Page 266 of Filthy Elites

“Yeah, I guess she does,” I answer. It’s not cute or clever, but I’m too worried to be charming right now.

“So, I’m thinking, maybe if you don’t want to send me one, I should go upstairs to her room and see if I can convince her to send me the one she has.”

I feel sick—utterly sick—at the thought.

It doesn’t make sense, but it feels…

It feels like a threat.

I push up from my laying position, folding my legs in front of me on the bed and looking down at the phone, trying to think what to say.

He’s not threatening me. I’m being ridiculous. He’s teasing me, that’s all. He just wants the picture of me in my underwear, and I know he’s not above using unorthodox methods of getting what he wants. He doesn’t even mean it. What kind of psycho would actually go up to his girlfriend’s sister’s bedroom and hassle her to send him a picture of another girl? Literally nobody would do that.

Then again…

Am I sure?

No.

He hasn’t exactly seemed concerned with covering his tracks up to this point.

I look across the room at the pink striped bag on top of my dresser. The panties are inside. I suppose I could just put them on…

My fingers fly across the screen as I text back, “You wouldn’t show anybody, right?”

“Of course not,” he answers. “It’s for my eyes only.”

I try to feel reassured by that, but I don’t.

It does get me off the bed, though. I strip off my pajama pants and the panties I put on after my post-work shower. I slip on the ones he bought me. They’re snug, but I think they’re supposed to be. These are not panties one wears for comfort while lounging around the house alone.

I turn this way and that, sucking in my tummy and looking at myself from every angle.

My God, am I really going to do this?

I think I am.

I try not to think about how fucked up this is as I hurry to the bathroom to fix my hair and make sure I look okay, but that’s impossible. Piecing together all the information he’s offered in his texts, it sounds like he is at Anae’s house right now. He’s just sitting there with her, texting me and asking for pictures of me in my panties?

Something unsettling moves through my tummy. Maybe it’s just nerves, but a voice whispers,don’t do it.

Maybe it’s my conscience.

Poor conscience, we’re usually much better than this.

I need the money, I remind myself.

I also don’t want it to be my fault Dare notices Hannah.

I’m not proud that, in this moment, it’s the second motivation that feels most prominent.

I’m also aware that neither of those should be the reason I send my first sexy picture to a guy, but I swat that rational thought aside and try to figure out where to take this picture.

I snap a couple in the bathroom mirror, but I cringe because they’re both terrible. I need a different setting and some coverage. He said I couldn’t wear anything but the panties, but he said nothing about props or positioning. Maybe it’s a loophole, but I’m using it.

Carefully, I pull the full-length mirror off the back of the bathroom door and haul it to my bedroom. My room is small, so one side of my bed is pushed against the wall. I prop the mirror up there, then I grab a pillow and lie tummy-down on the mattress.

I move around and snap pictures in a few different positions, but my boobs either look nonexistent pressed against the pillow, or he would be able to see too much of them.

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