“Oh, right.” She waves a hand, completely unfazed. “They offer a three month contract of pleasure, and once the three months are up, they send her on her merry way.”
Memories of them talking about a contract this morning and them saying I wouldn’t be around for longer than a few weeks make my soul leave my body. Oh god, this can’t be happening. I don’t want just weeks or months with them. I don’t ever want to leave. I can’t do this for another three weeks or months—I can’t be with them for three anything, knowing it will come to an end, then I’ll be left out in the cold without them. My heart is already breaking, just thinking about it.
“Oh, dear. You really didn’t know.” Is that pity or mocking in her tone? Either way, I need out of here.
“Take these off me,” I tell her, lurching forward and shaking my limbs, ignoring the biting pain.
“They wouldn’t like that, and then it will be me in the chair.” She shrugs.
“Remove the damn fucking bindings and pegs!” At my screamed demand, her eyes spring wide.
“Okay, calm down.” She removes the pegs before collecting scissors from the kitchen. Her stupid heels click the entire time. I hate her.
Cutting the bindings, she stumbles back when I launch out of the chair, racing to the bedroom to search for some clothes.
I came here with nothing, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking anything Tristan bought for me. Those clothes feel more like a fucking payment, like with Vance at the hotel.
Tears burn my eyes as the horrible woman’s heels once again click down the hall and round the door.
“Why are you in this room?” Her prickly tone irritates me. It takes willpower not to punch her in those fake tits. “Is this Tristan’s room?” My head turns to glare at her. Surely, she would know this is his room.
“Yes. It’s where we sleep,” I snap, throwing on a pair of Tristan’s sleep shorts and one of Vance’s T-shirts. I’ll return them once I’m away from here. When I turn for the door, the woman is leaning against the frame, frowning. “What?” I ask, hating that she can see the tears dripping down my cheeks.
“Nothing.” She looks at her nails.
I brush past her to find my phone, shoving it in my purse before slipping on a pair of shoes. I look around at the twinkling lights, and a hole opens in my gut.
I knew it was too good to last.
EIGHTEEN
Vance
“This is the first time … ever, I think,” Tristan dips his head, “that I’ve looked forward to going home on Christmas Eve.” He’s beaming as the elevator pings and opens on our floor. Emotions clog my throat, I wrap an arm around him tugging him against me.
Poppy really is a fucking angel. What she’s done for him should be studied. She’s awakened a joy in him that I’ve never seen before. She’s a light lifting his darkness, like a sunrise soaking into every corner, bleeding it out.
“Do you think she’ll accept the present I got her?” he asks, hovering the key at the lock.
“I don’t think any of us can deny what this is between us, Trist. It’s real, and I think whatever happens, she’s ours.” He nods his head, opening the door.
A thrill burns up my spine, knowing she will be soaked and ready to be fucked for hours after the torment of the clamps.
“What the fuck?” Tristan’s voice freezes my blood, and I almost fall against him when I see Miranda sitting naked in the chair we left Poppy in before we left. “Where’s Poppy?” There’s an urgency in his tone as he throws down the shopping bags and marches through the apartment, searching for her.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl, reaching for Miranda’s arm and hauling her out of the chair, raw anger unfurling in my gut.
“I came to keep Tris company.” Pouting, she yanks her arm free. “I didn’t know you or your latest slut would be here. A bit naïve, that one, Vance.”
I jab a finger at her. “Watch it.”
Her eyes flare as she folds her arms, which push her tits up. But they’re not Poppy’s tits and Miranda is a far cry from my Angel. For the first time in my life, I only want one woman.
“She’s not here,” Tristan wheezes, coming back into the room. Not many people see the real Tristan–the boy inside the man’s body–they only see the boss, the fucking CEO of a billion-dollar company, the daddy in the bedroom. He wore the façade well, but it’s peeling back right now, like a snake shredding its skin.
Trudging towards Miranda, he clasps her neck in his meaty grip and backs her up to the closest wall, her head hitting it with a soft thud.
“Let me go.” She scratches at him like a feral cat. Her red hair flies around, her tits bouncing as she tries to find purchase on the marble floor beneath her.
