The door opens, but I don’t bother covering up. I know who it is. I can tell just by the way the air around me crackles and changes. It’s him. Whitaker. I have three dresses laid out in front of me and I’m trying to choose between them. With him in the room my focus is completely gone now.

“Bend over a bit, let me see you,” he quietly commands. Without question, I do as he asks. Placing my hands on the edge of the bed, I bend over. “Are you sore?” he asks, his voice rough.

I don’t want to tell him yes, I’m excruciatingly sore. I’m also craving more of his touch. Sucking in a deep breath, I turn my head to look over my shoulder. “I am. I want you though,” I admit.

His beautiful face turns up into a smile, it lights up and takes my breath away. God, how did I not see who he was before? His gorgeous face has been on billboards, television commercials, and in magazines.

“Suzette thinks you look too young for me,” he announces as he unbuttons his crisp white shirt to expose his muscled torso. “Did she say anything to you today?” he asks.

“She told me who you were. That we were going to your mother’s premiere,” I admit, licking my lips at the sight of his body, then watching his hands work his pants open.

He stops, his eyes meeting mine and he waits a beat. “Did she? What do you think about that?” he asks tilting his head to the side.

I try not to beg for his touch, or throw a tantrum that he’s stopped undressing. Instead, I suck in a breath and I answer him. “I was surprised. I wished you would have told me yourself,” I admit.

“And?”

I shrug. “No, and… except…” He waits and I inhale deeply. “I wish I didn’t have to go with you anywhere,” I admit.

Whitaker tilts his head to the side, his brows furrowed in confusion at my words. Bringing my shoulders up, I roll them back. “Being in the spotlight on the stage with choreography is one thing. Having paparazzi, being in the constant glow of the neon lights. That’s not for me. I would rather stay up here in my tower.”

His eyes widen, his mouth opens then closes a couple of times before it snaps shut. I watch as he shoves his pants down, leaving them with his shoes in the center of the floor then marches over to me. I’m convinced he’s angry, and I pinch my eyes closed, afraid of what is to come when his mouth is suddenly on my center.

His hands wrap around the cheeks of my ass and spread me wide. “Oh God,” I moan, shifting backward and pressing against his face a bit more. He eats me. It isn’t rough, but it isn’t soft either.

It’s perfect.

His tongue flicks my clit, his nose nuzzles me and I’m seconds from imploding when he pulls away. His hands span my hips and he forces me to turn around. I look down at him, on his knees, his mouth wet from my pussy and I almost melt.

Whitaker applies pressure forcing me down to straddle his thighs. “Take me if you can, I want to feel you,” he rasps.

I’d take him inside even if I couldn’t, I’d make it happen. He aligns his cock with my center and slowly I sink down on his waiting dick. I hiss as I stretch around him. It burns, but I welcome it, all of it, because it’s him and it’s us.

He wraps his hands around my waist and helps guide me until I’m completely seated, my hands holding onto his shoulders.

“You can stay in your tower for as long, and as often as you’d like, little girl. Sometimes you’ll need to come out with me. I’ll always protect you out in the real world, always. Fuck, you are perfect aren’t you?”

Stassia shimmies the little burgundy dress down her body. The sleeves are long and the back almost non-existent. It’s short, tight, and fucking sexy. Suzette deserves a raise.

Standing in the doorway, showered and my clothes fresh for dinner, I watch her. She slips into a pair of nude high heels and runs her fingers through her loosely curled hair.

I expect her face to be heavily made up with makeup, but when she turns around I’m pleasantly surprised. Her face is bare and she gives me a small smile.

“Whitaker,” she exhales.

I grin keeping my eyes on her, enjoying the way her neck line shows off a large expanse of her chest. “Come to me,” I order.

She does, her feet moving quickly along the hard wood flooring. Reaching out for her, feeling the need to hold her against me, I dip my chin and brush my mouth along hers. “I’m nervous,” she exhales.

“They will love you,” I mutter.

She shakes her head, her strawberry blonde hair moving around her shoulders. “Not of your friends. I’m nervous about everyone else. About being at your side and their eyes on me.”

Lifting my hand, I cup her cheek. Looking down into her light green eyes, I wonder how it happened. How I ended up with her. She was sold to me when I’d completely lost all hope of finding anyone. Then she was there, looking vulnerable and sweet—looking perfect.

“Trust me, Stassi,” I practically plead. I shouldn’t be asking her, demanding, or even suggesting that she trusts me, especially since I don’t trust her, yet.

Her eyes search mine, both of us staying silent. Then she nods once, her tongue peeking out to taste her lips. “I trust you, Whitaker,” she states.

She shouldn’t. Not yet. I should have to earn it, but I’m not giving her that option. Not now, not ever. She’s mine. I’m keeping her and I’m taking every single thing she gives me, without question.