Expensive - Amy Bellows Page 0,4
sip it while we read together companionably. She’s reading One for the Money by Janet Evanovich, and I’m reading a beautiful copy of Les Misérables I found in the library last week. It has a green hardcover with gold-edged pages thin as a Bible’s.
Victor Hugo’s words are as beautiful as I remember. I’m completely lost in Fantine’s tragedy when I hear footsteps approach. I set my teacup down and glance up to see Timber in front of me wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. I stare at him, dumbfounded. I didn’t see Marjorie leave, so I didn’t have time to mentally prepare. And yet here he is. Tattooed, muscled arms. Short red hair with silver flecks. Kind green eyes. He stands there, holding my blue folder, with a calm confidence that’s magnetic.
“Good morning. I’m Timber,” he says, holding out his hand even though I’m still sitting down. The implication is clear. He expects me to stand and come to him. I can’t help myself. I stand, knocking my tea. Luckily, it sloshes harmlessly inside the saucer. I walk over to him, and instead of giving him the firm handshake Marjorie taught me, I place my trembling fingers inside his large hand.
“Andrew Sullivan.”
He grips my hand hard while he shakes it. I don’t normally interact with alphas. It intensifies the bond ache. Even a simple handshake is enough to make my body warm and tingly. He releases me, and my hand feels cold.
“I see you’re drinking tea. Perhaps I could have some as well?” His voice lilts up at the end of the sentence, but it’s not really a question. It’s a demand.
“Yes, Sir.” My cheeks grow hot as I realize what I just said. “I mean, yes. I mean—”
“You may call me Sir.”
That makes my body warm and tingly. Timber glances down at the growing bulge at the front of my slacks, and his lip twitches up on one side.
He sits down at the metal table. I sit across from him where my tea is now cold. There’s an awkward moment of silence until I remember to call Marjorie back. I tap my phone a few times, and she comes walking out in the same suit she was wearing when Davey paid us a visit.
“Would you mind making Timber some tea?” I ask.
“Andrew will need more tea as well,” Timber says. “Thank you.”
Marjorie stiffens, clearly flustered at being ordered around by a stranger. But she still spins on her heel and does what she’s told.
“You’re in need of a hired knot.”
“No. I want to make some porn. I—”
“Let’s get one thing straight. You are not a porn star. I am an experienced performer with a strong following. I do not make films with amateur performers at this stage in my career. The films you’d make with me would not be distributed widely either. Let’s not fool ourselves. You are in need of a hired knot.”
“I am,” I admit. There’s no use in arguing with him now.
He looks me directly in the eye. “I’m a porn star, not a hired knot.”
I try to mask my disappointment. I finally get to meet the man of my fantasies, only to be rejected by him.
“Yes, you’re right.”
He slides the blue folder across the table. “In the back of the folder, you’ll find an updated contract with my terms. I sent a digital copy to your lawyer as well.”
I don’t understand. What terms? He just said that he was a porn star, not a hired knot. I open the folder and flip toward the new pages at the end. First, there are his STI test results. He wouldn’t include those unless he intended to have sex with me, would he? Next, is my list of desired sex acts. Most of them have check marks next to them, including my request to be called baby boy. I can’t help but smile at that. This is really happening. However, one of the items has a “hard limit” next to it.
“But I’ve seen you do Shibari in your videos,” I say before I can stop myself.
He leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Yes, but your bond ache may make it difficult for you to stay relaxed at first, which is necessary for Shibari. I don’t want our time together to cause you any nerve damage.”
His hard limit is about taking care of me. That makes my heart race. It’s such a Timber thing to do. I can’t believe I get to have sex with him.
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