Page 3 of His Personal Stripper

Tapping her finger on one knee, she tried to think of something else.

Other than selling her body on the street, she had nothing.

Typing in his number, she stared at his card, then at the screen on her cell phone before hitting the green button to begin the call.

Pressing the phone against her ear, every single part of her rebelled against making this call. She didn’t want to rely on a complete stranger, even if that man did seem to be genuine. After he’d given her the card, she’d gone to check out the name and was surprised to see he was in fact who he said he was.

A player.

A rich, wealthy businessman.

One of the richest men in the world.

Pushing all those thoughts aside, she waited, her heart pounding, and tried to think of what she could say.

“Kent.” His voice was deep and rich as he spoke.

“Hi, yes, I don’t know if you remember me. It’s Rachel Sterling.” She nibbled her lip, hoping he’d not laugh at her over some kind of prank. Desperation clawed at her.

“I remember you.”

Why did that make her shiver? Her nipples tightened at the promise in his voice. Cutting it off, she stared at his card.

“Have you come to a decision?” he asked.

“I want to know what you want from me first. What this is all about?”

“It’s simple. I saw you, I want you, and you’re going to be mine.”

She didn’t have the first clue what to say about that.

The boyfriends she’d had in the past were in no way like this. Sure, they’d told her she was beautiful, but other than that, she’d not really expected this.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“It depends on how far you’re willing to go.”

She sighed. “Please, stop being vague. I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

“Be ready in one hour.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m coming to pick you up. We’ll have a little taste of what I want, and then you can make that final decision. Goodbye, Rachel.”

“Wait, don’t you need to know my address?” she asked.

“I already know where you live.”

The line disconnected, and she stared at the phone. He knew where she lived. If he’d been a real threat, like one of those traffickers, he’d have already abducted her, right? Were rich men part of that craziness?

Her mind rushed, and she didn’t know what to do, what to say. Standing up, she looked down at how she was dressed. Pajama shorts with holes and a ratty old shirt that had seen better days.

Quickly removing her clothes, she grabbed her only decent pair of jeans and a shirt. Everything she wore molded to her size sixteen curves. No amount of bullying from her peers would ever see her get rid of her curves. She happened to love her hips, her rounded ass, and her large tits.

She loved her fuller body, and wouldn’t dream of working out to change who she was.

An hour later she paced the floor of her apartment, waiting, wondering what to do. She moved to the window, waiting to see if he’d even turn up.

Rachel spotted the car waiting by the curb. Once again, her heart began to race. Stepping away from the window, she grabbed her bag and cell phone, just in case.

“I hate this,” she said. “Just get it done. It has to be better than ending up on the streets.”

Leaving her apartment, she locked the door and made her way down the long flight of steps. The scent of desperation filled the air of the apartment.

As she walked, she knew that her life was about to change. When she left the building, she saw the driver standing beside the passenger door. He didn’t say a word, but opened the door.

Taking another deep breath, she bent down, and climbed into the car. The scent of leather was heavy in the air, and she turned to her right to see Jack Kent leaning against the other door.

“You made the right decision.”

---