“Never once have I considered you my kept man. There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to take care of the man I love. I may be a lot of things, but I never once acted like I was better than you, or like I thought you were inferior to me. We were in love, and when I asked you come with me to Iowa City, you said no. You could’ve graduated a year early, but instead you wanted to stay in that Podunk town. I had to take advantage of the scholarship to U of I, so I left.”
“You could’ve stayed. It was only a year.”
“Could have, should have—it doesn’t matter now. It’s all water under the bridge. What I want to do is to offer you a substantial amount of money to come to my home, prepare a meal for myself and the partners.”
Sinking down into the chair, he rubbed the back of his neck. There has to be a catch. Old lovers just don’t show up and offer vast amounts of money, Waterson. “But?”
“But now, I have a feeling no amount would be enough to get you to pretend to be my lover for the night, and that’s what I need from you.”
A bitter laugh passed his lips at the irony. “This is just grand. I never thought I’d hear the mighty Sean Whitcomb offer to pay someone to pretend to be his lover. You’re a lover extraordinaire who could have a man any day of the week. Isn’t that what you told me before you left?” Unresolved resentment peppered his voice as his anger boiled over. He wanted to do more than punch Sean. He wanted to hurt him right where his heart lived. “So why don’t you go find one of them to do it? Better yet, see if you can’t call one of the modeling agencies and have them send over some hot guy to play the role, because the only thing that would convince me to agree is if I got to top you for a whole weekend. And it would be no-holds-barred sex. You’d be my bitch, for once—and I’d make sure you screamed with pleasure.”
“Is that what it would take, Isaiah?”
The soft tone should’ve warned him, but anger made him rash. “Yeah, it’s the only damned way…but we both know you’ll never agree to it. You never bottom, you never give up control, so this discussion is over—”
“No it’s not over. I agree to your terms,” Sean said. “One meal, a couple hours of pretend, and you get me for the whole weekend. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your pound of flesh. I’ll call tomorrow with the details.”
A click in his ear told him Sean had hung up.
Dakota is a simple Midwest girl, who has found her passion in storytelling at a young age. Her father always said she made up the craziest stories. Most remained unwritten though as writing wasn’t Dakota’s strong suit. That all changed in junior high when she took her first typing class. Problem solved for the dyslexic Dakota. There was no stopping her after that. She wrote her first novel her freshman year about a girl who could speak to animals on an old electric IBM typewriter her dad found at a garage sale. Now writing in several different genres, she is a published author with multiple books under her belt. When she isn’t writing, she’s the crazy mom of three wild Indians who are posing as her children, a loving wife to the man of her dreams and a full time Web Design Major at IADT.
For more information, please visit this author’s webpage.