him.
Walker.
Reclined against his black BMW parked across the street from the restaurant staring straight at me. His sleek hair parted to the side in a way that should have been obnoxious, but on him it totally worked. A confident smile graced his face. It was the kind of smile that only those born in privilege and to whom the word “no” is nonexistent have. He looked gorgeous. And the slut in me instantly wondered what it would feel like to run my hands through his long hair as I rode him like a mechanical bull.
I watched him cross the street, walking in my direction. When he was standing in front of me, he simply said, “Go out with me.”
I wanted to say yes.
But I knew that if I wanted him to treat me differently, to give me everything I wanted and to want me more than any other pretty face he could have, I needed to make him work for it. I needed to make him work for my attention. Isn’t the chase always better than the catch? Guys like him thrive on it.
So I gave him my best smile—a smile that said yes with the eyes but no with the tongue. “No, I’m sorry but I’m busy tonight and I don’t even know you.”
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with a devious light. “Somehow I had the feeling that you were going to say no.”
I ran a hand through my long hair seductively, watching him follow my movements. “Smart man. Anyway, I’ve got to go—”
“Walker. The name is Walker.”
I turned around and started to walk away. “See you around, Walker.”
I was almost halfway down the street when I heard him yell after me, “I won’t take no for an answer, you know.”
I stopped and turned around to face him, my hands on my hips. “Oh really?” I felt my toes curl inside my expensive Mary Jane pumps and my heart rate accelerate as I waited for his answer. See … the chase is always so much better.
An easy and slow smile appeared on his face, making him look like the cocky bastard that he was, but I loved it. “You’ll give me another chance. You’ll see. And then …”
“And then what?”
“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”
And that was it. He turned around, waited until there was a clear gap in the traffic, then crossed the street, got in his car and drove away. I watched him speed into the sunset as people walked past me.
I said “no” several times after that, but Walker never gave up. Never. If anything, he’d pursued me more aggressively and single-mindedly than ever before. As with all good things in life, he knew I was worth it. And somehow he also knew that the way to my heart was money—gifts, expensive dinners, a better apartment …
He gave me everything.
WITH CHAMPAGNE AND CAVIAR INUNDATING my every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I love it.
Standing across the room, where the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while hardcore
Walker.
Reclined against his black BMW parked across the street from the restaurant staring straight at me. His sleek hair parted to the side in a way that should have been obnoxious, but on him it totally worked. A confident smile graced his face. It was the kind of smile that only those born in privilege and to whom the word “no” is nonexistent have. He looked gorgeous. And the slut in me instantly wondered what it would feel like to run my hands through his long hair as I rode him like a mechanical bull.
I watched him cross the street, walking in my direction. When he was standing in front of me, he simply said, “Go out with me.”
I wanted to say yes.
But I knew that if I wanted him to treat me differently, to give me everything I wanted and to want me more than any other pretty face he could have, I needed to make him work for it. I needed to make him work for my attention. Isn’t the chase always better than the catch? Guys like him thrive on it.
So I gave him my best smile—a smile that said yes with the eyes but no with the tongue. “No, I’m sorry but I’m busy tonight and I don’t even know you.”
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with a devious light. “Somehow I had the feeling that you were going to say no.”
I ran a hand through my long hair seductively, watching him follow my movements. “Smart man. Anyway, I’ve got to go—”
“Walker. The name is Walker.”
I turned around and started to walk away. “See you around, Walker.”
I was almost halfway down the street when I heard him yell after me, “I won’t take no for an answer, you know.”
I stopped and turned around to face him, my hands on my hips. “Oh really?” I felt my toes curl inside my expensive Mary Jane pumps and my heart rate accelerate as I waited for his answer. See … the chase is always so much better.
An easy and slow smile appeared on his face, making him look like the cocky bastard that he was, but I loved it. “You’ll give me another chance. You’ll see. And then …”
“And then what?”
“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”
And that was it. He turned around, waited until there was a clear gap in the traffic, then crossed the street, got in his car and drove away. I watched him speed into the sunset as people walked past me.
I said “no” several times after that, but Walker never gave up. Never. If anything, he’d pursued me more aggressively and single-mindedly than ever before. As with all good things in life, he knew I was worth it. And somehow he also knew that the way to my heart was money—gifts, expensive dinners, a better apartment …
He gave me everything.
WITH CHAMPAGNE AND CAVIAR INUNDATING my every sense, I slither through the light wooden floors of the Lila Acheson Wallace Wing in The Met. As I walk, I pretend to admire the expensive jewelry being showcased tonight by a famous designer whose name I can’t remember. A multicolored diamond butterfly sparkles to my left and a cobra made out of black stones glistens to my right. Rows upon rows of precious gems twinkle under the soft lights of the room, flooding the space between the walls with the glow of a thousand stars. Furtive glances. Secrets gossiped. Beauty criticized. Lofty music fills the atmosphere as the über rich mingle and pretend to like each other, yet you can almost taste their conceit and derision for one another in the air.
This is Walker’s world, and I love it.
Standing across the room, where the crowd is thinner and the music fainter, I spot Walker’s blond head in the corner of the room, talking to a group of his colleagues and their wives. He looks polished and worth every penny of his trust fund in his sleek black tuxedo, perfectly starched white shirt and black bowtie. His long golden hair parted to the side shines like the sun. He is truly flawless.
I smile because it’s hard to picture that this is the same guy who likes to snort coke off my tits as he fucks me while hardcore
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