Chapter 1: The Billionaire's Muse

~ARIA~

The eviction notice looked so innocent sitting on my kitchen counter.

I knew I shouldn't open it but I did it anyway, because apparently I enjoy emotional masochism.

It states that I was three months behind. And I had thirty days to get out or hello, court date.

I’d already pawned my Mom’s pearl earrings, the last pieces of her that didn’t smell like a hospital.

At this point, I might just snap and fall down. I’d worked double shifts at the coffee shop until my legs felt like they’d been tenderized with a meat mallet.

Spoiler alert Aria: none of it was enough.

I stared out my broken window, at the city doing its dang best to break me and make me sleep on the streets.

I envied the Penthouse lights that twinkled like they knew exactly how broke I was since my light had been cut because I couldn't afford the bill.

For fuck’s sake, how do I fix this?

My phone buzzed. And Rebecca's name pops up on my screen.

Thank God. If I had to sit here marinating in my own doom any longer, I was going to start writing bad poetry as you must have realized those are only the talents I have.

I answered on the third ring, already exhausted. “If this is a telemarketer, I’m currently accepting donations to the Save Aria’s Ass Fund.”

Rebecca’s laugh crackled through the speaker. “Jesus, you sound like you ate gravel. Still no rich uncle dying and leaving you a fortune?”

“Miracles are on backorder,” I said. “What’s up?”

A pause. Rebecca never pauses.

“There’s… an opportunity,” she dragged out, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. “I didn’t want to bring it up before because it’s… a lot. But you’re at DEFCON broke, right?”

My stomach did a slow, interesting flip. “Define ‘a lot.’”

“Dante Moretti. Yes, that Dante Moretti. He’s looking for a live-in muse. Full-time arrangement. Pays enough to make your landlord cry tears of joy and probably buy you a new personality while he’s at it. Everything covered, apartment, wardrobe, food, even the fancy kind of lube. In return…” She trailed off like she was waiting for me to fill in the blank.

I already knew. “He wants to fuck me on retainer.”

“More likely to own you on retainer,” she corrected, almost cheerfully. “Whenever, however, wherever he wants. Contracted. No romance, no bullshit feelings. Six months, maybe less. The last girl left with enough cash to buy a small European country.”

I laughed, a little maniacal but you can't blame me. “You’re pimping me out to a billionaire sadist. This is the plot of bad p**n.”

“It’s the plot of a very expensive p**n,” she shot back. “With excellent production values. I can get you the meeting. Tomorrow night. His penthouse. If it’s too much, you walk. No one gets hurt except maybe your pride and bank account.”

I stared at the eviction notice until the ink blurred. Pride was a luxury I could no longer afford.

“Text me the address,” I said.

Twenty-four hours later I was standing in front of a mirror that hated me, wearing the black dress I’d bought for a date that ghosted me before drinks.

The gown clung to me like it was personally offended by my existence. I am offended by existence as well, sweetie.

I looked at my pink skin that I had scrubbed too hard.

My ladybug was going to be very happy since I had shaved so bald that even Dante would probably see his reflection there.

That's if he needs a mirror. Down to earth Aria. Don't be sarcastic. Don't chase him away. You need the money. If you get it you get to buy all your mother's jewelry back.

YOU CAN DO THIS!

I admired my glowing self and nodded in satisfaction. If I was going to sell myself, I was going to look like the deluxe edition.

The elevator ride to his penthouse felt like ascending to a guillotine with really good views.

Who ascends to the guillotine with good news Aria? I shake my head to clear my noisy mind.

I rang the doorbell, and I heard footsteps. My heart began beating rapidly, causing a ringing in my ears.

“ Drums down heart. We need the money.”

When the doors slid open, I almost bolted. But I didn't. Running won't feed me or bring back my mother's jewelry.

Dante stood at the windows like he owned the world which, let’s be honest, he probably did.

I mean, he is Dante Moretti after all.

He was wearing a black shirt, its sleeves rolled up, veins lined his forearms as well as a snake tattoo.

He has broad shoulders. And an ass that could make a nun reconsider her vows. When he turned, his gaze snapped me out of lustful thoughts.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice low, and amused.

“Traffic,” I lied, chin up, Aria.

His lips curved into a slow smile. It was predatory and once again, the voice in my head suggested we run.

“Liar.” He crossed the room in three strides and stopped close enough that I could smell cedar, citrus, and the kind of whiskey that costs more than my entire life.

Up close, he was obscene, with a sharp jaw, full cupid bow lip, and eyes the color of thunderheads.

“Rebecca said you’re desperate.” I flinched. I didn't like the word, but it's true.

“I’m behind on rent,” I answered, refusing to lower my gaze. “There’s a difference.”

“Three months. Eviction in thirty. Maxed cards. No safety net.” He listed my failures like he’d read my credit report for foreplay. “I don’t waste time, Aria. I want total access. Every hole. Every breath. You live here. You sleep in my bed unless I chain you somewhere else. You pose when I say pose. You come when I allow it. You don’t touch anyone else unless I’m watching and directing. In exchange, your debts vanish. Six months, or less if I get bored, you walk with enough money to never think about rent again. No romance. No illusions.”

My mouth went dry. My cunt, however, did not. Heat pooled between my thighs like a traitor. How depraved can I be to find this arousing?

I tilted my head. “You make that sound so romantic.”

“I make it sound as it is.” He stepped closer. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?”

I swallowed. “I haven’t said yes.”

“You haven’t said no.”

He reached past me for the black folder on the console. And handed it to me.

I opened it. The first pages were boring lawyer shit. Then I see…

Full fucking penetration, vaginal, anal, oral, at any time, with or without notice.

Restraints, blindfolds, impact play, sensory deprivation.

Orgasm control and denial at the Dominant’s discretion.

Public and semi-public exhibition at Dominant’s pleasure.

Each line made my pulse throb in my clit. By page three I was pressing my thighs together like that would stop the wetness leaking into my panties.

Dante watched me like a panther watches something already bleeding.

When I hit the exhibition clause, his hand lifted. Two fingers tilted my face up.

The touch was electrifying.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m reading,” I managed.

“You’re dripping.” His thumb dragged across my bottom lip. “I can smell how much you want this.”

A small, embarrassing sound slipped out of me. He didn’t wait for permission.

His mouth claimed mine in a brutal, hard, devouring kiss.

There was no gentle exploration; he kissed like he was already fucking me.

One hand knotted in my hair, the other yanked my dress up to my hips.

He backed me against the window. Cold glass pressed against my ass.

He tore his mouth away just long enough to growl against my throat. “Spread your legs, little liar.”

I did. Instantly. It was the fastest command I have ever obeyed.

His fingers pushed aside my soaked panties and he plunged two in without warning.

I gasped, lifting my head back against the glass in bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered.

I obeyed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he rasped, circling slowly on my clit as he curled the two fingers, hitting a spot that had my knees weak.

“Soaked for a man who just told you he’s going to own you like property. Ain't you pathetic?”

“Please…”

“Please what?” He added a third finger. Stretching and filling me. “Please stop? Or please wreck this greedy little cunt before you even sign?”

I whimpered.

His thumb circled my clit, relentlessly. “When you sign, this belongs to me. This mouth. This ass. I’ll fuck you whenever I want. I’ll make you cum until you sob. I’ll tie you up and leave you dripping while I work. And you’ll thank me for every second, won’t you?”

The filthy description of it snapped something inside me.

I came hard, shattering, clenching, my thighs shaking, a choked cry ripping from my throat. I rode his fingers through every tremble.

He pulled out his soaked fingers glistening, and pressed them to my lips.

“Clean them.”

I opened and sucked them, cleaning and tasting myself for the first time in my life.

Satisfaction flared in his eyes and he handed me the pen. My hand shook so badly I nearly dropped it.

I signed anyway.