Connect Us ✔

Chapter 1

I wake up feeling caught. My room is usually dark. I keep the blinds down since I live on a street full of clubs and bars, and—regardless of the day of the week—it's always noisy at night. So, I don't usually wake up with fresh, cold air, sunlight on my face, and the distant sound of rustling wind.

I turn over in bed and stretch, remembering parts of what happened yesterday, hearing the faint sound of a shower running somewhere. I recall the party, where I ended up dancing with a guy—which is rare for me, but I was extremely drunk. 

I remember stepping outside for a smoke, the cool night air helping to clear my head. Somehow, amidst the haze of the evening, I found myself making out with that guy behind the bar. The details are fuzzy, but I remember us stumbling into his apartment after that.

I look around and realize my clothes are the only disorderly things in this spotless apartment. The walls are a stark, crisp white, reflecting the morning light that floods through floor-to-ceiling windows. The polished hardwood floors gleam and the air smells like freshly laundered sheets. This place feels more like a showroom than a home. I mean, Jesus, who buys useless things like carpets and plants?

A sharp pain shoots through my back the moment I try to sit up. I hiss, one hand flying to the spot as if that could ease it. My spine feels like it's broken.

"Heat pad?" the cause of my suffering asks, stepping out of the bathroom in a loosely tied bathrobe. Drops of water slide down strands of dark hair. His legs—strong, slightly hairy—peek out as he moves. My face twists before I can stop it. How the fuck much did I have to drink to sleep with a man?

"I'm fine," I reply, my voice strained, even though my back feels like it's on fire.

It's eight in the morning, and we were up until at least four. How on earth can he stand there so effortlessly, smelling of soap and coffee, while I can barely sit up straight? 

My inner alarm blares, urging me to make a swift exit before I give the wrong impression—before I'm mistaken for someone who gets overly attached after a one-night stand. Ugh, the last thing I need is a relationship.

"Coffee?"

I scratch the back of my head, glancing at my watch, and calculate the time I have left to get to work. No chance to head home for a coffee now. Maybe I can salvage one thing from this strange situation. "Yeah. Mind if I smoke here?"

I step out into the fresh morning air. The balcony isn't big; compared to the apartment, it's like an additional, unneeded, and unkempt space—gray, dirty, and not renovated, scattered with autumn leaves, dust, and yesterday's rain puddles.

I have to admit, it feels great to wake up in a clean place. My own apartment is a mess. There are boxes everywhere, standing in the way. It's always stuffy and warm, dust flying around as soon as sunshine enters (which is why I don't like sunshine in my apartment, because it makes me realize how bad it is). The dishes have started to smell and attract flies. Because I'm always at work, I never have the time or energy to clean. I only wash things when I really need them.

I don't like living like this. Of course not. But I don't like cleaning either. I work 24/7. I have a full-time job and another one to fill in any free time, trying to fix my money issues. I barely spend time at home anyway. And when I do end up with free time, I usually go out. But, well, I don't usually end up in a strange man's apartment.

My body feels rough, not just because of the hangover. The cool air is invigorating as I light a much-needed cigarette.

Moments later, my coffee is handed to me. He's still in his bathrobe, and I stare at the shoulder blades moving under the fabric as he leans on the railing and looks out at the view, while I take my first sip of coffee that tastes like it's a fifty-dollar dessert, not just a drug to keep me awake—one I will drink however bad the taste.

"Glad I caught you before you left." He takes a sip from his own cup. "I wanted to ask you something."

Shit. So it's not me being the clingy one this time. That's even worse. I straighten. "My shift starts in ten, so I have to leave after the coffee."

He scoffs. "Relax, Tiger, I'm not looking." His tone softens, very different from the night before. To be honest, I didn't think this guy could smile. Small wrinkles form around his eyes when he does, and I wonder how old he is. Well, it looks like my daddy issues are kicking in. At least now I understand why I danced with him at all.

"Okay. Then?"

"Are you interested in repeating this?"

I look at him clearly for the first time. He's not ugly. Maybe around thirty, with a striking build and sleek, straight black hair that perfectly complements his confident stance and his high cheekbones. His posture is perfect, like he's always ready to take charge. "No strings attached?"

"Not quite." I tilt my head. 

"I'm after something more regular. And, honestly, I really enjoyed yesterday." I can't help but laugh. I'm not sure if I feel honored or disgusted. The man turns to me. "I don't think I have to spell it out. I'm not into vanilla. I can get quite rough. And you don't seem to mind."

"There are tons of people into rough sex." Well, maybe not tons of gay people, but that wouldn't include me either. Even if men are an option for me now, I sure as hell won't marry one. I mean no offense to gay people, they're cool. I'm just not like that.

"Not for me. I need someone adaptable. Someone always available."

"Doesn't sound very casual."

"Listen," he says, his tone sharpening. "We will not be a couple. I give the rules, you obey—that's it. Inside and outside the bedroom."

"I'm not submissive."

He tilts his head slightly, his expression clearly conveying a mix of disbelief and impatience. He doesn't disagree with me, but it's pretty clear he doesn't believe me. I mean, come on, not even I believe myself after yesterday. We had sex until four in the morning—multiple times. I don't think I've ever even come twice in one evening before. I could say I was inexperienced and that's why I took the submissive role, but I can't deny I liked it. A lot.

"I'm not even gay, okay?"

"I don't care what you are. Just what you can give me."

I look at him for a moment. He is right. I only care about what he can give me too, so why not...

"I'm not always available," I retort, stubbing out my cigarette. "I'm pretty much always busy. So, it's a clear no for me."

"I pay two hundred a night if you do well."

I stare at him incredulously and blink in shock. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" The amount of money doesn't register with me in this moment. I'm only confused if I misunderstood. Is this really happening right now?

"Since it demands a lot to be always available."

"No, thank you." I toss my cigarette away. "I haven't sunk that low."