Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Three

They say the mirror never lies.

I'm stunned by the reflection I see before me. I'm a bit thick and bootylicious, and I'd kill whoever calls me fat. I turn aside and squeeze up the plump boobs that tortured me while growing up, only to realize some women pay a good fortune to have silicone implants and so I should be grateful instead.

Honestly, body acceptance is an odyssey for some of us.

I'm not the supermodel or magazine cover type of woman, but I'm slowly learning to embrace my curvy body as it is after so many years of feeling shitty for not being size zero. Lips painted in red, I fix the waves of my dusky brown auburn hair falling below my shoulders, a fair combination to my so-called incorrigible, hazelnut eyes.

"Done." I'm anxious, my tummy tight in knots whenever I think of him.

As I sprinkle that fancy Miss Dior perfume, I begin wondering why Mr. Strange gave it to me. I find it rather offensive. Do I smell bad? What's wrong with my signature vanilla and musk fragrance that I adore so much? I huff while rolling my eyes hysterically.

I'm a Dominant, Miss Lincoln. I love things done my way and that you shouldn't forget, by all means.

"Yeah right," I breathe, recalling the nerve-wracking stuff he's told me about himself. "You can do this, Ara." I'm staring at my reflection for the last time, sighing heavily like a soldier ready to embrace the battlefield.

Hurriedly I grab my black trench coat and slip it on, eager to run off. The last thing I need is for my siblings to see the figure-hugging red dress I'm wearing inside. Jake won't think twice about becoming a detective on the kind of job I'm doing tonight and I'm not ready for another entry in my clandestine jar and lies and secrets.

I'm a waitress and it's what they need to know, even if it's not rightly so.

Submitting myself to some New York business magnate is not an occupation I'd want anyone to know—absolutely anyone—especially my family. It's my innermost secret, and I'm going to act on it accordingly. It is, after all, the mutual agreement between Mr. Castle and me that no one is to know about this affair.

"Aw, you look pretty, Ara," Isla tells me when I step out. She's having pizza, the TV on with her Nickelodeon shows making a ruckus. "Are you going to the party?" She grins up at me.

"Thanks, baby. No, not a party exactly. I'll be working," I answer, partly lying.

I sense more lies coming along the way.

When will they stop?

Jake gives me a judicial look, but he says nothing. He bites on his pizza slice, pretending to be busy with his mobile.

Not bad. I can pull this off.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth, Isla." I face my little sister, who gives me a nodded affirmation. "And Jake, make sure you close the doors, switch the—"

"I got it. Aren't you getting late?" Jake interrupts, and I quickly glance at the wall clock.

6:45 p.m. Shit! I can't be late.

With my handbag on my shoulder, I stalk out immediately. Although I live in the largest well-planned community in Las Vegas, Downtown Summerlin, my neighbourhood is a bit of a cookie-cutter when it comes to privacy. 

The blocks are built so privately with amenities like balconies and private floor plans, but the nosy Mrs-whatever and peeping Toms seldom miss the prying chance through their windows just to see who brought who and other details that are of no concern to them.