Page 10 of Cruel Offer
The thought sends a not-entirely-unpleasant twist through my gut. It’s not that I have no experience with guys, it’s that the experience I do have can kindly be described as mostly awkward and fumbling. I’ve never had an orgasm that I didn’t give myself, but I have a feeling that won’t be the case for very long.
Nate Windemere gives off the vibes of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to pleasure. Plus, he looks like he’s at least in his late twenties or early thirties, so I’m sure he’s had plenty of time to hone his experience with women. A shiver runs down my spine just thinking about what I’m about to learn from him.
I’m in way over my head here, but I don’t dare show it. Because I know what’s at stake. Everything. So if one of the heads of The Quattuor Group is offering to train me to be a good fuck so I’m valuable enough to be auctioned off to some filthy rich stranger, you’d better believe I’m fully aware that it’s the best offer I’m going to get now that my father has made my family’s wealth disappear.
Windemere sits back in his chair, staring at me expectantly with his intense, brown-eyed gaze. My scalp tingles as our eyes lock. I was struck by his looks the minute I walked in here, but I’d been too nervous and too consumed with what I was going to say to fully notice.
There’s no bypassing him now, not when he’s looking at me full on with every line and angle of his face on display.He’s undeniably handsome, but in a stern, intimidating way. Or maybe it’s just the combination of his bespoke suit and silk tie and the line forming between his thick brows as he stares me down. His jaw is hard, his lips even harder in that way that makes you wonder if they soften when he kisses you, or if they bruise. The light stubble I see only makes him more appealing.
I can’t deny it. He looks exactly the way I’d want my fantasy sex teacher to look. Hot, commanding, strong, with a panty-melting gaze, dark hair that’s just long enough on top to lace my fingers through, and a mouth that looks as quick to turn cruel as it is amused.
His brows arch questioningly. “Thoughts?”
He’s aware that I’m staring. I catch the twitch of his lips that he tries so hard to conceal, a sign of amusement at my expense.
This man just offered me an indecent proposal, and by now he’s noticed that my first reaction wasn’t disgust or offense. But clearly I’m backed into a corner, and we both know it. I came to him for help and now he’s tossing me the lifeline that he thinks has the best chance of keeping me afloat.
Sex training.
Is that really all I’m good for at this point? I’m not a trust fund baby anymore, or an heiress, or some party girl jet-setting around the world and treating her friends to her daddy’s unlimited supply of money. Though I was never that kind of girl to begin with. But now, my body and my looks are all I have left, and if I don’t use those assets now while I’m in my prime, I might as well just give up.
His deep brown eyes continue to search my face, buthis expression is impossible to read. Why is he making me this offer? Every inch of him exudes wealth and privilege and control. This is not a man that has difficulty finding women. Is he genuinely trying to help me, or is this all some kind of game for him?
“Thoughts, Ms. Barclay?” he prods.
“Many,” I admit.
His brows perk up and he makes a circular motion with his hand, probably expecting me to protest his offer, or go on a tirade about the indecency of it.
“But nothing that matters right now,” I say assertively.
Why am I not more shocked about all of this? A few weeks ago I would have walked out of here with my head held high after giving him a piece of my mind. Then again, a few weeks ago, I had financial security, and my Nana wasn’t in jeopardy.
Pressing a knuckle to his firm lips, he nods, as if he’s decided on something that he’d been pondering.
“Very good. Then you’ll need a safe word.”
My heart flips. “A safe word? Like in BDSM? Is that necessary?”
He clears his throat. “ It’s just a precaution.”
Sitting a bit straighter, I nod firmly. “Okay. Is, um, that something we’ll be doing, then? BDSM…things?”
“It’s a possibility, but that’s not why I want you to have a safe word. I need to know where your boundaries are, and I want you to feel safe. Just pick one so we can move on.”
I think he’s getting irritated with me. I expect him to keep mining for details, but thankfully, he’s ready to move on. There’s no way I want to tell him all my deepest desires.
If I go through with this, I remind myself, it’ll be purely transactional. That’s it. Nothing personal or meaningful. No telling secrets or sharing fantasies. He doesn’t need to know any of that to prime me to be competent in bed. I’ll learn the basic moves, a few advanced tricks, and with a bit of practice-makes-perfect, I’ll be all set.
Right?
A flutter of panic races through my chest. “I’m not sure…I don’t know if…”
I don’t know if I can do this.
The words hang on my lips but don’t form even though they’re playing over and over in my mind. Dropping my gaze, I silently chastise myself for stammering. He’s going to think I’m too inexperienced for this, rescind his offer, and any chance I have at keeping Nana safe, healthy, and comfortable will be gone.
A beat of silence passes and to my surprise, his voice is softer when he speaks.
