Rent: Paid in Full (Bad Decisions, #1)

by Jesse H. Reign

“You know what to do if you want me.” His lips tug back, full and luscious, and he lets his gaze run down my body. His eyes narrow and he cocks his erection at me. Openly flirtatious. Completely irresistible. “And what’s that, huh?” I smile sweetly and rest my chin on one hand. “Pay me.”

“I only have a hundred and”—he counts his small notes frantically—“twenty-three dollars on me.” I smile and shake my head with faux regret. “A kiss,” he breathes. “Just a kiss. Please.”

I turn my head sharply to the side so he can’t kiss me. It’s a mistake. I’ve fallen straight into his trap. I’ve exposed my jugular. He doesn’t miss it. Predators seldom do. He goes in for the kill, kissing my neck ravenously. Wet. Open-mouthed. Hungry.

“How much?” he rasps into my neck as he kisses me over and over. “Want you.”

“I want to be inside you,” he whispers and then laughs softly as if he’s amused himself. “No, I don’t want it. I need it. Just my tongue inside you.” I feel his breath on my ear, hot and desperate. It compromises me irrevocably. It takes all the faculties needed to make good decisions and drops them into a blender. “And my fingers. Please. How much?” “Seven hundred dollars,” squeaks a person who sounds nothing like me.

I wave wildly at my neck and demand an answer through extreme overuse of my eyebrows. “Had to do it,” he says with one of those careless one-shoulder shrugs. “Want everyone to know.”

I can’t tell if I want to fight or to fuck. The only thing I know for sure is that I want. I want so big and so hard and so deep that I can’t think of anything else.

Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together, for the love of all that is holy. Stop thinking about Miller. Stop smiling for stupid reasons. Stop looking at his mouth. And for Christ’s sake, stop trying to catch a glimpse of his tongue when he talks.

“Seriously, Ry, if you don’t want to, just say so. I don’t want you to do anything unless you want to. Despite what you might think of me, I don’t want that.”

Why do people hate Miller?!

He’s going to kiss me, and he’s giving me time to stop it. Or accept it.

“You know these pieces of you?” he says softly, looking down at my lips. “The ones you sell to me? Well, they’re like anything else. Once I’ve bought them, I own them. They’re mine.”

“So hot, I can’t take it.” His hand moves down my body, and his breathing becomes labored. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

“Have you been touched like this before?” he asks. I shake my head dumbly. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel good.”

He smiles. Not sneers. Not grins. He smiles like he’s looking at someone he likes.

He touches me gently and respectfully, so fucking respectfully, and for some reason, that makes it even harder to take.

Cause you know me so well.” The scary thing is he’s not even bullshitting right now. I do know him. I’m starting to know him anyway, courtesy of how he seems completely unable to go to sleep at night unless he’s spent ages asking me about myself and telling me random things about him.

I know he thinks the plural for penis should be penii instead of penises.

Um same actually and I'll die on that hill

I know that his love language is acts of service. Not because he told me. Not even because he can’t stop doing shit for me, but because when I poured him a glass of water without thinking once, he looked about as happy about it as it’s possible for a human being to look.

I know he looks happy when he has sex. With me. I know he looks happy whenever we’re touching.

“Yeah, that grumpy, uptight little butt of yours needs a dick in it.”

“I wanna be the one to do it. To strip you naked and spread you open. I wanna be the first one to rail you. Mmm, yeah. I want it to be me. It has to be me. I’ll lose my mind if it’s anyone else.”

my piss slit,

Please don't call it that

“How much?” Miller’s voice startles me, a rude reminder that I’m not alone. I quickly let go of my dick. “Huh?” “How much for your ass?” “One thousand dollars,” I say without pause, with no hesitation whatsoever. I even have the nerve to sound sure of myself. Miller doesn’t skip a beat. “Done!”

I can’t believe it. I literally cannot believe Ryan’s agreed to let me fuck him. I’m so happy it feels almost impossible to lie still.

“Tell me something,” I say after a while. He acts like he hates it when I do this, and maybe he does, but I know it helps him fall asleep faster.

That is so fucking cute

When I think about the fact that life got hold of him at thirteen and taught him something different, it makes me crave violence. Seriously, crave it. It makes my chest feel tight, and I have to consciously fight the urge to clench my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms.

fighting the desperate urge to get out of my bed and into his. To be close to him. To rest my head against his and put a hand on his chest so I can feel his ribcage expand and retract. To lie next to him and feel the heat of his body against mine.

I think about the fact that soon, I’m going to have him. I’m going to thrust into him and hold him. We’re going to sweat and moan together. I’m going to fuck him until this lust leaves me. So help me, God, I’m going to fuck him until I can’t anymore.

I love how sweet he is when the lights are out, and I love how angry my existence makes him when they’re on. I love how he seems to expect me to run around helping him despite the fact he’s a nightmare, but most of all, I love how much he hates it that with every day that passes, he’s having a harder and harder time hating me with his whole chest.

when the sun’s up, he’d still push me from a moving vehicle the first chance he got, but I think there’s a chance he’d regret it. Not deeply or anything like that. But probably a little. And I think that’s called progress.

He’s one of those people who needs space now and then, and as the future love of his life, I think it’s important that I’m sensitive to that.

Delulu king, I love him

I’ve had to stop myself from begging Ryan to let me fuck him earlier at least twenty-seven billion times this week. And that’s a conservative estimate.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands as soon as he’s within earshot. “Waiting for you.” I give him my most winning smile. “Romantic, huh?” “There’s something really wrong with you, you know that, Miller?” I hand him the umbrella, and when he takes it, I sidle up a little closer to him, putting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him close.

God that would totally work on me

“Nervous?” He doesn’t answer, but his Adam’s apple rises and falls. I stroke my hand up and down his back. He shrugs me off halfheartedly. “‘Cause you don’t have to be. I’ve got you. You know that, don’t you?”

I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. For as long as I’ve been me. For lifetimes I don’t even remember.

I still don't understand the Miller hate

Letting Miller fuck me is obviously a terrible, terrible idea. You don’t need to tell me that. I’m well aware, thanks. I know it’s insane. I know it’s reckless and idiotic. And I know it’s a horrible lapse in judgment. It’s clear as day. So why am I doing it, you ask. It’s called money, Susan. It’s called making a thousand dollars, okay?

Ryan's inner monologues are everything

He looks so different, so much softer than the Miller he shows other people. I have to fight the urge to smile.

“Money or not, you stop me if you don’t like it.” His voice finds me through dense fog. “You got that, Ry?”

He’s smiling, obviously. He’s never looked happier. That doesn’t surprise me. I expected that. Miller always smiles when he has sex. And God only knows, we just had sex and then some. What does surprise me, what shocks the unholy shit out of me, is that there, right next to Miller, I see my own reflection, dazed and confused, with a big, dumb smile plastered all over it.

My stalking skills are now what I’d call better than intermediate. I’ve really got the hang of knowing what props I need for each outing.

Jeremy Volkov, that you?

“I thought you said no talking in the library?” I whisper, scandalized. “Miller!” “Ryan.” He loses the smile battle, biting down hard on his bottom lip, all but sucking it into his mouth to hide it.

In love with them

“Mouth, hands, ass,” I whisper. “All yours.” He opens and shuts his mouth and sucks a stuttered breath in. “Yours. No charge.”

Solid steel in brand-new denim. Denim I paid for. Denim he bought with money he earned with his ass.

“I’m going to fuck you later,” I promise, looking at his dick and then his face. “I am. You’ll see. I’m going to fuck you, Ry. And you know what you’re going to do?” I don’t give time to answer. “You’re going to let me. And you’re going to love it.”

Now that I know what it feels like inside you, I can’t think of anything else.” My hand moves down him, a velvet glove sliding over sinew and veins. “I want you. I want you all the time. Every minute. Every second.” My voice is hoarse and desperate. I don’t make any attempt to hide it. I can’t. “Mm, the things I’m going to do to you, baby…”

I’m going to make you ride me. I’m going to lie on your bed and watch you take my dick. I don’t care if I come or not. I just want to lie back and watch you. Want to see you move. Want to see you full. Want to see you come apart all over my chest. Want to taste it. Taste you.

It’s connection. It’s affection. It’s a feeling of being close to someone in a way I haven’t felt before.

Even though the fuck that follows is epic. Even though he rides like a nervous newbie, he quickly turns pro, and he moans like a pro too. Even though he comes so hard he shoots come on my chest and my neck, the best thing about it isn’t being inside him. It’s not the orgasm or the way his ass clenches around me. It’s not even the way his eyes roll back and his mouth drops open in ecstasy. It’s not the way he looks at me, although, believe me, that’s a close second. It’s the fact that when it started, when we kissed, he leaned in first.

EEEEEE

“I already know what I want next time,” I say. A lazy brow cocks. “Washing machine sex? Forget it, Miller. Never going to happen.” “Nah, I don’t want washing machine sex. I want The Boyfriend Experience.”

The Boyfriend Experience is when a sex worker is paid to provide services commonly associated with being in a romantic relationship. Things like going on dates, holding hands, soft kisses, sweet words, making love as opposed to fucking.