The contract made me his for a night. He made me his forever.
When you're in as much debt as I am and a billionaire offers you the kind of money Trent Lavigne promised in return for spending a single night with him, you don't turn him down. Not even when he makes you sign a contract you know will be more shameful than you can imagine.
So shameful you can't even bring yourself to read it.
A contract that gives him the right not just to punish you for being a few minutes late, but to pin you to the mattress and spank your bare bottom until you beg to be taken hard and thoroughly.
But Trent was never going to be satisfied with one night. I knew that even before he told me to stay and share his bed with my body still quivering from an endless series of savage climaxes.
He's not the kind of man who rents. He's the kind who owns.