Page 11 of Good Girl

“You’re welcome to take a shower or whatever you need to do to get ready for bed,” Darcy offers, one shoulder leaning against the doorway. “I’ll wait for you out here. Take your time.”

“Okay, thank you,” I manage to say, my voice barely stronger than a mutter.

The hotel was completely out of the realm of my normal, but this apartment? This freaking bathroom?

I let out a nervous giggle. What the fuck am I even doing here? This is so far out of my comfort zone. Even wearing Oakley’s cute sundresses and flats, I don’t fit here. I’m a nobody, with no family, and zero fucking class. This is so not my scene.

But does that matter, when it’s only for the weekend? It’s not like they are asking me to stay indefinitely. They just want to take the weekend to turn me inside out, and then they’ll give me the rest of the money they owe me, and I’ll be on my merry way to my dream life.

Yes. Do them for the weekend. Get my money. Live my dream life.

Starting with sleeping with Darcy tonight.

Reality check complete, I go back out to the closet and unzip the bag, searching for one of the two lingerie dress thingies I bought earlier today. I easily find the purple negligee with the matching boy shorts. Knowing they paid for these removes any self-sabotaging thoughts about the four men not liking them.

I quickly duck into the bathroom, arms loaded with my clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, and deodorant. In less than five minutes, I have fresh breath, loosely double-braided hair, and the purple lace and gauzy set on. I have no idea if it’s appropriate sleepwear or not, but I doubt I’ll ever wear it again after tonight.

After carefully wiping down the basin, I scoop up my things before going back to the walk-in and packing it all back into the bag, leaving no trace of myself behind. Straightening, I take two deep breaths, then walk around to the giant-ass bed and pull up short when I see Darcy sitting on the edge, completely dressed and scrolling through his phone.

He looks up and locks his phone, his eyes scanning the full length of me. “All done?”

I shrug, arms feeling a little awkward, so I wrap them around myself. “Yeah, we showered at the hotel, so didn’t need to do much.”

Darcy nods. “True.” He stands up and shoves his phone into his pocket before gesturing back at the bed. “Well, princess, your bed awaits you.”

Looking at the bed from the side, it seems even wider than before, with far too many choices. When I don’t immediately move to climb onto it, Darcy leans over and pulls down the corner of the duvet, then offers me a hand.

My heart starts to beat a little faster as I slip my hand into his. And not going to lie—my pussy has a little heat in it, even though she is still waving a white flag from the treatment she received earlier.

My shoulder brushes against his shirt-covered bicep as I pass him and climb up onto the bed. It is suitably high enough, that it’s almost awkward for me to get up on my own, but I manage it. He relinquishes my hand once I’m kneeling, and I turn to face him, waiting for his first move.

But none comes.

That damn smirk is back as we stare at each other, like he has some sort of inside joke that revolves around me. The awkwardness from earlier starts to overpower the heat, and my brain fires off so many suggestions on what to do that I end up doing nothing. Well, that’s not true. I continue to stare at him.

He stares back. Waiting.

I have no fucking clue what to do right now. Am I supposed to make the first move? Do I just take my clothes off and let him have me? That thought sends a zing of pleasure from my stomach to my clit. Okay, so, don’t hate that.

Or maybe he wants me to help him take his clothes off before I blow him again? Do I just reach for his belt? My gaze drops to his black leather belt with a smooth, rectangular chrome buckle. How do I even undo that thing? I’ve never undone a man’s belt before. They usually already have it undone before they get to me. And this one looks way fancier than a regular buckle.

My stomach tightens as worry mixes with the awkwardness, and I start to feel small and out of my depth. I don’t know what to do. To my horror, my throat begins to tighten.

I will not fucking cry.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Except, when Darcy steps right up to the edge of the bed and tucks his knuckle beneath my chin and forces me to look up at him, I can’t make the emotions go away. His smirk has disappeared, and in its place is concern. Again. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, because there is no way I can make words right now, not with the lump in my throat.

“Princess, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me. Let Daddy take care of it for you.”

Let Daddy take care of it for me?

This time, when I inhale, it’s shaky.

Besides Tray, no one has ever tried to take care of me before, not unless it’s a part of their paycheck.

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