At Mr. Cartwright's Command Read Online Free Page B

break this agreement anytime you want, but once you leave you can't come back. Those are the rules.  Because our next session will get a bit more,” his gaze dashes over me again, “Intense.”
    My eyes grow wide as a million dirty thoughts run through my mind.
    He smiles devilishly.  “So we'll see if you can keep up, Tamara.” 
    He hands me my clothes and I wonder where he gets off assuming I'm going to accept his deviant arrangement.  But before I can protest he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and places them in my hand.  “Just think about it. Oh and don't forget to lockup after I leave.”
    “Lock up? Lock up what?” Nothing he was saying made any sense.
    “Your apartment.  I hope you like it.”
    Confused, I glance around.  My apartment? The penthouse? No he couldn't mean that.
    “Wait, you don't live here?”
    His face scrunched.  “In this tiny place?  God no.” Tiny, really? ”But I hope you find it quaint.  If you need anything Ronald will check in with you in the morning.”
    I stand there flabbergasted, not knowing what to say. 
    He steps in front of me, lifting my chin with his fingers and touching my lips with his own.  His kiss is intense, almost as intense as his sex.  His tongue presses against mine and I suck it mercilessly. I would take plenty more of him right here, right now.  His mouth is intoxicating.
    I quickly realize this arrangement will work out perfectly.
    His lips leave mine and he says, “Good night, Tamara.”
     

CHAPTER 3
     
    I guess you could say I'm a “kept” woman now.  I live in the penthouse suite of the most exclusive apartment building in New York City.  I have a driver, a black card, and a closet full of designer clothes.  Yet most mornings I still awake thinking I'm back in that shelter, or nearly freezing on the streets, and most nights I fall asleep with the fear that I'll have to go back.
    Why?  Because this is only temporary and I'm aware of that. You can call me a pessimist, but I'm not, I'm a realist.  I don't remember much about my mother, mainly because I don't care to, but one thing she taught me stuck with me. “There ain't no such thing as a fairytale.  Especially not for people like us,” is what she always said.  And she was right.
    Every once in a while I wonder if she's still out there somewhere, and if she ever thinks about me...
    But I know from experience that things get really good right before you hit rock bottom again, and that's why I'm looking for a job instead of sitting on my laurels and eating bon bons all day.  Who needs bon bons, anyways? This opportunity is a godsend and I'm going to make the most of it.
    After a long day of job searching I couldn't be happier to come home and throw my shoes off.  Nothing feels better than having an actual home of my own to come back to.
    I rip my shirt over my head as soon I enter my bed room, and then come to a full stop when I see him.
    Mr. Cartwright is there, perched on the edge of my bed in all his sexy, erotic glory.
    Now this I wasn't expecting.
    I haven't seen Mr. Cartwright in two weeks since our initial... encounter.  He's been out of the country on business since then, and wasn't supposed to be back until the end of the month. And it's been torture thinking about him every night.
    But I quickly realize that he doesn't look happy.
    “I didn't expect you back for two more days,” I stammer when I see him.
    His face is cold and stoic, his jaw clenched.   I've waited not so patiently for him to return and I've planned out in my head, multiple times, what I plan to do to him.  And what I want him to do to me.
    But now that he's actually here I have no idea what to do.
    “Close the door, Tamara,” he says.
    With a click, I shut it behind me and my hand stays wrapped tightly around the knob.
    He doesn't move for a moment, just watches me intensely, the way he always does.  His legs are apart and his hands are resting on his knees.
    “I've heard you've been