Corrupting Chastity - Krista Wolf Page 0,3
needs and perversions.
Really? Needs and perversions?
I took a deep breath as the sky darkened further. No, I wasn’t letting anyone down, I decided. If anything I was putting myself first for once, and that made me happy. For far too long I’d been trading pieces of my life away to make everyone else’s life easier.
And for tonight at least, that was going to change.
Three
CHASTITY
He entered the room right on time, walking with confidence rather than swagger. Tight black shirt. Tighter jeans. He looked even taller than in the photos, more handsome, more masculine. And his eyes…
His eyes were a beautiful hazel color, set beneath thick dark brows. I hadn’t seen those eyes before, in any of his photos. Like most escorts protecting their identities, he’d only taken pictures from the nose down.
My God, he’s perfect.
It had been my first worry — that Senan would show up and somehow he wouldn’t be the man in the photos. Or the photos would’ve been old. Or any number of things that could’ve screwed this up for me.
Instead though, he was absolutely gorgeous.
And shouldn’t he be? It’s his job to look like this.
It took him a moment to find me based on my outfit: a blue and white checkered sweater with my most hip-hugging black skirt. Matching black boots. Black-rimmed glasses and a nervous smile.
“Ah, there you are.”
I stood as he approached, winding his way through the coffee nook in the back of the bookstore. The place had been open forever, but by now the ratio of coffee shop to books was almost fifty-fifty. It didn’t bode well for the book side of things.
“Chastity, right?”
He extended his hand, which was as smooth and handsome as he was. I took it mechanically, marveling at the size. Wondering if it meant what I thought it could mean.
“Hi.”
We sat down across from each other at the little round table, like two opponents squaring off. In fact there was a game board painted in the middle, for chess or checkers. You could get the pieces for either from the barista, if you went up and asked.
“Can I get you anything?”
His voice was smooth and velvety, his smile warm and charming as hell. I could tell it was probably his opening line. I wondered how many times he’d uttered it.
“Coffee?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder at what was available. “A pastry? Or—”
“No, thank you,” I cleared my throat. “Actually I don’t drink coffee.”
Senan seemed immediately taken aback, but also a little amused. “Well I don’t know if I trust you then.”
“Why?” I asked. “Because I don’t drink coffee?”
“Well you did ask me to a coffee shop.”
“Technically I asked you to a bookstore with a coffee shop in it,” I replied. “Although I don’t know how much longer they’re going to be selling books here.”
His smile widened as he glanced around. “Me neither.”
“I guess it was more so we could meet in public than anything else,” I admitted. “I’m wary, obviously. And not that good with strangers.”
My guest leaned forward in the little seat that was way too small for him, and folded his arms on the table. His tattoos danced as the barista approached and he waved her away.
“You’re doing great so far,” he said nonchalantly.
My heart was pounding wildly, pushing hot blood through my veins. And I could smell him now, too. The leather of his open jacket. A whiff of something musky and wonderful that might’ve been cologne, or might just have been his natural scent.
“So how exactly does this go?” I asked, throwing myself completely at his mercy. “I mean, not insofar as what we’d be doing. I get that part. I guess I mean the logistics of everything, and how we’d—”
“Chastity, relax.”
His voice was low and manly, but also somewhat kind. He looked comfortable. Casual. Like he’d been here the whole time and it was I who’d just arrived. I took a deep breath and felt my shoulders slump. Seeing him like that somehow relaxed me.
“The whole thing might seem overwhelming at first, but it’s actually pretty simple,” Senan went on. “First you pay my fee—”
“I already have.”
His brows crossed for a moment as he pulled out his phone and punched up his Venmo account. He checked it quickly and smiled.
“So you did,” he confirmed. “You paid too much, though.”
“I know we discussed an hour,” I said quickly, “but I paid your 90-minute rate. Whatever we end up doing, I didn’t want to rush.”
The handsome man seated across from me nodded, but slowly.