chapter seventeen
by Quinn Hawthorne
“Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting,” I said breathlessly. And it was the truth. I didn’t know what I was expecting. In fact, I didn’t think I even expected him to be real. I mean, I knew he was real. Someone had to be speaking to me and using obviously shady connections to help me build my business. But it was different from actually hearing his voice. It made him very much real.
“That’s fair. I don’t know what I was expecting either when I found you. But I’m glad I did,” he said.
“How did you find me?”
He laughed. “Ah, that’s something for another day, doll. When we see each other face-to-face, I’ll tell you exactly how I found you.” My silence must have come through as panic to him, but in reality, I didn’t know what to say next. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else finding you. I’ve covered your tracks. Unless you wanted to be caught…” He paused before, in a rush, adding, “I don’t think I could ever let you go, so please don’t wanna get caught. At least not from someone other than me.” I could hear the smile, and his voice turned a little bloodthirsty at the end. His viciousness made my already pulsing clit throb, and I struggled to hold back a whimper.
“Oh, that is a beautiful sound, doll,” he purred. If I wasn’t so desperate to know more about him, I probably would’ve hung up by now out of complete embarrassment.
“You don’t sound like someone who likes gin and juice. You sound more of an angry orchard kind of guy,” I said, trying to redirect some of the conversation in my favor rather than letting him completely rule it.
He snorted. “Do drinks really have stereotypes? I thought only closed-minded people subscribed to stereotypical assumptions. You don’t seem close-minded, doll.”
“Not typically.” I grinned. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t apply stereotypes to someone I’ve never met.”
“Hey now, if the drink is good enough for Snoop Dogg, it’s good enough for me.”
“Speaking good enough for you, what should I call you besides my biggest fan?” I leaned back against the couch and threw my head back against the top of it, letting it rest as I stared absentmindedly at the ceiling.
He was silent for a moment as if he was considering what to tell me. I stayed silent along with him, waiting with bated breath for a sign. Taking in the shallow breathing on the other end of the phone, I wondered exactly what he was doing and where he was. Was he at his house? Did I catch him unaware, and he was currently sitting in a car? I couldn’t pick up any other sound outside of his breathing and maybe some wrestling of clothing as if he was moving. Perhaps he was walking somewhere, or he was one of those people who paced back and forth on a phone call.
Sometimes, I was like that, but when I felt that way, I was usually very uncomfortable with the caller. My year of sex work had helped me open up to being more relaxed and comfortable on the phone with the awkwardness. But my experience with that had nothing to do with this situation. It had everything to do with the fact that I wanted him. I wanted him so badly, but I was willing to go at the speed he was comfortable with. If he was only comfortable with conversations on the phone and giving me a false name for now? I was okay with that because I knew I was the endgame. There was nobody out there who would hold his attention like I would. I would make sure of that.
“Hadrian. My name is Hadrian.” His smooth, baritone voice broke through my line of thinking, giving me the answer I so desperately craved ever since that first email. This might not be his real name, but it was the name he gifted me to use, so it was a better name than anything.
“Hadrian…” I echoed. “It’s so nice to meet you, Hadrian.”
“The pleasure is all mine, doll,” he purred in response. “The pleasure is all mine.”
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