It would have risen suspicion that a Senator in Washing D.C. took in a young girl and offered her a place in his home or another property. It would cause a raging storm of media frenzy.

  I also cannot allow her to be unguarded in those dangerous homes where she could be taken advantage of when I’m not there to save her. She needs me to fend off those men who gaze at her with desire.

  Stephanie is physically weak; she has no idea how strong a man in a haze of lust can be.

  I would fall into madness if anyone dared to lay a hand on her delicate skin, which is why I stand by my decision to let two of my most trusted bodyguards to go undercover as other homeless men to provide her twenty-four-hour protection when I get held up in meetings.

  Invasion of privacy is the last thing I think of when it’s Stephanie’s wellbeing in question.

  I am a man of logic and reason. I do not allow my emotions to interfere with my decisions and I certainly do not fall in love at first sight.

  I was proven wrong, and I gladly took that defeat.

  Her supple skin, radiant smile, and a heart of gold is my addiction. I crave to be near her and watch her eyes light up when she sees me.

  Me.

  I am the one she looks forward to seeing. Warmth flares in my heart when I find her bright eyes looking at me so lovingly, and I am determined to set her course of life in my direction.

  My career choice as a politician going into Senate is a means to an end. I wanted to test my powers of persuasion to the people around me, and it’s safe to say that they have no idea what kind of a psychopathic man they are dealing with.

  I prefer the term intelligence, but whatever they call me, it has nothing to do with my intentions regarding Stephanie.

  “Mr. Sloan?”

  I stifle down the purr resonating in my throat. A shiver runs down to my thickening cock, and I fix my expressions with a smile before turning around to face her freshly-showered body.

  Steam is still coming off her body, her blonde hair dried and fluffed with a faint scent of lavender as she shyly shuffles towards me with a pair of slippers that I had for her.

  I am not ashamed to admit that I had a room full furnished with her in mind, clothes and all expensive necessities for her to stay as long as she wishes, and if she wants to leave, then I can convince her the shelters are not safe.

  The nightgown does no justice to the beauty of her young body. It’s short and lacy, a soft pink to match her pureness and a sheer lace over the silk material.

  My eyes are keen; her measurements are easy to see if I observe long enough, and I have had so much time over the last three months to find that raggedy clothes she has are a disgrace to her.

  She doesn’t have to worry any more about having the scratchy fabric dragging on her skin.

  “You must be hungry,” I said, putting my hand on the sensual dip of her waist to her ass.

  Her answer is choppy and awkward as she tries to tug down the short and sexy nightgown when I steer her in the direction of the large dining area with a kitchen and an island.

  The chairs behind the island are a perfect viewing sight to whoever is cooking in the kitchen.

  She would be looking at me.

  “I don’t want to— I shouldn’t…” Stephanie trails off quietly when my eyes meet hers, and I know it is a cheap trick to use my authority over her to make her listen to me, but I have no regrets.

  “Do they not feed you in the shelters?” I scowl, rubbing a thumb over her lip.

  Her flushed cheeks get redder.

  Of course they don’t. I know everything that goes down in that rotten place, and there are too many homeless people to properly feed them with the amount of food donated. My bodyguards reported back to me that sometimes Stephanie wouldn’t eat because she would give her food to the people who couldn’t get anything.

  My guards offer, because if they didn’t, I would have their jobs, but she would still refuse as she thinks they will starve.

  Those men do not look like they missed one meal in their lives.

  “You will not sleep on an empty stomach; it’s not good for you,” I said, picking her up by the waist and putting her on the stool.

  I let my hands linger on the smoothness, and although my face is expressionless, my mind is having a chaotic storm as I see the nightgown lift and show her small hips covered with a white pair of panties that I had brought in her room.

  Filthy images flash in my head, and I soak them all in to be used during the night when my yearning for her increases.

  “I’m used to it, Mr. Sloan.”

  I drop my hands to avoid her mind kicking up any suspicion of my overly-affectionate touches.

  “We have talked about this, Stephanie.”

  She flushes, correcting herself in a stuttering voice, “Victor.”

  I can’t get over how utterly satisfying it is to hear my name from those plump lips. It would be much more gratifying if they were wrapped around my thick cock.

  “That’s like a good girl.”

  My hunches are confirmed when her face gets on a new level of red. She is fidgeting in her seat as she shies away from my gaze.

  Stephanie wants attention. Being taken care of is the best thing she can get. If she is a good girl who will listen to everything I say, my wealth is at her disposal.

  In her subconscious, she is forced to grow up too fast and learn to take care of herself that she doesn’t know that she wants someone to take care of her and let her be young for once.

  I can do that for her.

  One word, and I will do anything to make her happy.

  “Now, you will sit here and eat.”

  Before she went to shower, I had made something for her, something light as to not upset her stomach with the heaviness of a big dinner. I had thought of that because it is common knowledge to never overfeed anyone with a small appetite.

  I push the bowl of chicken salad to her. It’s a good balance of greens and protein. I need to get the rest of the nutrition into her body somehow, but that can wait until morning.

  “Thank you,” she smiles, ducking her head away with red ears.

  I sit on the stool beside her and pat her naked thigh, “You are welcome, love.”

  Watching her cheeks move is endearing. It’s as if I am adopting a pet hamster and watch it eat. Stephanie does have some qualities of being a pet; the obedience with a desire to please others, kindness and loyalty to those who have the fortunate chance of meeting her, and the big hazel eyes begging to be plucked from this filthy world and into my home so I can nurse her back to health.

  “Do you have work tomorrow?” I ask with the answer in mind already, but I figure she doesn’t know that I have her whole life story memorized. Otherwise, she would be terrified of this older man knowing details that she had not disclosed yet.

  She shakes her head, confirming my thoughts. “No.”

  “Good,” I said, watching her little neck roll with the water as she tips her head back.

  When she puts the glass back down on the marble counter, she licks her pink lips, and my cock surge looking at the wet, little muscle.

  “Good?” she furrows her brows in confusion.

  “There have been dangerous activities around the shelters. You are not safe there.”

  Her lips turn down, and they wobble despite her best effort to stop them, “Oh…”

  “Love,” I get her attention as she meets my eyes, my heart flies against my ribs at the gut-wrenching tears filling her hazel eyes.

  “Do not worry, I won’t leave you.”

  She swallows thickly, “I-I have to find a new place—”

  I push her plump lips with one finger to attract her attention, “You will stay here with me until we can find a proper home for you.”

  I sound similar to an animal rescuer assuring a scared kitten that she would have a home.

  It’s exactly that, and I push her harder when I see her resolve breaking.

  “I want to take care of you.”

  She’s sold to me with her big, hopeful eyes gleaming with happiness and expectation.

  Stephanie catches herself in her excitement and tries to control the shaking in her body by gripping her fork tightly. I see her knuckles turning white from clenching them so tightly. I am about to pry the fork away until she makes the first move.

  As her hand drops the fork on the plate, I take note on the amount of food left. It’s not much, but I would prefer she finished all of it. She proves me wrong when her hand picks up the fork again, and this time, her giddiness is more subdued.

  It’s still there, but she has good control of herself.

  I approve.

  She picks up the stray piece of lettuces and put them into her mouth one by one until the plate is cleaned. There is not one scrap of food left, then she puts her fork on quietly on the plate. Her face twists slightly as she swallows whatever is left in her mouth.

  “Are you still hungry?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and smiles shakily, “N-no, I’m full. Thank you for the meal.”

  I grasp it too slowly that she has been struggling to get food all her life. She’s lucky to have anything edible for the day, and I hope she never had to starve until her next meal. That thinking is surreal as I’m sure it had happened before, and which is why Stephanie’s eating habits are to never waste any food.

  My mistake.

  She’s so full that she’s feeling uncomfortable, but she can’t leave food as she is afraid that I will take away her food. She kept it all to herself even when she is full to the brim.

  My poor, little love.

  “Stephanie.” I turn the chair, and her feet dangle in front of her.

  She glances up. I hear her breath shuttering at our close distance, and she eventually stops breathing just so she doesn’t offend me.

  How precious of her to think about my feelings.

  I tuck a strand of silky, blonde hair behind her ear, and she makes a small noise.

  “When you are full, stop eating,” I said, making sure she hears every word clearly. “I won’t be angry.”

  She vigorously shakes her head, “N-no, it’s okay. I can finish.”

  I smile, easing her fraying nerves. “Breathe, love. I would rather you be alright than sick.”

  She closes her mouth and nods obediently.

  “Good girl.”

  Chapter Three

  Stephanie

  Last night is not a dream, and it certainly wasn’t a fairy tale.

  Victor had picked me up from the bus stop when I probably looked like a pitiful, wet dog, shaking and whimpering from the cold conditions. He was kind enough to offer me a ride and a clean meal to fill my grumbling tummy, then he gave me a room to sleep in.

  A room that made me feel special; it made me feel as if I mattered in a sense that I contributed to society.

  I would think that I would sleep great in a bed made of money, sheets softer than silk and three very light yet warm comforters, and a mountain of fluffy pillows. I thought I would wake up refreshed and addicted to the beauty of undisturbed sleep.

  That was not what happened.

  I went to bed with a stiff body, unable to calm my raging heart and thumping blood down, partly due to the encounter with the ever smiling and stunning Senator and partly because this new environment is too out of my element. I felt like I was dirtying the room with my presence, but Victor said this room was mine to use however I pleased.

  I knew he was saying that because he was polite because no one would open their arms and welcome a homeless girl into their privacy.

  Sleep neglected me that night, but the morning was extra bad.

  I woke up with the thoughts that I either slept for five minutes or I slept five hours with an active mind, so it felt short, but when the knock came from the door, I had jumped out of the bed and dashed toward the door in a split second.

  I forget the fact that I opened the door with the nightgown he gifted me, but I hadn’t had the decency to fix the ugly bird’s nest on my head. I was too concerned about him waiting too long at the door, but that was my over imaginative brain because he had smiled so patiently at me that I felt bad for being stupid.

  He asked how my night was and I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that the bed was nice, but I was used to sleeping on hard surfaces. The cushion on the bed may or may not have given me slight back pain, and he noticed immediately.

  Nothing leaves his attention, he had used that look on his face that compelled me to listen to him when he said that he found several knots in my hair.

  I could have died in embarrassment at the door if he didn’t push me back inside the room and he followed with confident steps as he steered me to the vanity mirror.

  I sat and allowed him to fix the mess on my head with precision and accuracy. I felt not an ounce of pain or tugging when he brushed my blonde hair.

  During the time of him brushing my hair to him picking out my clothes, I had no opening to tell him that I could do it myself. Fear stopped me from doing so because I didn’t want to offend him. I kept quiet until the time to get back into his car after he had kneeled to put shoes on my feet.

  Victor, a rich man, kneeling for me, a poor girl.

  I had asked him where we were going, and he said he wanted to take me to breakfast.

  I didn’t question why he doesn’t use his kitchen.

  It’s how I ended up in this extravagant restaurant.

  The level of French on the menu is ridiculous; it’s filled with foreign words and I took French in high school as a graduation requirement, but I remember nothing besides one typical greeting.

  I peek up at him through the edge of the heavy black menu. His green eyes flash up to meet mine at that exact moment. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I freeze with no intention of looking away.

  I can’t look away; my body is a traitor that does whatever it wants, and it wants to humiliate me all the time.

  “What is wrong, love?”

  His velvety voice and that endearing word that he calls me is going to be the end of me if the mortification doesn’t get to me first.

  I mumble, “I don’t know French.”

  He leans in, his posh suit practically straining against his muscular chest. Victor smiles wordlessly and waits; his lips widen when my cheeks redden as I shift in my seat.

  “Please help me.”

  His eyes are too intense for me to keep decent eye contact, so I drop them down to his relatively tight dress shirt.

  Rich people have exquisite taste when it comes to food., I shouldn’t be surprised that he took me to a place that requires a reservation for breakfast of all things.

  I have only heard of dinner reservations, never breakfast.

  When he orders with that sexy voice, he speaks in French to the waitress fluently while keeping his molten green eyes on me.

  My nipples tighten as I shrink back into my shoulders. The back of the chair welcomes my curved spine when he smiles at my shyness. I can’t help feeling this way when he treats me like a princess, it’s surreal in a way that makes me pinch myself on occasions to see if I’m dreaming.

  When the waitress leaves, he turns to me with a look that could have killed me if he had daggers in his eyes. My natural reaction to his glare is to look away and keep quiet; I learned that talking back is the next thing to insulting them verbally.

  Nothing good comes out of confirmation.

  “I do hope you will forgive me for ordering for you,” he said, an apologetic smile playing on his lips.

  I couldn’t be mad at him if I was truly upset, “It’s okay, Victor.”

  The blush on my cheeks gets hotter when I say his name; I have to get used to it and I know it’s going to take some time.

  Well, I am most likely going back to the shelter today after this beautiful breakfast, so I will see him less, and the chances of me saying his name will diminish as time goes by. He’s a busy man with more important things to do than go along with my little girl fantasy.

  My heart drops to my stomach.

  Is it bad of me to ask for more of his time?

  “Love?” he reaches across the table and engulfs my hand with his big one, rubbing soothing circles on the back of my knuckles.

  I shake away the negativity and smile brightly back at him, “It’s nothing.”

  “I like it when you tell the truth,” he mentions it offhandedly, and my mind latches onto his shift of tone.

  My throat closes briefly, and I lean toward towards him with franticness blooming in my chest.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not used to this,” I murmur.

  My mind swings towards his calloused fingers taking a firm hold on my own, “I know, love. Take your time and immerse yourself in this environment. I wish to have you as my plus one to affairs.”

  My brain skirts to a halt, and I almost choke on my own spit. My voice comes out strangled and squeaky as I whisper loudly over the plate in front of me. I try to take my hand back, but he won’t let go as he only tightens them.

  “P-plus one?” I cock my head in confusion.

  Those words are unfamiliar to me, but there’s a certain implication that brings alarms in my head that makes my lungs squeeze the air out of me.

  The only affair I know of is cheating affairs, and this is getting way out of hand.

  I’m positively sure that Mr. Victor Sloan is not a cheater who needs an eighteen-year-old homeless mistress to show off to his rich friends who are also in the rich and adultery club.

  He isn’t like that; he brings joy and happiness to people who he helps. He brought me warmth in my heart when I saw him in the shelters with a golden halo of wealth and status shining around him.

  “As you know, my position requires my appearance in several important gatherings, and I wish to have you there with me.”

  Smooth and to the point, he doesn’t waste time in sugarcoating what he wants from me, and if this is my payment to be able to stay in his home, I would accept in a heartbeat.

 

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