Page 12 of Wildest Dreams

She stared me square in the eye, calm if a little flushed. “I mean, the relationship will be fake, but the orgasms had better be real. If I have to put up with you, I want to at least have a little fun. We’re both grown-ups. I haven’t had any action in a while. You’re deplorable but undeniably hot. And I mean, you can’t be that bad in bed, with all the experience you’ve amassed…”

This woman was lethal to my ego.

“As long as it’s with full consent…” She pretended to examine her busted-up nails, and I wondered if, now that I was apparently going to pay her fucking $10K to breathe in my sphere, she’d invest in some mani-pedis. I wanted her to. And I wasn’t even fucking sure why.

“You don’t have to have sex with me to get the money,” I stated the goddamn obvious. I always knew I gave fuckboy vibes, but creeper? That was a new one.

“I know you’re not asking. I’m offering, if it wasn’t clear.” Another eye roll—Dylan’s signature “I don’t give a shit” ticwhenever she definitely gave a shit. “I mean, come on. You are a sex worker. Don’t be a prude.”

“First of all, I’m not being a prude. I’m checking for signs of a head injury.” But the truth was she had me rattled there for a second. The idea of burying myself between those long, lean legs had me undone. “Second, there’s no shame in sex work, and mine happens to be done by the book. With an ironclad contract. Third, I’ve been retired for three months now.”

All in preparation for launching myself fully into App-date. Which meant there was even more on the line here.

“Fourth…”

There was a fourth—something about her offering her body for money and how I’d rather just pay her not to do any stupid shit—but I forgot what it was. Honestly, the fact that I was even speaking English right now was a miracle in itself. Dylan Casablancas, the hottest woman in the Americas and probably any other continent, had offered me sex for pay.

“Fuck it, Dylan. My mind draws a blank. Just…promise me, if you ever need money that bad, come to me, and I’ll give it to you. No strings attached.”

The word “strings” made me think about bondage, and my dick was so hard at this point all it needed was its own pant and shoe to qualify as a third leg.

“It’s not about the money. I have some savings.” She nibbled on the dead skin around her thumb, and for a reason I did not want to look into, I didn’t find it as gross as I normally would. “It’s not something I’d have offered anyone. I wouldn’t mind if there’s sex included in the deal since I’m practically regrowing my hymen over here, and there is no way I’d ever catch feelings for someone as appalling as you.”

“Why, thank you.” I breathed slowly through my nose. “Always love meeting new fans.”

“Hey, at least I find you physically attractive.”

“And personally repulsive.”

She jerked one shoulder up.

“Do you want your brother to kill me?” I inquired. That’d definitely happen if we slept together.

“It’ll be a nice bonus,” she admitted evenly, “but there’s no reason why he should find out.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. I couldn’t think straight with ninety percent of my blood in my dick. “Ten K a week is fine. Do we have a deal?”

“You’re going to need to build some things around here.” Dylan glanced at the room. “Grav’s toddler bed, some bookshelves, stuff like that.”

“That’s not gonna be an issue.” My father was a handyman—building shit was no biggie for me. “What else?”

The child popped her head in from the hallway, grinning. “Mommy, can I make a fort with the pillows?”

“Uh…yes, honey,” Dylan said distractedly. I’d wager she’d let Gravity cook meth in there, she was so eager to get back to the conversation. She flushed even redder under her deep Italian tan and thick obsidian hair, wrenching her gaze back to me. “If this includes sex, I have some hard limits,” she whispered.

This was the part where I needed to tell her that sex would not be included. I wasn’t going to take advantage of my best friend’s baby sister. Shit, I wasn’t going to take advantage of anyone like that. It was wrong.

But…was it really?

She suggested it. I’d have said yes to her number anyway, and maybe she knew that.

Row is going to cut you into ribbons and slow-cook you in your own bone broth if you take liberties, asshole.

Tell her there’ll be no hookups. Tell her the deal only includes the regular rom-com shit. Be a Nicholas Galitzine, not a goddamn…I don’t know, King Joffrey.

“Let’s hear your limits.”

Dammit, asshole, what did we just talk about?

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