Chapter 2

Teyara Moon

SIX YEARS LATER

“So you’re actually suggesting we walk away from this?” I asked, sliding my hands slowly up his neck.

His breathing instantly faltered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Come on, Teyara, the show was incredible while it lasted—the sex, the thrill, all of it. And I compensated you generously. But I just don't need a placeholder anymore; my parents have finally stopped breathing down my neck,” he countered, though a low groan escaped him as I shifted closer.

“Are you absolutely certain?” I murmured, biting my lower lip.

I let my hands trace a path downward, deliberately applying a soft, rhythmic pressure.

He let out a ragged grunt, his eyes fluttering shut under the sudden friction.

“Completely sure?” I repeated.

His eyes snapped open, his gaze dark as he captured my mouth in a sudden, breathless kiss.

“Just one last time,” he muttered against my lips.

I smirked against his mouth, nodding in agreement as I moved to undo his clothes.

Knowing exactly how to play the tease, I hadn't worn any undergarments today.

He picked up on the hint immediately, reaching down to slide my trousers over my hips.

His touch dragged upward from my ankles to my thighs.

I wasn't looking for drawn-out anticipation this time; this was our final encounter, and I wanted to leave an impression so deep he'd be haunted by it for weeks.

Before he could offer any sexual touch, I dropped to my knees, swiftly unbuckling his belt.

He freed himself, his cock already thick and fully erect—truthfully, he was built better than most men I’ve encountered.

We were pressed against the edge of his mahogany office desk, rendering the entire setup wonderfully reckless and uncomfortable.

I gradually backed him up until his weight was braced against the polished wood.

A satisfied smile played on my lips as he waited, completely at my mercy.

Brushing my hair over one shoulder, I lowered my head.

He groaned aloud, his fingers instantly tangling in my hair to hold me in place, urging me deeper.

I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock, catching the slick moisture already blooming at the tip.

His muffled moans echoed in the quiet room, a desperate attempt to ensure his administrative assistant outside didn't realize her employer was receiving a midday distraction.

I quickened the pace, his grip tightening as he guided my movements.

With a final, sharp grunt, he unburdened himself entirely.

I swallowed every drop without hesitation, using a single finger to swipe a stray trace from the corner of my lips before pressing it against his tongue so he could taste his own surrender.

“Goodbye, Adrian,” I whispered in his ear.

I retrieved my trousers from the rug and pulled them back on.

Without a word, he reached for his leather checkbook, scribbled a figure, and ripped the page out.

I took the slip, leaning in for one final kiss that left him visibly aching for more—but his assistant could handle whatever frustration remained; she’d likely be thrilled.

Turning on my heel, I sauntered toward the exit, adding an extra sway to my stride to guarantee I remained burned into his memory.

“Your boss might require some immediate assistance, you should head right in,” I told the secretary with a knowing wink as I passed her desk.

He had just written me a check for a hundred thousand dollars.

First things first: I needed to route half of this amount back home, masquerading as a generous gift from distant relatives.

My name is Teyara Moon, and I am a Girlfriend for hire, I can be a wife, a girlfriend, a mother, a Godmother, a sex partner to whoever was paying for the role.

For the last two and a half years, I’ve played the doting partner to nearly half a dozen elite clients, the duration entirely dependent on their individual needs.

Typically, physical intimacy isn't part of the contract—unless, of course, they are willing to pay an astronomical premium.

After the trauma involving Jax and the near-assault that followed, I had entirely locked down my emotions, dedicating every waking hour solely to my education.

Two and a half years later, I walked across the stage with a degree in Business Administration.

Yet, throughout my remaining time at the university, people refused to let the ghost of “The Pristine Prize” die.

The mockery was a constant undercurrent, and Jax’s lingering presence on campus was a perpetual reminder of my humiliation.

I forced myself to tune out the noise.

I had tried desperately to locate the mysterious girl who saved me that night, but she had vanished into thin air, alongside the two predators she had fought off.

I could only pray she hadn't suffered any retaliation after I fled.

A year after graduation, I packed my life and relocated to Los Angeles.

The job market was brutal, and corporate doors kept slamming in my face, forcing me to make a radical choice.

My parents were in desperate financial straits, yet they refused to look at me, labeling me a disgrace to the family name.

Despite their rejection, I still cared for them and wanted them provided for.

Being a woman with a history of desperate gambles, I took another unconventional leap.

It started with a client who desperately needed a glamorous girlfriend to convince his traditional circle he wasn't gay.

He was, but they didn't need to know.

Our arrangement involved public affection and heavy flirting, but never crossed into the bedroom.

Over the years, I catered to various men for ridiculous reasons, but the core of their needs almost always boiled down to a desperate desire for social acceptance and fitting in.

Having been an outcast myself, I understood that hunger perfectly.

The boundaries shifted the day my father’s farm was completely decimated by a storm; I needed a massive influx of capital immediately, and once I crossed that physical line for a client, the premium arrangements became standard.

But I had an exit strategy.

The moment I amassed enough capital to launch my own fashion line, I was done.

I already had the design portfolio ready; I just needed the financial backing.

Adrian had only lasted two weeks, yielding two intimate encounters, and now that contract was officially fulfilled.

I possessed a beautiful apartment and maintained a comfortable lifestyle.

Now, I simply needed a new client, and I knew precisely where to scout one.

Since arriving in LA, my social circle consisted of exactly one person: Chloe.

She was a professional model, and I had briefly maintained a clean, platonic contract with her brother.

Despite her rising fame, she always made time for me.

I had confided the nature of my profession to her, though I kept the traumatic backstory to myself.

She had offered financial assistance multiple times, but I always declined; I needed to build this empire on my own terms.

Earlier, she had mentioned an exclusive gala happening tonight and extended an invitation.

Believing Adrian would demand my afternoon, I had initially turned her down.

Suddenly, my doorbell chimed.

Since I hadn't ordered any deliveries, it could only be one person.

“Speak of the devil,” I murmured, pulling the door open as she immediately threw her arms around me.

“Tell me you changed your mind about tonight. Do you have a plus-one yet?” she asked.

“No,” I replied, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“Perfect!” I beamed. “I’m coming with you.”

Chloe squealed, squeezing me tightly.

“Amazing! Make sure you wear something absolutely breath-taking.”

“Why the sudden intensity?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Because there is someone incredibly important I need to introduce you to.”

“Oh, really? Who is this mystery man?”

“Jax Mitchell,” she answered.

And in an instant, my heart completely stopped.