BILLIONAIRE’S PLAY THING

"Ethan, I just can't keep doing this for you. Your rent is three months late." My landlord's voice shouted through the thin door, full of irritation. I didn't even bother responding. What was the use? Was I to say that the money was coming? That all would be fine? That I'll pay soon? They were all lies. And he already knew them all.

I sat down at the end of my bed, staring at the pile of unpaid bills resting on the nightstand. They looked more like frustration with the touch of death sentence than they did actual papers.

Electricity overdue.

Rent overdue.

Loan sharks curling around.

And my mom… vanished.

I had borrowed, begged for so many favors, saved every penny I could just to buy her more time. But it was not enough. Her health diminished until she dwindled away, leaving me with only debt, pain and silence.

And the silence was more piercing than any threat from my borrowers. No safety net, no family. Just me choking in misery.

I laid on the bed and grabbed my phone. Job hunting had become my religion for weeks now. Scroll, click, apply and a day or couple of hours later, get a rejection. Either "You're underqualified." Or "Not qualified." Sometimes I got no rejection, just blank.

Anger boiled in my chest. "Shit," I growled, ready to throw the phone on the ground. But just as I was about to, something caught my attention.

A little ad. Sitting at the bottom of the page on an ad website, so old it could have been more suited to the '90s.

"Male companionship in exchange for security. Discretion guaranteed. Serious inquiries only."

I laughed loud. "Right."

At first, that was all I could do. Laugh. Who would even post such things? And then I reread it. And again… and then my heart started racing, because… what if?

I understood what "companionship" meant and I knew how much these rich women were willing to pay for it. I wrestled with my pride, this was not my code, but codes did not pay the bills and this would.

My thumb hovered over the reply key for minutes. My heart pounded as if I were going to jump off a cliff. And in fact, I felt as if maybe, just maybe I was.

But finally, I laid my standards aside and pressed two words on my keyboard.

"I'm interested."

The response came almost immediately. I was sent a private email. It was short and direct:

"Meet me at The Blackwell Tower at 8 PM. Penthouse. Alone."

Just the kind of vague message that made you wonder if you'd even see tomorrow. I should have shut my laptop and headed back to figuring out what piece of furniture I could sell again but instead, I was showering, shaving and trying to make myself look like a human who hadn't been chewed up and spat out by life.

By the time I was standing outside Blackwell Tower that night, I almost turned around three times. The building itself was intimidating, glass and steel combined, glowing like a beacon for people who belonged to a world where I shouldn't have set foot. But I forced myself in anyway, because my hunger was more overpowering than my terror.

The front receptionists looked up the moment I walked in. Their smiles weren't genuine, they were practiced and calculated, as if they recognized me and knew why I had stopped by.

"Mr. Hale?" one of them inquired. Her voice gave me the chills.

"Yeah." My voice cracked.

"Blackwell awaits. This way."

Her heels clicked across the floor as she led me to an elevator that looked like it belonged in a bank vault. She inserted a card, pushed the top button and the doors creaked open with a sound that sounded absolute.

"Good luck."

The ride up the elevator to the penthouse was as if I was ascending into a different realm. My reflection in the mirrored walls seemed pale, tense and unreal and before the doors opened, I was actually sick to my stomach. I looked at myself once more and straightened my shirt.  And just as I raised my head, my eyes met the very last person I woukd have thought of. 

Dominic Blackwell.

He didn't have to introduce himself to me, I knew it already. The man oozed power, the kind that made the air swirl around him. He stood tall with broad shoulders, and wore a crisp suit that could have paid me a year's worth of rent. He was older than I was, but perilously so, like a wolf who'd already tasted blood and didn't mind hunting again.

"Ethan Hale," he said, his voice a low growl that shook the floor under my feet. "You came."

“Came.” The word seeped into me like a promise I hadn't anticipated. "Yeah," I said, my voice tense. "I… I got your message."

He smiled then. Slow and calculated. As if he already knew everything about me. "I don't waste my time on small talks so I will be straight. You need cash, I need... a friend." His eyes went round, sizing me up. 

My throat went dry as the harsh reality hit me. "Sorry, what?"

"I do not like to repeat myself."

"I'm sorry but I didn't know it was a man who needed my… services," I managed to say.

He just laughed. "You'll be mine for one year. No questions or boundaries and in return, I'll clear your debts, take care of your maintenance, and give you all the security you've never dreamed of."

He'd totally brushed me off. His language was crude, profane, frightening… and strangely exciting. I couldn't get the fantasies I never spoke aloud into the light swimming around my head at night. Fantasies I pushed down and told myself were nothing.

"I…" I swallowed. "And what happens after that one year?" I heard myself say.

"In a year, you're walking away debt free. Well, that's if you can even walk away." He grinned, his lips twitching with amusement.

For what felt like the umpteenth time, I was at a loss for words. Something in the way he'd spoken told me that this had nothing to do with money or sex… or friendship. This was control and letting go. And for reasons I dared not acknowledge, some part of me wished to say yes.

But I just couldn't bring myself to sign it. This was not an ethical thing to do but the prospect of it still made my dick hard.