It was a reasonable question. And I can't really tell if I knew the answer. As far as I could tell, I'm not someone that could attract the attention of someone like Matthew Bloomberg.
“I don’t know,” I told him. “But I like it.”
He frowned, the pained line I so wished to soothe away appearing between his brows. “I don’t like it. I don’t want to want this. But I can’t stop.”
Way to bring me back to earth with a bump. “Just a tip. When you’re attempting to negotiate a short-term, preapproved s****l encounter with somebody, maybe don’t tell them how much you’re resenting it?”
He released me and sprang to his feet, leaving me sprawled and disheveled on the carpet like some trash. Used, and not wanted. I sat up, hugging my knees and trying to protect what little was left of my modesty while
