Chapter 11: Dinner

“Come then, little girl,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. “Francis already set the table, and Hans is ready to put our steaks on.”

Of course this spoiled bastard has a waitstaff and chef on hand. Of course he does.

Despite nerves twisting in my gut, I am hungry. The Terror Triplets were causing a ruckus in the kitchen earlier, so I skipped lunch to avoid dealing with them. That’s the only reason I’m complying with Mr. Kinky Fuck.

He shows me into a dining room that’s surprisingly small. I’d expected a thirty-place-setting table. Not a simple bistro-type table with four chairs. It has me relaxing a bit. He pulls out a stool and then offers his hand. Reluctantly, I take it and allow him to help me onto the high seat. His touch is warm, firm, and oozes power. I hate that a thrill races down my spine quickly followed by the hollow feeling of loss when he lets go.

He takes the seat beside me and then calls out to Francis.

A gray-haired woman with hair pulled into a severe bun walks in with a bottle of wine. She fills our glasses with the red liquid before hurrying away. Winston picks up his glass.

“A toast,” he says, raising the glass. “To new adventures.” I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. “Right.”

We clink our glasses together, and he flashes me a devious grin. My body warms several degrees. I

quickly down the bitter wine, eager to distract myself from his penetrating stare. “You look good enough to eat tonight,” he rumbles.

“Lucky for me, we’re having steak instead.” I smirk at him. “Cut the crap, Winston. Tell me what you want from me.”

“Eager to make money, I see.”

I flip him off. Big mistake. He grins wide, revealing each perfect white tooth in his stupid-hot mouth.

“I find your middle finger very sexy,” he drawls out, eyeing me over his glass. He sips it, his gaze never straying from my lips. “I find your lips even sexier.”

Francis appears with a basket of breadsticks. She uses tongs to place one on my plate. It glistens with melted butter, making my stomach growl.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

She gives me a polite smile and then serves Winston one before exiting again.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. My eyes drift to the way it bulges with money. After he pulls the wad out, he sets it on the table.

“This belongs to you.” He pushes the stack toward me. “For dinner.”

I stare at the two thousand dollars we agreed upon. It doesn’t feel real. Since meeting Winston, I’ve made over four thousand dollars, kicking me up to eleven grand in my college fund. It’s annoying the relief I feel. It would have taken me months to make that much at FGM Services. I know Manda offered to pay, but I’d feel much better if I could somehow pay for it myself, even if it’s just books and supplies. I hate having to be indebted to her.

I go to reach for the money, but his hand covers mine, stopping me. My heart does a nervous skip in my chest.

“Want to earn more?” His eyes flare with challenge. I can do this.

I can endure his weird-ass fantasies because he pays well.

“Yes,” I tell him with false bravado.

“Then wrap those lips around your breadstick. Lick it and suck it. Like you wish it were my dick.” He nods at the bread on my plate. “Five hundred dollars.”

God, he is so freaking bizarre.

I’m about to tell him where to shove his breadstick when I decide to negotiate for more. It’s just a breadstick, not his dick. I can do this. Easily. I’m practically salivating for it anyway. The bread, not his dick.

“Eight,” I counter.

“A grand if you moan my name while you do it and don’t stop when Francis brings our food.” He winks at me. “Easy money.”

“Fifteen hundred and I’ll gag on it.”

He fists his hand, his jaw clenching, the first sign of a normal human reaction. Heat burns down my spine, pooling in my pelvis. I’m not turned on by him. Not a bit.

“You have yourself a deal, little girl.”

Closing my eyes, I attempt to distance myself from him as I pick up my bread. He clears his throat, earning my stare, and shakes his head.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs. “Everything you do, I want your eyes on me.”

A flash of irritation bursts through me, but I obey. Because . . . duh, fifteen hundred bucks. I lick the bread and moan because it tastes that good. It won’t be so hard after all. The most difficult part will be not eating the savory bread.

“Mmm,” I moan. “Winston.”

It’s fake as fuck, but whatever. I’m not an actress.

“Good girl,” he croons, his words wrapping around my heart like thorny vines, puncturing holes in my indifference. Like the predator he is, he senses what his praise does to me and delivers more. “So obedient. It makes me want to spoil your pretty ass. Give you everything you could ever want. I hope you’re making a list, sweet girl.”

I lick the top of the breadstick and then suck on it, secretly eager for more of his words. When I take the bread deep into my mouth, it makes me gag. My eyes water and I sputter. My eyes fly to his. A strange, satisfied glint flickers in his gaze.

“More,” he rumbles. “I like it when you gag.”

It feels stupid, but I force myself to gag twice more on the breadstick. Saliva runs down my chin. He reaches forward with his napkin, dabbing it away, before sitting back in his seat. My lashes are wet from tears because gagging yourself will do that to you, and my throat burns from the garlic. I’m over it, but I promised to continue until Francis returns.

Time passes slowly.

I realize I should have negotiated a start and stop time.

I’ll remember for next time. Next time?

A tremble of excitement ripples through me. I’m clearly just as fucked up as Winston for agreeing to do this. It’s not completely horrible either. When you’re getting dollar bills thrown at you, and don’t have to take your clothes off for it, it’s actually fairly easy.

Francis appears with two plates. I gag on the bread again. She glances over at me, a confused look on her face, but then quickly moves my bread plate and sets the food down before scurrying off. As soon as she’s gone, I take an exaggerated bite of my bread and chew with my mouth open. Hopefully that will kill his boner.

He laughs, a riotous sound that infects deep parts of me I didn’t know existed. I roll my eyes at him, instead choosing to admire my meal. A nice filet mignon seemingly cooked to perfection. Asparagus and mashed potatoes.

Buzz.

I pull my phone from my pocket to learn he’s just sent me fifteen hundred dollars. Insane.

He’s positively insane.

But he also might just be my ticket out of the Mannford home.