Read To Have (The Dumont Diaries) for Free Online

lifting his mouth off of me and rolls over, depositing me onto the bed and kneeling on a tangle of sheets, his bare body towering above me on the bed.
    I stare at him through drugged eyes, my eyes making a slow and delicious journey over every curve, cut, and bulge of his body. The best sex of my life has officially wiped me out, every muscle a relaxed mess of orgasmy uselessness. He breathes hard, staring at me, then wipes his mouth and hops off the bed, walking bare assed out of the room.

CHAPTER 8
    S ilence . No purr of air conditioner, no television from another room. Dead silence as I lay on the bed and try to figure out what I am supposed to do. Follow him? Clean myself up? Roll over and go to sleep? Or is now when he returns with a handful of dollar bills? My lack of expertise in the prostitution gamble puts me at a loss.
    Then, his silhouette returns, passing through the lit doorway. I prop myself up on one elbow and smile lazily at him, wetting my lips to speak. My words die on my lips as he moves closer, his gait and build all wrong, too big for BlueEyes.
    The man stops a foot from the bed, way too close for my personal comfort and I scramble for covers, for something to cover my nakedness.
    “You should be used to men seeing you naked,” he drawls, his voice a mix of husk and southern. He is close enough for me to see his features, to recognize his face. One of the bodyguards; the one who drove us here.
    My hands only feel tight fitted sheets, and I glare at him, my hands moving to cross in front of my breasts. “I’m not at the Palace now.”
    It is a ridiculous statement, given that I am now at a point below that, having sex for money. But things are different outside the smoky glassed doors of the club. Just because I undress at work doesn’t give anyone and everyone a free look at my body. It is my body and right here, right now, I feel naked and want to cover up. Regardless of what this man has seen me do, I don’t want him to see me like this, and I feel this is my right.
    He throws something towards me, the motion startling me. A white towel . I pick it up, realize it’s a robe, and cover myself with it, looking back at the man.
    He has the audacity to smile at me. “Come with me. He wants you out of here and in the guesthouse.”
    Apparently the spark I felt, the incredibleness that was our sex, is not shared by BlueEyes. I feel sudden irritation at the fact that I don’t know his damn name. I don’t typically seek out names, our regulars worth the effort — everyone else forgettable. But with tonight, and with the other visits that comprised our history — I should have, at some point, learned his name. But, other than the house tour, he has never uttered more than a few words.
    Dance.
    Suck it.
    I’m going to fuck you.
    An introduction is probably seen as a waste of words to this man.
    I slip into the robe, my back to the bodyguard, not interested in giving him more of a look then he’s already had, my mind whirring as I cinch the belt, the soft fabric of the robe more luxurious than anything I have ever worn. I pull my hair out of the robe’s neck, stalling as I try to sort through things in my head.
    Should I ask to return home? My cell phone most likely still has no service. Was the ten grand to include the evening? Does he want more sex? I turn, my hands out of things to do, and face the man.
    “I’d like to ask your boss a few questions.”
    He grinned, shaking his head at me. “He’s not interested in that. You need to follow me to the guesthouse. You’ll sleep there.”
    “Sleep? Just sleep?” I raise an eyebrow skeptically.
    “Just sleep. In the morning he might have time for a conversation. Otherwise, I’ll take you back to the club.”
    Wow. A short response that covers most of my questions. “And when do I get paid?”
    He grins, rubbing a hand roughly over his mouth. “In the morning. Any more questions? He wants you out of here.”
    I hide my frown behind a small