Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4), Sarah Brooks [urban books to read .txt] 📗

As time passed and I became more and more entrenched in Tiffany’s world, the more unhappy I became. Tiffany kept all her ‘boys’ on a tight leash, but it seemed I was different. Because while she pimped me out to the highest bidder, she still wanted me for herself. And it was that emotional minefield that I couldn’t handle.

In the beginning, I thought I loved her. She taught me how to use my body to make her feel intense pleasure and she gave me her body in return. She showered me with gifts. She bought me an apartment only a street away, so we were always “close to each other” she said.

She demanded all of me. My heart. My body. My soul. I had nothing left for me.

I came to a breaking point last week when she asked me to take care of a “friend” of hers. She said this friend deserved only the best, and she knew I’d be perfect. Tiffany fucked my brains out then sent me off to fuck her friend. Somewhere from point A to point B I had a Come to Jesus moment. I didn’t want to do it anymore.

It was one thing to take my clothes off at The Landing Strip. I still enjoyed the adoration from women when they saw my body. It filled me with a confidence I couldn’t get anywhere else. It was a high that I would always be chasing.

It was the sex that was destroying me. Because I couldn’t reconcile the fact that this woman I had grown to love was sending me out to screw other women. It wasn’t empowering. It was debilitating.

I had lost control of my life. Of my body. Of my goddamn feelings. And I knew Tiffany didn’t give a shit about any of that. This wasn’t about me. Or her and me together. This was Tiffany Hardwell’s show, and I was merely a player.

Those days were over.

So, I told her I wanted out. That I didn’t want to sleep with other women. It was then I saw a side of her that I had never seen before.

“You don’t get a say in that, Robbie,” She had snarled, gripping my neck with her hand, her long nails piercing my skin, drawing blood. “You will do what I say. Don’t think you have a voice here. You belong to me. All of you.” She had kissed me then and because I was a horny idiot, I let her shut me up with sex.

But then she went to see my mother. She told her she was my boss and that she was worried about me. That I was talking about walking away from a great opportunity and that she thought she should talk to Mom so she could talk ‘sense’ into me. She told my mother that the job was how I paid for the house and for Sam’s care. My mother had been confused and upset, thinking something was wrong with me. Tiffany never outright told my mother what I did for money, but she made it clear, by visiting my family, that she would if I crossed her.

She had overstepped the line and I wasn't putting up with it.

My mom had called me just as I was leaving my new apartment to go to my next ‘date.’ But when I heard the worry in her voice, I decided I wasn’t going to the date. I wasn’t going on any ‘dates’ ever again.

I went straight to Tiffany’s. I was done with her games and machinations. She had held me under her thumb long enough. Once you messed with my family, you were done.

Tiffany slinked toward me, using her body to full advantage. She was expecting me to succumb to her charms as I had every other time before. She wrapped herself around me, kissing my chin. “Baby, I just wanted to know you mother. To tell her I was worried about you. Because I am, Robbie. I’m so worried about you.” She went on her tiptoes and kissed my mouth. Normally this was the part where I’d let her have her way. I’d pick her up and carry her to bed.

Not this time.

I pushed her away. “I’m done, Tiffany. This is over. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“You don’t mean that. You need me. How will you take care of your family? You like that nice apartment don’t you? All the things I do for you?” she purred, touching me again. Her hands sliding inside my pants. “We have a good thing, you and me. I do things for you,” she squeezed my junk with experienced fingers, “you do things for me.” She took my hand and placed it on her breast. “Now stop all this nonsense and make me feel good, Robbie.”

I ripped her hand from my pants and moved away from her. “This is all about control for you. And you choose men—boys really—who don’t know any better. You made me think you cared about me.” I shook my head. “I was such an idiot.”

Tiffany looked stricken; she was a hell of a good actress. “Robbie, I do care about you. I love you. So much. I don’t know what I’ll do if you leave me. I won’t be able to bear it.” She turned on the waterworks, her lovely face crumpling.

“I know you’re not wearing that get up for me, Tiff, so stop with the tears. They won’t work,” I said coldly, and just like that, she stopped crying.

She wiped her face, instantly sobering. “Fine. But you can’t walk away until I tell you that you can. We have an arrangement. I would hate for your poor, sweet mother to know where all that cash came from.”

There it was. The threats.

I advanced on her and got in her face. But not in the way she expected or wanted. She cowered slightly