the contract marriage

CHAPTER 5

Emily

His hand glides up my bare thigh, slipping under my skirt. I can feel his fingers slide aside my panties, teasingly exploring my slit. He groans at the wetness that has already pooled between my legs.

"Already wet, but not enough. Let’s fix that."

Before I can catch my breath, he descends my body, capturing my c**t in his mouth. I gasp, my hips bucking instinctively as he presses his hand against my lower belly.

“You taste better than I ever could, Imagen."

His fingers slip inside me, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through my body, making my back arch as I grasp his hair. "There’s that sweet spot, huh, baby?"

"Yes, yes, please don’t stop," I beg, moving my hips to match his rhythm. I cry out as he sucks harder, heat shooting up my spine as I teeter on the edge of my orgasm.

“c*m on my face, Emily. Show me what you look like when you come undone.”

My scream shatters the silence. "Oh god, Aiden!" Just as my orgasm crashes over me, he repeats my name, whispering it like a mantra—“Emily, Emily.”

I blink awake to find Aiden standing next to the couch, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. My cheeks flare with embarrassment as I realize the nature of my dream. Great. Just great. Sleep deprivation has officially driven me mad.

He points to the white bag on his desk. "Food is here."

I clear my throat, attempting to mask my mortification. “Oh, thank you. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

With a casual shrug, he replies, “It’s alright. I almost left, but then you moaned. Thought you were having a nightmare.”

My face burns even hotter. Dreaming of my boss and moaning in my sleep? I hope I didn’t say his name. One thing’s for sure: I’m not sleeping again. I’ll eat and wait until I get home—no risks.

After Aiden delivers our food, I resolve to stay awake for the rest of the workday. I ask for extra tasks to keep my mind alert, but when it’s finally time to leave, he drives me home, just as promised.

Once inside my bedroom, I collapse onto my bed, slipping into a deep sleep. It’s now afternoon, and Aiden’s had an emergency, so I’m free for the day—except for my shift at the club.

Feeling refreshed after a solid rest and a decent breakfast, I’m halfway through my laundry when my phone rings.

I smile upon seeing Maggie’s name flashing on the screen. “Hello, Mags! How’s the studying going?”

She sighs. “Exhausting. I’m stuck on a 2000-word sociology essay. Want to finish it for me?”

“Oh no, not happening. You got this, Mags. You’re smart.”

“Right, that’s why I barely scraped a 50% on my last one.”

I place the phone between my shoulder and ear, tucking a clean sheet on my bed. “You’re doing great. Just concentrate. Did you find ‘the one’?”

She laughs. “You’re joking. Every girl here is either straight or taken.”

Tucking the sheet into the mattress, I suggest, “Mingle off-campus.”

“Since when have you ever seen me mingle?”

She hates meeting new people. Unless she’s drunk, she struggles around strangers.

“We both avoid mingling. I’m awkward and anxious; you just don’t trust anyone.”

“How’s the second job going? I’m sorry you have to work so much. I wish I could help, but with my studies, I can’t. Over the summer, I’ll get a job and save money to help.”

I furrow my brows even though she can’t see me. “No, Mags, I’m the eldest. I take care of you. I just got a bill for a credit card I’ve never had. I’m still figuring it out.”

“It’s probably our parents using our names. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It’s possible. But they’d need ID. Maybe I took one out and forgot?

“I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough. Any plans for today?”

She sighs again. “No, I’m stuck in my room doing work. It’s due tomorrow.”

Grabbing my work clothes for the club, I say, “Focus on your studies and hang up. I want confirmation that you've finished that assignment.”

“Fine,” she mutters before adding softly, “Love you, sissy.”

“Love you too. Concentrate. Show them what you’ve got, Mags. Use that brain of yours.”

After hanging up, I have three hours until I must leave for work. Talking about bills with Maggie reminds me to check my mail.

Sorting through the stack, I find flyers, menus, and two envelopes—one addressed to me, the other for the previous tenant. I set the latter aside, writing “return to sender” on it.

Opening the envelope with my name, I scan the contents, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

No longer sitting on the couch, I start pacing. Why am I receiving so many bills? Rent and phone are my only expenses.

The letter is for another credit card—two thousand five hundred dollars. I storm over to my bag, rummaging through it. Did I really forget I had a card?

Nope, just my bank card. I’ve never taken out credit cards; I hate debt.

“This is bullshit!” I grab my phone and dial the number from the letter. I can’t afford this. I almost have enough for Maggie. Paying this means working longer at the club, which I dread.

For an hour, I pace, cursing under my breath. The man on the line informs me I have to pay, or they’ll initiate repo.

“Can’t you look into this? You only want me to pay?”

His voice softens. “Ma’am, we have a photocopy of your ID and letters with your name. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“It's fraud! I didn’t do this!”

He sighs. “I’ll file a claim for fraudulent activity. But for now, please pay to avoid any action against you. Your money will be returned once resolved.”

I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, suppressing irritation. “Fine.”

I transfer the payment, hanging up with a scowl. “Have a nice day,” the man says, but I mutter an ungrateful response under my breath.

I need to speak with Marcus. I’ll regret this, but I have two weeks to find the money, so I’m learning how to use that damn pole.

When I walk into the club fifteen minutes after calling Marcus, he’s already waiting for me, accompanied by Candy, who greets me with a wide smile.

I repeat to myself, “I regret this,” as she excitedly takes my hands. “It’ll be enjoyable!”

“I’m going to freak out on stage,” I confess. She must see my worry.

“Don’t stress. Men will love you. You’ve got the perfect figure. Just be confident and hold your head high.”

Marcus gestures for us to move to the back. “Change into your bra and underwear, then come on stage.”

My eyes widen. “My what?”

His cold gaze meets mine. “You’ll be in your bra and underwear.”

My heart races, hands clammy. Grabbing my arm, he gently pulls me towards the door. “Emily, you’ll be fine. No one will touch you. They will look, but they won’t touch; those are the rules. Just dance. You don’t have to remove anything.”

Searching his eyes, I seek reassurance. “They can’t touch me?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s against the rules. If they do, tell me, and I’ll handle it.” The casual way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

I lower my head. “Okay.”

“I’ll watch. If you’re ready, you can go on tonight—if you can hold yourself on the pole,” he smirks.

I glare at him. “Do I look weak?”

He meets my gaze, the smirk lingering. “Okay, maybe not, but I don’t lift weights like you do.”

He trails his finger down my arm. “Maybe you should put some meat on those bones.”

Is he implying I’m too skinny? “Excuse you! I know you’re dangerous, but have some manners. That’s not nice.”

He shrugs, “It was a compliment.”

“Then you should return to class on how to speak to women.”

He glares at me. “Dolor en mi culo, amor. Ve a prepararte.”

He’s never spoken to me in Spanish before, and it catches me off guard.

As I get ready, nausea washes over me. Candy reassures me that it’s just Marcus and Vinnie watching, but that doesn’t calm my nerves.

I need to be brave and own this choice. It’s only for a couple of nights; I can handle it.

“Swing your body up so you’re hanging upside down,” Candy instructs, demonstrating as she gracefully flips herself around the pole.

“I can’t do that,” I protest.

She pulls herself up and slides down, urging me to try. Vinnie sets a mat below for safety.

Shaking, I grasp the pole with both hands, worried I might fall with the bandage on my hand. But when I swing, I’m surprised I don’t crash to the floor. “See? You got it!” Candy claps. “Again!”

We practice until Marcus calls out, “Pirouette.”

Candy pouts. “But that’s too easy.”

He barks, “She needs easy. You’re not new; do as I say.”

She lowers her head. “Yes, sir.”

She glides to the pole, extending her arm above her head and spinning gracefully.

“Okay, I get it; it’s like a ballerina. I can do that.”

Confidence blooms as I practice more moves, especially with Marcus’s approval ringing in my ears.

As I sip water, he says, “When you’re up there, don’t look disgusted. Come sit with me and watch Candy.”

I take a seat at the front of the stage. “See how she owns it?” he encourages.

I nod, taking in her confidence. “Your body is your key. Move seductively, and the men will shower you with money.”

I just hope tonight won’t end with me face down on the stage, needing twenty stitches in my head.