Page 58 of Dirty Damage

SUTTON

He ghosted me.

The empty bed beside me confirms what my pride refuses to acknowledge—I’ve been dumped faster than a bad habit.

No note.

No text.

No explanation for why he slammed on the brakes when I was laid out before him like an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Even my Princess Pop playlist—carefully curated for moments of crisis just like this—isn’t cutting through the cloud of confusion hanging over me.

I scroll through my notifications again, knowing damn well there’s nothing from him. My new phone is as pristine and empty as his side of the bed.

Fact: Oleg Pavlov doesn’t owe me anything.

Also fact: An explanation wouldn’t have killed him.

It’s not like I’m chomping at the bit to get his baby inside of me. I could use a few days—or years—to settle into this new arrangement.

But that’s what we agreed to. It’s in the contract:Sex is for baby-making.

So what was the point of getting me off last night and then bailing?

The hot and cold of it all has my head spinning more than it already was.

As I slide out of his bed, the cuffs slip onto the floor with a rattle. I can’t even look at them without blushing—but last night, I had them on.

I let him handcuff me to his bed.

I hurry out of his room and into mine, slamming the door closed just as my old phone vibrates on the nightstand. Just the sight of Mara’s name has me feeling homesick.

“Girl, where are you?” she asks when I answer the call. “I stopped by your place this morning before work. I brought you matcha and everything.”

I chew my lip, trying to construct a lie that won’t trip over any of the rules in Oleg’s contract. “I’m just… out.”

Nice. Smooth. Not suspicious at all.

“If you’re back with Drew, I swear to God…” she growls. “I have a canning jar with his ball sack’s name all over it. The name is Teeny Weenie, just by the way.”

I nearly gag. “I’d rather French kiss a cactus, Mar. Never ever getting back together, remember?”

“Swear on Taylor Swift?”

“I swear on you,” I vow. “That’s much more sacred.”

She sighs in obvious relief. “Good. I thought maybe you went to see Sydney again. I mean, after getting fired and riling up the internet with your titties, I’d understand.”

“Mara.”

“What? They’re good titties, okay? You should be proud, no matter what the stuck-up parents from the daycare center have to say about them.”

I drop my face into my palm. Honestly, with Oleg washing dishes and finger fucking me, I almost forgot that my reputation has been blown to absolute bits.

The hits just keep on coming.

“I couldn’t go see Syd even if I wanted to. Paul is being an asshole again.”

---