Page 27 of Plum

“I know.” It’s enough for now. It’s going to have to be. “Got your purse?”

She hauls it up to her shoulder, and I gesture for her to precede me. As we leave, I’m flooded with feelings, impulses I’ve never had before. I want to beat in the faces of the men who notice her, and I want to cover her with my jacket, tuck her into my side.

I want to erase everything she’s done, but somehow, leave her exactly like she is.

She walks proud, chin up, and her curves and dips drive me crazy, stoking the ache in my cock, but damn, she’s also solittle. She takes two steps to every one of mine. I have to force myself to slow down so I don’t overtake her. I want to do things to her, dirty, filthy things, and Ineedher to want it. Want me.

For the first time in my life, I want something that money can’t buy, and it’s costing me five hundred dollars up front, and one hundred dollars an hour.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

CHAPTER 4

PLUM

Superman really wants to fuck me. I should’ve gone for a thousand up front, five hundred an hour. This is the big city, the big time. I should’ve gone big with the ask. I mean, at the restaurant, there were no prices on the menu. Can you believe it? Some people are so rich, they order off a menu with no prices on it. I think it’s bullshit when you go to get crab cakes and it says “market price.” Like, I’m supposed to know what the market is for fucking crabs? That’s asking a lot.

I realize my brain’s being stupid. I can’t focus on anything. I’m pretty sure I’m making a bad choice here, but…

I can’t lie and say it’s because of the money. The money is…well, it’s a lot, but that’s not why I’m getting into this guy’s car. Why I text Wall and let him know where I’m going and not to expect me anytime soon. Why my body feels so strange.

Even though it’s cool outside now that the sun’s been set for a while, my body’s flushed. It’s kind of plump and achy like right before I get my period. I can’t untangle all the sensations. My belly’s too full with steak and booze. My head’s woolly. My nipples are hard, and I’m too aware of my pussy. My panties are a little damp, and I’m keeping my steps tight ‘cause for some reason, I need the pressure. To hold myself together.

I ain’t never like this. Not even when I’ve got a buzz on.

Adam’s car smells like him, a little like pine trees and a lot like leather. There’s not a speck of dirt or dust, and it’s so quiet, it irritates me. I try to turn on the radio, but there are too many buttons, so I give up.

Adam flashes me a cautious smile. “What do you want to listen to?”

“Anything.”

He puts on classical music.

“Country,” I say. It takes him a minute, but he finds Y108.

After a few songs, I calm down some. It’s something familiar. I needed that. All of this is way too weird. I should be appreciating it. I never rode in a sports car this nice before, and I ain’t likely to again, but I’m too aware of the man next to me.

He’s too big for the car. His elbow is in my space every time he shifts. His head nearly doesn’t clear the roof. It’d look stupid if the car wasn’t so obviously expensive.

It doesn’t take long to get where we’re going. We drive along the river, all these fancy mansions and apartment buildings to our left, and we pull up in front of the ritziest looking place, made entirely of tinted glass and steel. A young guy in a red jacket opens my door.

This is the last building before you reach Riverfront Park. I went there once on a school trip. There’s an art museum smack dab in the middle, housed in a castle. It’s not a real castle. It’s a mansion built by one of the steel barons back in the day. The dude must have had a real small dick to need to build himself a whole castle in fucking Pyle, Pennsylvania.

The guy in the red jacket says, “Mr. Wade.” He neatly catches the car keys Adam throws. It’s like a scene from a movie.

There’s another man who opens the front door for us, and then another man behind a desk at the end of a huge foyer. There are real lemon trees in marble planters along the walls, and some kind of glass mobile hanging from the high ceiling.

Adam grabs my hand and leads me to an elevator separate from the rest. There’s a man just standing along the wall, wearing the same red jacket. This guy has a walkie talkie and a gun in a holster, though.

That’s three men guarding an empty foyer and some elevators. I wonder how much they get paid to stand there and say “Mr. Wade” and act like they don’t see me. The guy behind the desk even gets to sit.

The man by the elevator swipes a card and presses the up button. I guess there are more demands to the job than I figured at first.

Adam still has my hand. It’s so huge, it completely covers mine. It’s warm, and this place is chilly. I don’t mind it.

None of the men in red jackets seem phased at “Mr. Wade” bringing a whore home. Probably I ain’t special, and he does this all the time. There’s no way they miss what I am. I saw the pictures of his dates on the internet—their hair, their clothes. I ain’t nothin’ in comparison. Shit, you can almost smell the plastic in my dress. Shows off my ass like nobody’s business, though.

There’s a ding, and the elevator doors close. Part of me braces, expecting Adam to pounce as soon as the eyes are off of us. I ain’t blind. I noticed the hard-on he’s been sporting this whole night.

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