BetweenTwoBillionairesCompleteStripped (4 page)

“
No.” My
anxiety compounds with his words. Why won't he let me leave? I just
want to leave.

“
I'm not going
to hurt you. I'm not even going to look at you. You don't have to
turn around.” There's no sexuality in his tone.

“
I want to
leave,” I whisper, feeling my eyes begin to water. I'd been
trying to hold back the flood of emotion sloshing inside of me, but
it seems it's finally made it to the surface. I'm only a few minutes
short of being a blabbering mess.

“
Take off your
dress. I'm not letting you leave until you do as I say.”

“
You said you
wouldn't do anything I didn't want to do.” I stare at the door,
feeling my feet itching to run.

“
You'll do
this.” He's so close. So threateningly close.

I stand there for
several moments, feeling my heart drumming against my chest. With the
door closed, the music is partially drowned out. All other noise
amplifies with the intensity of the situation. His breathing. My
breathing.

If I run, I fear
he'll give chase. I fear he'll rape me. I should probably do what he
says, but I don't want to.

It takes everything
in me to drop the shoe I've been holding and force my hands to the
bottom of my dress. Tears cascade down my cheeks as I think of Ethel
disrobing downstairs. All the men were looking at her. But she wanted
them to see her like that. I don't want this man to see me in my
underwear. What choice do I have though?

Every inch of skin I
expose makes me feel filthier. The material slides over my back, the
cool air in the room making me shiver that much more. I've never let
a man see me in my underwear before. This stranger is violating me.
He's destroying my soul.

I toss the dress to
the floor, letting it crumple on top of the shoe. My face is set into
a deep frown. I hate the world right now. Hate Ethel for her stupid
idea. Hate this man for what he's about to do to me. Most of all
though, I hate myself for agreeing to come to this party in the first
place.

“
Lift your
arms,” the man says.

I do as I'm told.
What does it matter anymore anyway? I'm trapped. It's game over for
me. All I can do is bend to his will.

To my surprise, I
feel something soft touch my hands. I look up to see the T-shirt the
man had been holding. He guides my hands through the sleeves and
pulls it down over my body, shielding my nakedness. I'm confused and
relieved at the same time. What is he doing?

“
Lift your
legs, one at a time,” he tells me.

When I do, he slides
the shorts on me, pulling them all the way up to my waist. My breath
hitches as he wraps his arms around me to pull the drawstring in the
front and tighten them. Our bodies are pressed together, and I can
feel the hardness of his arousal on my backside. He doesn't molest me
though. He simply ties the strings in place before stepping away. I
glance over my shoulder, watching him return to the dresser to
retrieve my shoe.

Once he has it in
hand, he catches me looking at him. “You can turn around now.”
I bite my bottom lip as he approaches, facing him. He kneels in front
of me with the shoe in hand. “Let's see if the slipper fits,
Cinderella.” He positions the shoe on the floor, and I step
into it. Then he fastens the strap on the back before grabbing my
other shoe and doing the same thing. When he's finished, he stands up
with a soft smile. “There, all done.”

I study his face for
a moment. This isn't the same man I was with just moments ago. It
can't be. This man is sweet and gentle and kind. What he just did was
completely unexpected.

“
Thank you,”
I manage to say.

“
You're
welcome,” he exhales deeply. “I'm sorry I frightened you.
That was never my intention.”

My eyes fall to
Ethel's blue dress on the floor. I quickly bend to pick it up. “Well,
I should be going now.”

“
You should
stay and hang out with me for a while.”

“
No. I need to
get home.” I shake my head. This night has been too bizarre.
And to be honest, I'll feel a lot better once I'm out of his bedroom
and this house.

“
Then let me
call you a cab,” he offers.

“
You can call
me a cab, but that's not my name,” I joke stupidly.

“
What is your
name then?” His face brightens.

“
It's not
important.” I avert my eyes, wishing I hadn't tried to be
playful.

“
It's
important to me.” He's staring at me again. His blue eyes are
so intense, it's as if they're looking right into my soul.

“
I don't have
enough money for a taxi,” I confess.

“
I suppose
that makes sense.” He grins slightly. “A stripper who
doesn't strip doesn't get paid, does she?” I can't tell if he's
teasing or not, but it makes me uncomfortable. “Don't worry
about it. I'll take care of the bill.”

“
That's
awfully generous of you.” I can't help but wonder if that's
another offer with an obligation attached. I probably shouldn't be
taking charity from him.

“
I'm a
generous man,” he replies proudly.

“
Well, I guess
I'll go wait downstairs for it then.” I need to get away from
him. He makes me so unbelievably nervous.

“
You could
wait up here with me.” He looks around the room.

“
I'd rather
not. No offense.” I shy away from him, taking a step towards
the door.

“
Alright then.
I won't force you to keep me company.” He sweeps around me to
open the door.

When I step outside
the room, it feels like oxygen rushes in to fill my lungs. It was so
stifling in there with him. Perhaps I forgot to breath.

I give him a timid
glance before I head toward the staircase. I expect him to follow,
but he stays on the top floor, leaning over the balcony. I keep
going, hoping that I can make it to the front door without further
incident.

When I reach the
foyer, I glance back up at the balcony. He's still standing there,
staring at me. I return my attention to the door and walk out of the
house, thankful to be free of it. I take long strides down to the
street, not caring about the strange glances people are giving me. In
my new wardrobe, I look completely out of place. I am out of place
though. I never should have come here.

Oh crap, I hope he
doesn't want his clothes back. I never even thought to ask him. I was
so obsessed with getting away. I'll just mail them back to him.
Without a return address, of course.

When I get to the
bottom of the driveway, I pull my phone out of my purse and type the
street number of the house into my notes program, then I sit on the
curb and wait for the taxi to arrive. Thankfully, I don't have to
wait long. It shows up in about five minutes. I climb inside and
watch as the house moves further out of view, grateful that this
horrible night is over.

CHAPTER THREE

When I get home, I
text Ethel to let her know I left the party, then I take a shower and
promptly crawl into bed. I'm absolutely exhausted, but that doesn't
keep me from dreaming. The night is filled with thoughts of the
handsome stranger and all the scenarios that could have happened. My
subconscious mind gives over to desire freely. I picture what he
looks like naked, what our bodies would feel like entwined. It's
sinfully delicious and oh so wrong.

When I wake the next
morning, I realize that he's not the monster I made him out to be.
Things could have gone so much worse. He could have taken what he
wanted, and there wouldn't have been anything I could do about it.
But he didn't. He overcame his basal nature to show me compassion.

I lay on my back for
several moments, thinking about him, wishing we would have at least
traded names. It doesn't matter now. That's in the past, and it's
better left there. Today I return to my normal life—my boring
safe normal life.

I put thoughts of
the stranger behind me and wonder instead about what happened with
Ethel. For a moment, I think about peeking inside her bedroom to see
if she's there, but if I did that, and she saw, we would fight. As
convoluted as it is, she's allowed to barge into my room whenever she
wants, but I'm not even allowed to look inside of hers. And heaven
help me if I wake her up. It's always just easier to let her come to
me instead.

So I wait. And I
wait, and I wait. And eventually it's time to get ready for work.
About an hour before I'm supposed to leave, she finally comes
plodding into my room uninvited, as usual. There's a tired but happy
look on her face. The night must have gone well for her.

“
Did you just
get home?” I ask.

“
Nah. I got
home around 5AM. I've just been sleeping all day.” She drops
herself heavily onto the corner of my bed.

“
I'm glad I
took a taxi home then,” I sigh, trying to hide my
disappointment in her.

“
Why did you
leave?” She lays back, making herself comfortable.

“
It's a long
story, and it all started with you stripping in the middle of that
room.” The smile that crosses my face is completely sarcastic.
Blaming her for anything is a recipe for disaster, but it's just so
hard not to. If it wasn't for her stupid plan . . . That guy flashes
through my mind. It seems like every time I think about him, he gets
more and more handsome. What's wrong with me?

“
I knew you
were going to bail.” She waves her hand at me absentmindedly.

“
I met
someone,” the words sound foreign coming from my lips—and
like a lie. I'm making it seem like I met some amazing Prince
Charming, not a shady guy who wanted me to strip in his bedroom for
him.

“
Oh?”
She props herself up on her arms in interest. “Tell me about
him.”

“
He was . . .
handsome. And intense.” I picture the man's stunning blue eyes
and the way he looked at me. At the time, I was too afraid to
appreciate it. No man has ever looked at me in that way before.

“
Well I met a
whole lot of guys,” she ignores my need to talk about this,
insistent on one-upping me. She's always been like this though. I
don't know why I try to talk to her about things to begin with. She's
a horrible listener.

I reciprocate her
interest, letting her words go right through me as she yammers on
about this guy and that guy. It's not until she tells me she made
over three grand in tips that I actually start to pay attention.

“
Holy hell.
Really?” My eyes widen at the sum.

“
Mhm. I'm a
damn good stripper.” She bobs her head with attitude. “That
haul was so good, I'm thinking about doing it professionally.”

“
Your father
would be so proud.” I roll my eyes at her.

“
Whatever,
Miss Morals. It's better than working at some crappy job like yours.
Miss Barista. You enjoy your bullshit minimum wage. I'm going to go
make some real money.” She pushes herself off my bed to leave.
I'm thankful. We're one hair away from fighting. In fact, the only
thing keeping us from it is the fact that I'm biting my tongue.
“Where's my dress?” she barks at me before she leaves.

“
I'm having
mom take it to the cleaners. I accidentally spilled some champagne on
it.” I try to twist the truth so that she won't freak out.

She huffs, putting
her hands on her hips. “See, this is the kind of thanks I get.
I take you out to have a wonderful night, let you borrow my dress,
and you go and get it all filthy. Let's see if I let you borrow
anything of mine ever again.”

My eyes water
involuntarily at her harsh comment. Maybe I'm not completely over the
emotional overload from last night. As soon as she sees she's hurt
me, she leaves, satisfied with herself. I sit there and cry silently
until it's time to go to work. Then I pull myself together and head
out for another night of minimum wage labor, keeping in mind what I'm
actually doing it for.

***

Life
returns to normal. Ethel gets over being angry at me for messing up
her dress. Mom has it dry cleaned fairly promptly, so that helps. I
return the heels to Ethel, and we make peace. I'm just glad it's all
over. Hopefully, she'll never ask me to do something like that again.

I'm working an early
shift at the coffee shop. The morning rush has just passed, so I'm
taking time to restock the baked goods. It's hard not to want to eat
everything in sight. We have bear claws and muffins and cake pops. It
all looks so yummy.