Chapter Seven
Samantha
I manage not to cry until I step into the shower in my room. And it’s not sadness, but I know he’d think I’m crying over him, because he’s an asshole.
No, I’m one of those people who cry when I’m mad, and right now, I’m so angry I can barely see straight.
The gall of him! To act high and mighty and pissed at me because I didn’t tell him I was a virgin. As if that affects him in any way. My virginity was mine to give, and I was happy with my choice until he acted like a jerk this morning.
I scrub away the scent of him, even as my body still aches from the things he did to me last night. My breasts are tender and swollen, and when he said I was going to feel him inside me for days afterward, he wasn’t kidding. As angry as I am with him just now, there’s also a part of me that wants to have him on top of me again.
Last night wasn’t like anything I could have ever imagined. The things he did to me with his lips, his tongue, his fingers… I’ve read about things like that, but having them done to me is something else entirely. I felt almost dirty, especially when he looked up after licking me to orgasm and I could see that his mouth and chin were coated in my juices. But he didn’t give me a chance to obsess over it, and the second his dick slid into me, I couldn’t think at all.
It hurt like hell at first when he pushed his way into me. But then, all I could focus on was how damn good it felt, feeling him filling me over and over again. My first time was perfect.
Until this morning, anyway.
If I didn’t need this money to save my father, I’d be out the door already. I know I’ll never have another chance like this. He didn’t tell me to get out, so I guess I’m not fired. Good. I’ll make sure I get my money. I can do this, as long as he doesn’t touch me again.
I wash each part of my body, as if by letting last night swirl down the drain, I can regain some sense of sanity and dignity. I’m mortified if I let myself think about it too much, about the way I was for him, opening my legs on command, begging him. I was out of my mind, and it’s not something I’ll let happen again.
When I’m dressed and my hair is dry and I’ve put on my makeup, I square my shoulders and open my bedroom door. I need coffee and I’m starving, and I’m not going to hide from Dante. He can toss blame around all he wants, but I didn’t do a damn thing wrong and I know it.
When I enter the main part of the penthouse, he’s sitting at the long dining room table, looking at his phone, papers and blueprints spread out on the table in front of him. I walk into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee, then grab a croissant from the tray nearby. I bring them both to the other end of the table and sit down, pulling my own phone out of my pocket.
I start scrolling through my messages and email. Nothing too important. A few casting calls I’m probably going to miss thanks to my contract with Dante this month. If I have my way, we won’t be in San Francisco much longer anyway.
I let myself think that over. Where should Pops and I go next? L.A.? New York? I’d love to go to New York, but I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of getting Pops out of Cali.
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have to get through the next twenty-nine days first.
I chance a quick look up at Dante, and he’s scowling at his phone.
We can do this all month, I tell myself. We can pretend the other one doesn’t exist, except when he needs arm candy for one of his events. We’re both grown adults. Well, me more than him maybe, I think bitterly.
“I need to head in to the office. If you need anything today, ask the doorman. If you want to go out, my driver is at your disposal. His number’s on the piece of paper on the credenza in the living room.”
“Will you need me to go anywhere with you today?” I ask. See? I’m doing really well at this being professional thing.
Until he looks up and his dark gaze meets mine. I feel the air go out of me, and my stomach flutters.
“No. I won’t be needing you today. Spend the day however you want.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he looks up at me. “So what will you be doing today?”
“Why?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Why, what?”
“Why does it matter to you what I’m doing today?”
His jaw clenches, and he looks back down at his phone. “I’m paying for your time this month. I want to know where you’ll be.”
Of course. He paid for me. He doesn’t actually care. This is good. I need him to keep reminding me of this fact so I don’t get caught up in memories of the way he brought me to orgasm after screaming orgasm.
“I’ll mostly be here, Mr. Knight,” I say coolly. “I may go out to get some fresh air and go for a jog, but other than that, I plan on staying in and reading and possibly napping. I expect that I’ll probably eat once or twice, and I may have to go to the bathroom a time or two—”
“Okay, that’s enough.”
“Just wanted to make sure I was being thorough enough,” I tell him. He gathers his blueprints and papers without a word, tucks them into the large portfolio nearby, and then stalks out the door.
About a minute later, he comes back inside and grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen, giving me a little glare before he stalks out again, as if it was all my fault that he forgot them.
Dante Knight seems pretty good at laying on the blame. Unfortunately for him, I’m neither a doormat nor a little wilting flower. I can be his escort and employee this month, but there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to let myself get caught up in him emotionally in any way. I let it happen last night, and it won’t be happening again. Ever.