Not a request

ELEANOR POV

Fucking a man is an humiliation ritual unless he’s worth something: Beauty, money, influence... or a good dick.

Banks has it all and he's quite good with them. All.

My request for "time to think" isn't because I’m looking for a relationship.

Men like him don't do "girlfriends." But being his fuck-toy comes with quite the rumor and backlash.

First: Johnny, my ex-boyfriend will notice since we work together. Yes- he's my supervisor. We only broke up three weeks ago. He’ll talk about it, namecall me and I'll hate it.

Banks supersedes him in every ways no doubt, but Johnny is younger than Banks. Banks is probably in his early forties or late thirties.

Second: Men like Banks are brutal. I’m afraid being his toy means I’ll eventually be expected to "share."

I’ve fantasized about a threesome, but with a man who runs casinos and clubs known for "unsavory" deals? Nope. I’m afraid I’ll be tied into things that aren't pretty.

Third: He’s proven aftercare isn't his style. I hate the idea of being treated like a prostitute.

And lastly, I’ll be disposed off.

When he’s done, I’ll be trashed like the rest. People that would've seen us together during the periods he call me in will know I've been discarded by him when he's done. My reputation will be stained.

But then... I look at my bank balance. Ten thousand dollars for one night. It’s life-changing, reputation be damned.

Geez! Ten thousand dollars to fuck me.

If I’m honest, this is the best job I’ve ever had.

Getting satisfied by a man who actually knows how to use his dick? I can suck him all day. Huge, filling, and he doesn't even smell bad. My ex had a scent that made me stop giving blowjobs— part of why we failed.

I got thoroughly wrecked and still got paid. I can turn my life around.

Honestly, I'll wipe away the tears of people's backlash with the money he'll pay me but still... I'm reluctant. The stain of being one of Banks’s used girls doesn't wash off easily. One just finished battling a court order of paternity tests and whatnot. It's quite the distaste gossip online.

I value my reputation because, I'll make it big.

In this city, I'll make that name and six figures. Surely.

And, I might one day need helps, I don't want my rendezvous with someone as unscrupulous as him to taint my hard labour.

I take out my phone and text him:

"I appreciate the offer, but I’ll decline. Goodbye, Master. Sorry...Sir."

The last part is a bit of humor. A "fuck you" very much.

It's past six a.m and a part of me believe he's awake. Yet,no reply.

I head to work.

Three p.m.

The day has been slammed. I’ve been standing for eight hours, and my feet are screaming. My colleague, Samantha, is finally here to take over but still unhelpful.

"Do you have another card, sir?" I ask the customer.

"I’m on...."

The customer’s words fade as a heavy gust of wind follows someone into the shop. My chest tightens and throat go dry. Standing there is Banks. The same man I rejected eight hours ago.

Hands in his pockets, face like granite, muscles spasming beneath his shirt. He walks closer, saying nothing, just stares and I hiccup.

"Welcome, sir," I manage to greet but no reply. He just stare at me.

"Try this one," the customer says, drifting my gaze away from Banks. Card Failed.

"Maybe our network is poor."

It’s a lie. I just need this customer to leave so I can be alone with him... Or rather, so I can escape.

Samantha is sitting beside me. Covered by the high desk, glued to her phone as usual, leaving me to handle the floor.

I've shouted, fought, complained. It all ended with- I'll change. Three days of said change then she relapses and I'm tired.

I concluded all I've to do is leave immediately it clocks three p.m. But as seen, delays happen.

"I need this. It’s an emergency," the customer insists.

"I’m sorry, sir," I say and Banks grimaces. I shouldn't be watching him, but I can't stop. My eyes unwillingly finds him

"Get your manager," the customer demands.

"I’m an old client here."

Of course the familiarity card. I sigh and reach for my phone. Seconds pass with Banks glaring at the man, while rubbing the back of his neck.

"She’s not picking up, sir," I tell the customer.

"It’s not my fault your terminal is faulty!" Here we go with voice raise.

"I'm sorry Sir."

"I’ll pay." Banks cuts in, stepping closer to the man. His voice low, deceptively calm, but edged with a terrifying finality.

"I’m not poor," the man snaps and there we're with the male ego.

"Not at all, sir," Banks says, his neck tight.

"But you’re taking the time I need with her."

What. The. Fuck. My pulse and cunt drops. The customer looks between us and Samantha finally looks up from her phone.

"This is my card. I’ll pay you back," the man says, passing a card towards Banks who doesn't collect it. He drops it on the table, grab his bags and flee.

"Mast..." Banks eyebrows shoot up and I stop.

"His total was four hundred dollars sir" I correct with trembling voice. Banks passes me his card, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I’ll do it, Mr. Banks!" Samantha chirps, snatching the card.

"I’ll decline," Banks states, stopping her cold while still looking at me.

"I just wanted to help sir" Samantha voice with a sad tone. I know Banks meant the message I sent but it doesn't stop me from collecting the card and swipe it.

"Thank you,....sir." He grimaces and I stifle a laugh.

What does he have against the word "sir"?

Eyes on my lips, neck. He doesn't look away or collect the card and it suddenly feels cold.

I gulp, the silence breeding totally heavy and loud.

"Get your things and follow me." He finally say and turn, walking away. Sam looks between us then back at me.

"You... him?" She stutters as I sign out and go for my bag from the back.