Page 30 of Worth Loving You

Sitting in the center of my mattress, against the wall, I had one leg tucked beneath me, the other bent to my chest. My arm folded over my stomach, my elbow was propped on top so I could chew on my nails. I rolled my chin toward my shoulder to peer out the window at the foot of my bed.

My body was sore, all muscles aching. My sight dropped to my lifted knee. It was bruised and chafed from spending almost half an hour bent over so Milo could watch my ass cheeks jiggle while he fucked me.

No matter how many times I came, he didn’t care, he just kept going as if I weren’t bucking like a wild bull, screaming for all of Chicago to hear.

So. I was no longer a virgin. I now knew what it was like to have sex. Over and over, in so many different positions, by a gorgeous man who seemed to enjoy the fact I was a plus size woman.

Beneath all my insecurities and issues with self-worth, I had always longed for the day I would meet the most wonderful man in the world, someone gorgeous, smart, and well off, and he would sweep me off my feet, romance me into a night of the most passionate sex to earn my virginity, we would fall hopelessly in love, and live happily ever after.

None of that happened.

The man was a stranger, he was a client, it had been rough, painful, aggressive, amazing, mind blowing…and lucrative. I was now five thousand dollars richer.

Sickness curdled my stomach, my focus shifting to the nightstand. In that drawer was an envelope with five stacks of twenties, a thousand dollars each. I sold my virginity for five thousand dollars.

I promised to keep selling myself for twenty grand a month. Almost a quarter million a year.

That is, if he kept me around that long. For all I knew, he would be tired of me already, after all, we’d had sex off and on for hours today. Maybe he got his fill, and he was done.

Chewing my nail again, I stared at the window, watching the lights from the cars on the street chase shadows through the pouring rain. What if he got tired of me?

I guess for five grand a week, I could have plenty saved up in no time for a backup plan. I just needed to make sure I held his interest for at least two months. Forty thousand dollars was plenty to start over a brand new life.

I sighed, resting my chin to the heel of my palm, my fingers curling around my cheek. What if I got pregnant? He refused to use condoms and came inside me every single time.

My brows lifted. What if he gave me an STD today? I knew I was clean, but he had had many, many partners. Just this week alone, apparently.

There were so many “what if”s,” and not enough answers for any of them.

What did I want? How did I feel about this?

A door closed somewhere else in the apartment, letting me know Jennifer was home from a date with her married boyfriend. She would never learn until he broke her heart.

So goddamn much had changed since that morning, how did I begin to tell her everything? Did I just start from when I got up and go in chronological order, or did I start with the major bombshell and add on as I went?

“Chazz?”

“Bedroom.”

Her bare feet pattered on the floor, getting louder the closer she got. Knocking on the door, she pushed it open, poking her head in. “Hey, sugar. I didn’t see you walk by the salon tonight.”

“I, uh…didn’t come straight home. Went to the bar to hang out with the guys for a while.”

“You okay?”

“I honestly don’t even know.”

She pushed the door all the way aside and disappeared down the hallway. A minute later, she returned with a box of pizza, tossed it by my feet, and crawled onto the mattress with me. Flipping the lid, she grabbed a piece and chomped down.

He didn’t even take her to dinner. What, straight to the hotel to fuck, cum, and leave? When would she wake the hell up?

“Spill them beans, what’s goin’ on?”

Dropping my arm to the other, I heaved a sigh, my cheek on my shoulder. “I got fired.”

She stilled, her mouth opened for a bite, the pizza dangling in front. “What?”

“Soon as I showed up, Mrs. Sanchell was in her office, waiting on me. She was on the phone with a disgruntled customer who was complaining of sexual harassment. A certain Mr. Pampinella.”