Page 25 of His Innocent Mate

He drinks it in one gulp, slamming the cup onto the counter when he’s finished.

“Dinner is almost done,” I chirp, hoping he’ll notice the bold new makeup I’ve applied.

Without looking at me, he says, “It should only take me a few minutes to get cleaned up.”

Venus made it sound so easy, like he’d want me for just existing.

That is obviously not the case.

I take a pot full of stew from the oven and ladle it over rice. My family never ate so well, even when times were good.

After showering, Brock comes out, plops across the table from me, and gets to work on his meal.

He eats without uttering a single word, his eyes never leaving his bowl. Which is typical. He avoids looking at me, like the very sight of me pisses him off.

I can’t let another moment pass like this. Not when so much is at stake.

When he’s done, he pushes his plate away, stretches, and gives a satisfied groan. “Damn, that hit the stop.”

I get up from my seat, and walk around the table, stopping a foot away from his left-hand side.

His eyes rove over to me, looking up and down the length of my body.

When I’d arrived at the cabin, Venus told me I should wear innocent, sweet looking attire that had a seductive flair. But that never worked.

So Venus gave me other instructions.

Now I’m wearing a crop top tied just below my breasts, and shorts that show the bottom part of my ass. It’s humiliating, but if it gets the job done, I’ll wear it morning, noon, and night.

“What game are you playing, Lyra?” He snaps, his eyes drawn to the junction between my thighs.

“I thought I’d made that obvious.”

“You know I’ll take care of you. That you don’t have to dress like that. Not now; not ever.”

I turn so that he can see my backside and give it a little wiggle, as Venus had instructed. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Your shorts are so damn short that if you bend over, I’ll see your pussy.”

“Wouldn’t you like that?”

I hear him suck in a long breath before exhaling sharply. “You’re not the kind of girl that wears shit like that, Lyra.”

“Because I’m a good girl, right?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Well, maybe I’m tired of being a good girl.”

“Good girls get their pussy licked.”

I grow wet with want, because I very much like the attention he promises, but this is about more than just feeling good. This is about survival.

“And what do bad girls get?”

“You don’t want to know that, baby girl. Now go get your clothes back on.”

I wish I knew how to dance or do any of the other things that entice men, but Venus’s instructions were limited.

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