Weak for Him (20 page)

The people in the room didn't know
about The Elite. They were men and women from Luke's business life,
from the art world. A world I wanted to become a part
of.

The night didn't end with a
literal bang, but once it was over, Luke walked me to the door, and
leaned against the frame.

"I thought we would, you know…" I
whispered to him.

"Why rush, Jennifer? I want to
experience
us
in Paris."

I gave him my best pouty
lips.

He chuckled. "You're such a sex
kitten."

I grabbed his chin and kissed him
on the cheek, remembering how it felt to have his mouth on mine,
and how he played with me on the balcony.

"Goodnight," he said, and then
kissed me on the cheek.

As I walked away, he said, "Paris
soon, babe."

Charlie opened the limo door, and
I slid inside with the biggest smile on my face that instantly
turned into a scowl.

"Did you have a good time
tonight?" Finn sat with his arms crossed in the corner of the
limo.

"I didn't know you were here.
Where have you been all night?"

"With a lady friend, for a little
while, and making business deals. And… you?"

He lifted an eyebrow, and I smiled
at the thought of Luke on the balcony and the orgasms. The sweet,
sensual, double orgasms.

"Around," I said.

"Really? I didn't really see you
all night."

"What is this, Finn? Fifty fucking
questions? Double jeopardy? What are you getting at?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Why are
you on the defense? It's my job to ask where my Girls are at
parties. We have rules we must follow, Jennifer. I'm not a
micromanager, but I'm always around."

"Oh, wasn't aware the boss was
actually in, considering he hasn't talked to me in almost a
week."

I removed the mask from my face
and set it to the side. Finnley did the same.

"So tonight, I learned a few
things," he continued.

I hoped this limo ride would end
soon.

"Like?"

"What it really means to pleasure
a woman."

The thought of Finn having sex
with someone else, someone that wasn't me, made me sick. I wanted
to forget about the feelings he forged within me. I wanted to
pretend like I didn't care about his rendezvous, or the women that
would simply drop to their knees and suck him off if he asked them
to, or even the countless dates he had since I was marked as
Taken
.

But the truth was, I did
care.

And it bothered me.

"Had a good fuck, I assume?" I
said as sarcastically as possible.

"Almost. She's such a whore. She
begged me to fuck her, but I decided that I didn't feel like
fucking tonight. I'm changing my old ways. No more random bangs
just for fun. Just meaningful ones, yeah?"

I rolled my eyes at him. Jealousy
burned within me.

"I like a thick ass, small waist,
and a pretty face. I'm not a complete dick, but I do have
standards. But she wanted it," he paused, and then continued, "In
retrospect, I should have fucked her crazy."

"Sometimes you can be such an
ass."

He continued as if I didn't say a
thing, "I wanted to fuck. She wanted me inside of her. I should
have given in and put it in. But, I didn't. Aren't you
proud?"

"Oh yeahhh," I said.

"I'm sorry. So where did you say
you were tonight?"

I rolled my eyes at him, and he
scooted closer to me.

"I'm asking you a question,
Jennifer, and I demand you answer."

"Okay, sir," I said between
gritted teeth, and then continued. "I walked around Luke's house,
admired his paintings, and met him on the balcony, and then admired
his
artwork
a bit more, and here I am, where you, sir, are
stealing every ounce of my happiness."

It happened too fast. Finnley was
on top of me, straddling my body, and I tried to push him away. I
didn't need this again, or want it. I had to stop before I was too
far into his wild games.

"I've told you. You are not to
call me sir anymore. I've revoked that privilege."

"Get off of me, Mr. Felton. I
don't want to do this anymore."

He grabbed my face. "I don't give
a shit what you want, Jennifer. You say one thing, but your body
says another. Do you think I'm fucking stupid? Do you think I'm a
fucking idiot?"

Finn pulled the black panties from
his suit pocket and sniffed them, and then tucked them
back.

My heart dropped, and I felt
sick.

"Where did you get
those?"

The limo stopped, and Charlie
didn't come around to open the door.

Instead, Finn slid from on top of
me and straightened his suit pants.

"I told you already, I should have
fucked tonight, she begged for it and wanted it, but I didn't. Next
time know whose name you should be fucking screaming when you come.
Twice."

Then he left me to sit in my own
filth.

I'd never felt like a whore
before, but in a roundabout way, I was a whore,
his
whore.

Finn
paid me.

Finn
pleased me sexually,
when he wanted.

Finn
dressed me in pretty
clothes and made me go on dates with men. Told me when to be home
and made sure I obeyed.

And Finn almost fucked me on the
balcony at Luke's party.

Would my mother be proud? I
couldn't think about it.

***

For the next few weeks, I lived in
my own personal hell. Jesse rode my ass, Paisley bitched me out,
and Finn disregarded my every move as if I were invisible. Abbie
even ignored me. Luke flew to New Zealand to meet with a client
about the Texas mural project to be painted inside of an oil
tycoon's corporate office, and Lori was on a month-long vacation to
Amsterdam with Jeffery, her Number One. All the other girls were in
and out, and paid no attention to little ole virgin me.

I became bored with books, TV,
exercise, and even eating. I was going stir-crazy. Several meet-ups
happened over the course of a few weeks, and I wasn't allowed to go
because Luke had paid enough to reserve me for him, and him only.
Drinking and sleeping didn't even curb the oncoming depression.
Nothing could save me from myself.

It crossed my mind to go back
home, but I had nowhere to stay, and I didn't want to rent a hotel
room. Better to stay in Vegas.

Two nights before Luke arrived
back, I dressed myself like a cheap whore: fishnets, a tight black
skirt, and low-cut shirt that made my breasts pop out. Black
eyeliner and eye shadow accompanied my teased hair. Forget a bra
and panties, I was going to the Vegas Strip. I felt like Julia
Roberts in
Pretty Woman
.

I needed fast, pulsating music, so
I could dance the night away.

And I would find it.

On the corner, a club bled the
music and flashing lights that I so desperately craved. It would be
my kryptonite. After three shots of tequila, I made my way to the
dance floor. The liquor quickly found its way through my
bloodstream because I hadn't eaten. I felt as light as a feather as
I shook my ass, dry humped a few guys, and even got asked back to a
hotel room or two. Even a few girls hit on me and wanted to take me
home. I never knew gay clubs had so many straight
people.

Three more shots of liquid gold
and I was the pretty girl on top of the world: the virgin who could
command them all with her toned legs and tight ass. The one wearing
the slutty outfit and dirty mouth that made the filthiest of filthy
blush. I gave them fake names, and numbers, batted my fake
eyelashes, and said nasty things I wouldn't normally
say.

In a matter of hours, I had
transformed into someone I didn't know. Another person wore my
skin, used my voice and body, and I watched from the sidelines as
she acted out, fulfilling the destiny of becoming the little slut
that Finnley created, in a place where creeps and perverts roamed
and ruled. No one would judge me where the sin of the city ran
wild. How could they? And there was no one around to reel me in
from my mistakes. Not even Finnley could save me from the shadows
of wickedness, and for a moment, I thought I might lose
myself.

Once I was tanked on the brink of
oblivion, I called Charlie to deliver me back to the mansion. While
I waited, a young man, no older than me, offered me a shot, and I
took it as I spoke filthy things to him: sucking cocks, eating
pussy, and other nasty things that I never said to strangers. He
wanted to leave with me in tow. If I continued to act out, virgin
girl would be no more. But I had standards no matter how much of a
whore I pretended to be.

A few more shots and my face went
numb.

I barely could stand. The cute guy
carried me to the parking lot, and I could hardly see. My world
rocked and swayed, and my vision went hazy, then black.

Hard slaps across the face,
pointless cursing, and I had come to—barely awake, alive even. I
felt like I was dying and I had no control of my body.

Finnley held a flashlight in my
eyes, and I tried so hard to talk.

Nothing.

"She's been fucking drugged. Who
the fuck let her go alone? Jennifer?"

Finn's voice echoed like my name
had been said a million times, but I was fading.

Fading away to
nothingness.

"Jennifer. Stay with me.
Please."

Blackness.

Then silence.

***

I woke to an empty, dim-lit room.
I didn't know which day it was, or whether it was early morning or
late afternoon. The last thing I remembered was going out, alone.
Oh god, and being ridiculous.

I reached for my phone. It wasn't
there.
Damn it.

My mouth, sticky like I had
swallowed liquefied sugar, needed water.

Stumbling from bed and down the
stairs in a T-shirt and underwear proved to be harder than I
imagined. My legs felt weak and shaky. Damn, my whole body
did.

I chugged the water like it was
going out of style and could hear a steady beat of music coming
from somewhere in the house. The microwave read 6:21 p.m. I peeked
out the window; no cars lined the drive except for V.

But the music continued and my
head pounded along with it. I needed to find it and ask someone
really nicely to turn it down.

As I walked to the stairs, I
stopped and listened.

Was that… I heard it again… jazz
music? Ray Charles?

Leaning my head against the
basement door, I knew it was Ray Charles. "Get Around, Woman." I
had danced to it one time in school.

Since no one was home, maybe Finn
forgot to turn off the radio or something.

I opened the door and stumbled my
way down the steps. The lights were low. But bent over the bed,
ready to fuck, was a face I never thought I would see in
Vegas.

Abbie.

Abbie and Finn.

My Abbie? My Finn?

What. The. Holy. Fuck!

I reached for something, anything
to grab as my legs went from under me.

Twenty-one

F
inn carried me up the
stairs in his arms, alone. He laid me on the bed and sat down. We
looked into one another's eyes and refused to speak a
word.

Not one single word.

I wanted to, but how could I? What
would I say?

The last time we spoke to one
another—and seeing him almost fuck my best friend—left me
speechless.

A few minutes passed, and I turned
my back toward him and stared out the window. No words could
describe how I felt.

Betrayed?

Jealous?

I hated that I cared. I hated that
I hated my best friend for wanting to be with him. There, in
that
room. But if I were single, and not contracted, would I
have done the same?

The shadows of the trees floated
past the window, nightfall was upon us, and I knew he wouldn't
leave regardless if I demanded.

"Why is she here?"

"Because you almost died,
Jennifer. I had to let someone know. She was on your emergency
contact list."

I rolled over and peered into his
eyes. "What did you just say?"

"You were drugged at the club.
Almost overdosed on Rohypnol. You didn't respond well to it, and
you were out for almost a week. In the hospital for a few days
until you were stable and then I brought you home. I didn't know
when you'd wake up. We were all worried."

The last thing I remembered was
the cute guy at the bar handing me shot after shot, and I took each
one like a damned idiot.