Shacking Up(99)

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Really? What's he like?"

"Intense." I lean in to whisper, "He has a very dirty mouth and excellent stamina. He can go for hours."

Amie bites her lip and looks a little wistful. "Aren't you sore?"

"Only in the best way possible." I'm pretty sure I'm ruined for any other man. I'll have this unreasonable bar to hold all other men to. Bancroft Mills and his dirty mouth, and amazingly large penis are my new minimum standard. 

"Is he . . ." she trails off and does a few eyebrow raises.

I raise my own in question.

"Adequately endowed?"

"More than," I reply.

"More than?" She touches the necklace she's wearing. It's a gold chain with diamonds. Amie doesn't like yellow gold, she prefers white. I'm assuming the necklace was a gift from her thoughtful, clueless fiancé.

"So much more."

She swallows her mouthful of lettuce and leans in close. "How much more?"

I have no idea why Amie is so interested in the size of Bancroft's penis. "Are you asking me for approximate dimensions?"

She nods once. I look around the table for things that might be comparable. There's nothing. "Wider than a toilet paper roll and about yay long." I hold my hands apart and then widen the gap a bit until I get it just right.

"Wow," Amie breathes. "Wasn't that . . . uncomfortable?"

"He's incredibly adept at foreplay."

Her cheeks flush pink and she looks down at her salad, pushing the dry leaves around.

"It's never too late to trade in your current model for one with more girth, or length, or both." I spear a fry and bite the end off.

Amie snorts and brings her hand to her mouth, eyes darting around, embarrassed the sound came out of her, maybe. I miss the version of my friend who cared less about what people think. We should've gone to a non-posh restaurant so we wouldn't be forced to have this conversation in embarrassed whispers. I wish I cared less, too.

It's half past two in the afternoon by the time I get home-or back to Bancroft's condo. I'm nervous now. I've been enjoying the sex bubble we've been living in, but Amie has a point, we have to talk, and I have to make a plan to move out. I sincerely hope I haven't read things wrong and that this is about more than sex. I think it is. Our conversations up until now have me hoping it is.

The condo is the same as when I left it, which means Bancroft still isn't home. I should probably wash the sheets after last night's sexcapades. I stop at Francesca's cage first. She's been fed recently, by the look of things. Maybe Bancroft did it before he left for his emergency meeting.

"Hi, pretty girl." I nuzzle her head and carry her down the hall.

When I get to Bancroft's room I notice the bed isn't quite how I left it. It's still unmade, but there are a few items of clothing littering the mattress, namely the components that make up a suit. And his closet door is open.

My stomach does a little flip and I return to the kitchen, rummaging through my purse until I find my phone. I missed a call from him about twenty minutes ago. There's a voice mail.

"Hey. Hi, Ruby. Uh . . . look, I'm at the airport. I have to go back to London, there's an issue I need to take care of. I don't really know when I'm going to be back, but we need to talk and it probably isn't a phone conversation . . ."



There's a brief pause and a sigh.

"We need to make some adjustments with our arrangement. This has all happened a bit faster than I expected. I think maybe . . . Fuck. I'll try to call when I'm in London."



My stomach feels like it's trying to jump out of my throat. This doesn't sound good. I sit down at the island and note the envelope propped up against the bananas. I blush at the memory of what I did with one yesterday afternoon in a bid to distract Bancroft when he was busy with a phone call. It resulted in me being bent over the island, spanked, and then fucked.



       
         
       
        

The envelope has my name on it in his messy scrawl. I open it and find a wad of cash. Sliding the bills out I count it, twice. Jesus. He's left me five thousand dollars. I try to rationally analyze the exorbitant amount of money, but based on the message it sounds a lot like he's intending to pay me for sex.

I'm still holding Francesca. She's squirming to get out of my arms. I give her a couple of pets and set her on the floor.

Maybe I'm reading into things. Maybe I'm being dramatic. Maybe he's just being preemptive in case he's gone longer than he anticipates.

As I pass Bancroft's retro answering machine I note the flashing red number one. There's a message. I hit play.