Page 19 of Obeying His Rules

She texts back:

No love. No questions. Send a car for me.

And then her address.

My cock pulses again. I love how sassy she is–how straight to the point she can be. I reply:

On its way. Hope you’re ready for this.

I’m gonna pound her even harder this time. She’s not going to have a clue what to do with herself once I’m done with her. She’s in trouble. She really should have taken my advice back at the bar and just walked away.

5

RAIN

I’m all done up tonight as I stand outside my apartment, huddled beneath my umbrella, waiting for Marlon’s car to show up and take me to him.

Part of me feels important–like a high-class woman being driven to the Oscars or something. But another part of me feels just like a prostitute looking out for her ride. Of course, there’s no money involved in our little arrangement, so I guess that doesn’t make any sense.

I’m not sure why I’m so done up tonight; I have a full face of make-up, lashes, I’m wearing lip gloss, Christine was home so she helped me style my hair and do my nails, I shaved and waxed, put on body oil, am wearing heels again, and even broke out my favorite beige dress that looks like a bunch of strips of fabric have been wrapped around my body. I have worn it twice in my life since I bought it three years ago, so Marlon better appreciate it.

Of course he has no way of knowing that, so he won’t know unless I tell him, and I’m sure not going to do that. It would only make me look desperate.

And why am I even trying this hard for him anyway? It’s not like I have to try to impress him at all. We’ve already slept together. We already have our arrangement together. I could probably show up there wearing sweatpants and an oversized, worn-out T-shirt and he would still have his way with me.

But for some reason, I felt the need to get all dolled up for him tonight.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s clearly a millionaire–or maybe even a billionaire. Or the fact that he had us both chauffeured home from the bar last night to his incredible penthouse with a view that few in Manhattan could even dream of having.

Or maybe there’s something else going on. Who knows? I’m no psychologist.

I check my phone to see if he’s texted me again, but just as I do, the incredible black car from last night pulls up in front of me. I tip-toe in my heels over to the back door, which opens automatically for me, causing me to step back a little as I watch in awe.

You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Marlon?

I guess the chauffer isn’t going to hop out just for me, so I slide in the backseat on my own. Once I’m in, the door closes again behind me.

The divider is down tonight, and I can see the back of the driver’s head and hear the faint sound of soft jazz playing at just the right volume.

“So you’re Marlon’s driver?” I ask.

The man simply nods.

“Got a name?”

“Chris.”

I drum my fingers on the seat and suck my front teeth. I’m anxious for some reason. After the long day at work I had dealing with Janelle and the mood she was in, I shouldn’t be. I should be ready to blow off steam with the world’s greatest stud. And it’s not like the two of us are going out for a candlelit first date where we’ll both be asking each other all kinds of personal questions either.

That would be against the rules.

So in reality, I really have nothing to worry about. We’ve already done the deed.

“So how is he?” I ask.

Chris glances at me in the mirror and raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You know…good mood? Bad mood? Anything bothering him that I should know about?”

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