Chapter 3

My worries about shaving and clean underwear turned out to be very premature. I finish my drink and whilst we flirt a little longer, it is clear that we aren't going to move any further forward tonight. Instead, she asks me to come by her room tomorrow at eleven to discuss our situation further.

On one hand, I am pleased to leave; it makes me look better on the hotel CCTV, and I definitely want to take my time in preparing for alone time with Dahlia. But on the other hand, discussing details of the possibility of our fucking seems cold to me.

I don't know if it was the adrenaline crash or what, but the moment I got home and laid down I passed out waking groggily at six the next morning feeling completely out of it. I decide to get up and head straight over to grandmamas to drop off my washing. She won't be concerned about the early time; she is used to me leaving them on the doorstep with a note if an early morning run fits my schedule.

It is my turn to fuck up the shower routine, but I try to time it the best I can and work in super-fast time, meaning my rushed work with the razor leaves me with a cut on my ankle that won't stop bleeding.

I'm not a really girly girl. I've always spent all of my non-working time in sweats, joggers, running gear, and Lycra. I own a few nice outfits for the times when I need to make an effort, but I'm not exactly sure what someone should wear to an eleven o'clock meeting with a celebrity who they want to hook up with.

I opt for branded, tight-fitting black joggers that make my ass look good with sneakers and a tight-fitting black tee; I want to feel comfortable and like myself. I run the brush through my hair and let it down, dark and shiny waves around my shoulders. I consider makeup but it just isn't me, and if Dahlia wants a woman like that, she could find a million of them, so I'm happy to push indecision to one side and just be confident in myself and who I am.

I debate between the front and back exits of the hotel and opt for the front. I am, after all, a friend of a guest, and not an employee today. I don't know if it is the shades, the confidence, or my hair being down, but no one even notices me. They let me straight through as though I belong, and as I ride the lift up to the 85th floor I realize that it's because I feel like I could belong.

I don't even need to knock; the moment I approach, Dahlia is already there opening the door and welcoming me inside.

I'm thankful I opted for casual, as she has done the same. In black yoga pants and a loose shirt, she looks warm, feminine, and soft. Her hair is still down but a little messy, slept in. She looks less perfected, which in my eyes makes her infinitely sexier, and I wonder how often she ever gets the chance to let her hair down and just enjoy life without worrying how she looks.

My bet is not so often.

I enter and am surprised to find us not alone. On the sofa area sits an older, balding man; his shirt looks expensive but ironed poorly and he has an air about him that I find off-putting. A detached coldness. I feel his gaze and know he is trying to fit me into a box. Judging me based on only my appearance and choice of clothing.

"Take a seat, Alexa. Would you like some tea?" Dahlia asks.

I begin to answer, but Mr. Suit cuts straight through me.

"Let us get this out of the way first, shall we, Dahlia?" It's posed as a question but it is anything but, and Dahlia nods, sitting down in the armchair between us as though she is now the mediator.

Mr. Suit pulls out a leather document holder and opens it slowly before letting his thumbs work through the paperwork.

I eye him suspiciously.

"As you know, Ms. Sharpe, my client is a very famous and very successful celebrity who has a high level of public scrutiny. I am aware that neither of you has had any physical interaction but that you may intend to, and it is for this reason we have scheduled this meeting today. In order to protect my client's reputation, you will need to sign these documents." He slides a wad of paper over to me that has my name, number, address, and tax information plastered all over the front, which instantly makes me feel uncomfortable.

"How do you know—?" I start, but he cuts me off again.

"I make it my business to know. I understand that this is not a normal occurrence for people outside of the world of celebrity, but I can assure you it is how things are done in the world that Ms. Dante lives in. She cannot afford to take any chances. If you can read through the paperwork and sign where indicated, you and my client are then free to engage in any sexual activities you choose. As you can see on page five, we outline and list some of my client"s preferences and what we mean by certain terms. By signing this agreement, you acknowledge that you will not discuss my client with anyone. No one is to know any details of your liaisons, that includes specifically any members of the press—during or after the fact. For recompense for agreeing to the terms of this agreement, you will receive a financial incentive of one hundred thousand pounds that will not only serve as a thank you for your discretion but a binding term of the agreement that you will not disclose any information now or in the future in regards to time spent with my client or her sexual orientation or preferences."

I take a moment to let all that sink in. It doesn't seem real. I have to sign a contract? I'm going to be paid to keep my mouth shut? A hundred thousand pounds? What on earth are these sexual preferences of Dahlia's? What world am I even living in?

"I know it is a lot, Alexa," Dahlia says softly and breaks my current trance of incredulity. I nod to her, words failing me because I know that Mr. Suit is completely right; these things might be very common practice in their world but they most certainly aren't in mine.

"You are going to give me money? Doesn't that make me some kind of…?" I let my words trail off as the statement is left unsaid. Dahlia starts to shake her head, and I watch Mr. Suit keep his lips firmly closed for the first time.

Dahlia is the one who speaks. She looks up at me. "No. The payment makes it part of the contract; it is what binds it, if you like. Right now, it seems like an insult and you may want to argue that you don't want it. But think about the future, think about the things it can give you and then if you don't want it, you can give it away, a charity or something. Do something good with it. Help someone you care about. I don't know. Put it to good use. I have plenty of money; it might seem like a lot to you, but it is nothing to me."

I stop and try to take a deep breath. The thing is that even now I am totally attracted to Dahlia. I can feel her energy in the room like a magnet. When she moves, I sense it. I have never seen a person that oozes so much raw sexual energy, and I feel like I see it in waves through the air. Calling to me.

Sex is just sex. I don't do relationships but I do enjoy sex. I know that she will be electric sexually and I will enjoy every single inch of her. But we have never even kissed. I don't know anything about her sexually and maybe I am signing myself up for a fall.

Then I think to myself… So why does it matter? I can sign the papers, if nothing happens, I won't lose anything, and it's not like I would tell someone anyway; I am such a private person. I pick the papers up and begin to thumb through the pages once more. I pretend to know what I am looking at, but if I am being really honest my only reference for this is totally fictional from a Mr. Grey and his 50 shades. I never rated those books, and I have an idea his story was entirely unrealistic.

Not like this. This is my real life and a very wealthy famous woman is offering me money and a contract for sexual services.

My eyes catch page five and my fingers hover … Marks left on Ms. Dante's body must be able to be covered … no breath play but gags may be used … dominance permitted with the guidelines of sexual pleasure only … no photographs when tied … shared only if agreed previously …?

The words swirl in my head.

"Dahlia, I don't know …"

"We are unable to discuss the contents of page five further, Ms. Sharpe, unless you first sign the documentation." Mr. Suit cuts through me like a knife and I find my curiosity explode. I have experimented a little in my time, and I'm certainly not a prude, but the things listed… I have only seen them in porn or read about them in erotica. I have never tried them myself. I know I am naturally dominant when it comes to sex. I know what I like, what I want, and it makes me feel good when I claim that from the other person. I like to tease, to edge, and then take what I want. But I would never categorize myself as a Domme. I have never been anything further than assertive, but even now as I think about it… my thoughts jump through images of Dahlia naked and bound and entirely at my mercy, Dahlia naked and on her knees begging to please me, Dahlia bent over and opened up for me, and I find my body responding to them, feel the tingles between my thighs as I…

My gaze drifts upward to meet Dahlia's. I can see her thoughts are there too. Her skin is slightly flushed, her pupils dilated, and I wonder if I were to brush the tips of my fingers over her panties if I would feel a hint of her wetness as she thinks about me taking everything I want from her.

I reach for the pen as I fix my gaze on hers. I want her to watch me, to read my mind and my thoughts as I sign, to know I'm not doing this for money or a quick fuck. I'm doing this because I want to have her in every way I possibly can. And as if she can read my mind, I watch her cheeks flush deeper as her teeth run lightly over her lower lip in nervous, needy excitement.

As soon as my name is etched and my pen lifted from the paper, I see her visibly relax as though she can finally let down her guard with me.

"Okay, Ms. Sharpe, we can now go through—" Mr. Suit begins to talk, but I'm kind of fed up with his presence.

"You know, I think Dahlia and I can talk through it together. I've signed the agreement so there isn't anything more for you to be concerned with right now."

It is a dismissal, and though I can see he wants to argue with me, he has lost my attention and Dahlia's too. With nothing more than a nod, he collects the signed papers from the table.

"Very well then," he adds stiffly. "This is your copy and I highly recommend you read through them. Ignorance won't get you very far in court if you were to break any of the agreement due to unknowingly not following one of the rules." He stands slowly, and as a professional person with a set of morals, I try my best to hide my disdain for him but it definitely is not easy to do. "The money will be in your account in a couple of hours." He nods to Dahlia and then leaves. I don't move until I hear the lock click on the door and then I settle back in my chair.

It is strange but I feel no nerves. It's almost like I hadn't realized what I wanted, what I craved until I read those words in the agreement and saw Dahlia visibly giving herself over to me. But now those images have passed through my mind and I can't switch them off. I can only see her, me, us in various tangles of sexual exploration, and I want it. I want it so fucking bad.

Dahlia eyes me; she is waiting, perched at the edge of her seat. Waiting hopefully.

I feel like I need to take this moment to be entirely honest with her.

"I need to be totally honest with you. I have never done most of this- the BDSM stuff. I don't know what I am doing. I can only follow my instincts and trust in you to guide me and communicate with me. To tell me if I am going in the wrong direction." I am open with her, earnest. I want us to have that trust. An open book and understanding of what we are stepping into.

She looks at me with a serious look on her face and her green eyes are clear and ever lovely.

"That is all you can do. I have books. There are websites where you can learn. I know some clubs. You will learn. Most of it will come naturally." Her voice is slow, her words are deliberate and her southern drawl is something I will never tire of. "I will show you what I like, but I can feel the dominance in you. I know you have what it takes to take me where I need to go. I can see exactly what you want from me." Her voice is husky, dripping in sex, and she sounds so fucking hot I want to tear her clothes off, but I don't need to, she slips off the chair and starts to strip.