14. Milo

His lips.His touch. His eyes burning me with their intensity. The feel of his tight hole around my cock.

They all burn themselves into my retinas so that every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Keaton melting under my command.

Having the hots for Keaton Sinclair has gotten a lot harder since learning he likes being dominated.

It's not a fantasy I get to indulge in often, and even when I do, it's hard to get into the top space and fully enjoy a scene, but with him? It was as easy as breathing.

So how can I help thinking about him on his knees worshipping my cock or how good it feels being inside him?

I can't.

Which explains my perma-boner and why beating off to the images playing in my head haunt me all of Saturday and Sunday.

But you know what? I ride that high because how can I not? How often do I get to be with a client and fully enjoy myself?

If that's how he wants to spend the rest of the year between social media updates, I'm not complaining.

So, ride that high I do.

And it gets even higher when I see the zeros in my bank account come Monday.

Although, truth be told, those don't actually feel real.

I've never had that much money in my account, and believe me, that baby has held some healthy amounts from generous tippers and satisfied customers.

This one though?

This is different.

Six million.

Fuck.

Does that mean I'm rich? Like actually rich?

And what does it say about me that the only thing I can think of is paying off that bitch at Silver Linings?

I close the banking app and try to pretend like life is normal. Like I haven't just sold my soul to the devil for money and like I'm actually still a normal human being. Although if that's what the devil looks and feels like, I'll take more of him.

Good thing I've got him for a year.

I try to finish my coffee, but the more I ignore the elephant in my phone, the more antsy I get.

Even when I scroll through Keaton's updates and comments.

Everyone went nuts over the picture he took after we had sex. He didn't share full nudes, not even nips. But just seeing the tops of our bare chests sent the internet into a frenzy.

And naturally, everyone showed their sleazy, horny side by offering to join us, asking who topped who, and flooding the comment section with dick pics and hole money shots.

It still amazes me how much of his life Keaton is willing to share to save his place in the company. Before I met him, I never expected a man of his caliber to do anything close to what he's doing, and dammit, if that doesn't say a lot about him.

"Meow."

I jump, almost spilling my coffee, and turn to face Princess.

"Look who decided to come out of hiding." Yes, I talk to my cat. Who doesn't? "Did the big rich man scare you?"

I haven't seen my tabby princess all weekend, although I did hear her chomping on her food when I was in bed.

Her response is to rub her cheek against my coffee-holding hand, and naturally, some of the drink spills onto my kitchen floor.

"I missed you too." I start scratching behind her ears when she jumps off and licks the coffee stain. "Bitch. You can't have coffee!"

I stomp on it with my socked foot and immediately regret it.

"Look what you've done. Now I need to find new socks. And Daddy hasn't done laundry since March 2009." Which isn't exactly true—I mean, duh—but it might as well be.

Princess meows at me again, and I can't resist a proper, good scratch behind the ears before I stop and search for socks. She runs off to whatever hiding place she's using this week, and before long, I'm all dressed up and ready to go.

I change her water and put some wet food in her bowl. As I'm about to leave, I see she's jumped onto the counter to eat, and I quickly take a picture of her before she hears the shutter speed.

As soon as she does, she runs off again, but I'm happy with the shot. I leave her in peace and make my way to Silver Linings, taking lots of pictures along the way and making a quick pit stop to top up on Blanche's favorite treats.

"Mr. Bryce! A word?" The screech comes before I've even stepped foot through reception.

I look behind the desk.

Dammit. Rhett isn't here to save me.

"Mr. Bryce!" she repeats, and I can't help a huff, but I bite my lip and turn around to face the demon—erm, Madelyn.

"Yes?" I act all innocent, and she raises an eyebrow as if she's the headmistress and I'm a schoolboy.

She doesn't say another word as she steps into her office and leaves the door open for me.

I follow behind her with a sigh and sit as Madelyn pointedly taps the keyboard in front of her.

The chair swallows me whole before I can help it.

"I can see your grandmother's fees are still overdue?—"

Wait a fucking minute? Why am I scared of Madelyn?

"Ah, yes," I say, sitting up. I'm rich. I can get her off my back for good. "About that."

"Indeed, Mr. Bryce. About that! You do understand my position. Our waitlist is?—"

"The money will be with you by the end of the day, Madelyn. I promise. In fact…" I search my pockets and retrieve my phone. "Let me transfer the amount now before I forget."

Madelyn doesn't say anything but sits still as stone and watches me with slitted eyes.

I know she doesn't believe me. I've told her the same thing a hundred times over, only this time, I actually mean it.

"There. Done."

She exhales with a pout and crosses her hands. Literally, like a headmistress. Who the fuck does she think she is?

"I'm afraid I can't take your word this time, Mr. Bryce. I'm going to have to evict your grandmother?—"

"Evict? What for? I have literally just paid. You can't evict her. She needs this place. She needs the care. I can't provide that for her."

Which is probably a lie. I can probably get Blanche a string of private nurses to look after her now that I've got the money—so much money—but she's used to this place. And Madelyn excluded, everyone loves her here, and she has company. The worst thing I can do is isolate her from everyone and lock her up in an apartment.

"And I understand all that, but you have failed to pay…"

"I've just paid. Check your system again. You can't kick my grandmother out."

Madelyn laughs me off, but I stare at her until she succumbs to my demand and checks her computer again.

"I'm done playing your games, Mr. Bryce. It's always like this with you. Every year?—"

Madelyn freezes, narrows her eyes, and looks back at me.

It's my turn to laugh her off.

"Satisfied?" I tell her with the smugest expression I can manage.

She nods and composes herself.

"B-but how?" she asks.

"What do you mean how?" Is she asking me how I transferred the money so quickly? She's ancient, so it wouldn't surprise me if she doesn't know how money works nowadays.

Or is she asking how I got the money all of a sudden?

She looks from me to the computer as if I've ruined her perfectly laid plans and tries to form words.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she says finally.

"You too." I get up. It's time I leave the stuffy room and the stuffier company.

Before I reach the door, Madelyn rushes up and opens it for me with a wide, stupid smile.

"Oh, wait a minute…you're dating Keaton Sinclair, right?"

I wince at her sudden cheerful comment and stare at her.

"Oh, come on. It's all over the Instagrams. You can tell me. Is it serious? Are you going to get married?"

I gasp and can't think of an appropriate response, and if I could, I doubt it could come out.

"He must be very generous if he gave you the money for…you know."

"Right." I snap back to my usual self. "That's enough of that. Listen to me, Madelyn. We're not pals. You don't get to come at me making those nasty comments as if we're girlfriends when, two seconds ago, you were threatening my sick grandma with eviction. Now, if our business here is done?"

Before she can confirm or deny, I walk out and go straight for the exit.

I need a walk to calm down before I see Blanche.

When I go in, she's sitting in the armchair with the remote in her hands and the TV on.

"Hi, my queen." I wait for any flicker of recognition in her eyes, and she offers me the warmest smile, so I dip down and kiss her cheek.

"That's you, isn't it?" she asks, looking from the TV to me.

I laugh and turn to see what she's talking about.

"Sinclair's new fling: a blue-collar romance?"

A picture of Keaton and me at the Thai restaurant flashes on the screen between paparazzi shots of our first date.

"Um…yeah. Yes, it is."

For fuck's sake.

There's no escaping this, is there?