when I moved in here, how he said she wasn’t that bad. Did he have sex with her that night after he kissed me? Has he been talking to her the way he’s been talking to me while he’s been away? It sure as hell seems like it, based on her enthusiasm. And what the hell does she mean picking up where they left off?

Fucking asshole.

Talking to me about trust and honesty and here he is, screwing me and he’ll probably be screwing Brittany this weekend.

There really is no question now, I need to find a new place to live. The sooner the better.